"Honestly, Sloan, I must urge you to believe that harboring hard feelings like this will only hurt you." Her voice had turned brittle, and he almost thought she was on the verge of tears. "If you continue to hold it inside it will fester like an infection. Perhaps by sharing it you can purge yourself of these things before they consume you."

Her anxiety and persistence added to his confusion.

What did she think he was hiding? She couldn't possibly know the truth. If she did, surely she would have exposed him long before this.

"I'm sorry, but I can't say any more. There is nothing festering," he lied. "And even if there were, my poisons are my own, if you don't mind my saying so. Please don't ask me again." He was feeling stronger, vitalized by a trickle of indignation that had seeped into his veins.

She lay her head back on the pillow, the fatigue and pain etched into her face again like cracks in crumbling granite. He thought she had finally decided to let it rest, but then a strained whisper cut through his thoughts.

"Sloan..."

She motioned to him to stand and lean in closer.

He obliged, half expecting to hear some sort of deathbed wisdom, or perhaps a benevolent wish for his future. That wasn't her intent.

She grabbed his hand, and pulled him low to whisper. "Whatever you know, Sloan, whatever she told you, whether in person, or in a...a letter or a note or...whatever..." She stopped and he sensed a subtle question implied in those words.

Had she? Had his mother left him something? He didn't think so. But then again, he hadn't exactly scoured the house looking, either. He had cleaned up the blood and eradicated all evidence of the events of that night. He'd created the European lover, made the necessary arrangements and explanations to the authorities, and hidden it all behind a smoke screen of lies and secrets. He'd been so anxious to leave all that pain behind that he'd barely even packed before taking off for California. He hadn't touched anything that he hadn't absolutely had to. Everything in the house was almost exactly as it had been that last night-the last time they had spoken.

She might have left something. But in all the turmoil and confusion he had never thought to look. And he certainly couldn't ask her. So that meant he'd have to search for it himself. But to go back in and touch those things again? To come face-to-face with those memories that he had spent eight years trying to turn his back on? He didn't think he could do that, either.

He looked at Lydia. She knew something. But what? And how? He could only pray that whatever she knew she would keep it to herself. It was his business. He intended to keep it that way.

She studied him, but he said nothing.

"Whatever it is that drove you away, I'm glad you refused to tell me." Her voice dropped to a whisper that even he had to strain to hear. "Keep it to yourself. And go back to California as quickly as possible."

Stunned, he whispered back. "You're telling me to leave?"

She nodded, but the misery on her face was plain. "Your presence is hurting Bree. In more ways than you know."

He pulled back and said bitterly, "I'm sorry you feel that way. But Bree isn't complaining, and I haven't been home for a long time. I don't plan to leave until I'm good and ready."

Lydia shook her head, her expression bleak. "Just like your father. Stubborn as a mule, and pigheaded to boot." She pressed a hand to her stomach, as if in pain. "Just don't let that attitude of yours get you into trouble. Be careful, Sloan." She closed her eyes and sank back into the pillows. "Please, be very careful."

"Daddy! Daddy! Watch me, Daddy!"

Troy looked up from his novel just in time to see David careen headfirst down the water slide into the deep end of the pool.

"David!" yelled Carolyn from just inside the sliding screen door of their ranch-style bungalow. "You know you're not supposed to..." She blew out a breath that Troy could hear from the deck. "Oh, fudge. I don't know why I bother."

"You better watch that foul mouth of yours," called Troy. "The ladies who run the church bake sale will be terribly upset if they know that you take the name of their fudge in vain."

He trained his eyes back on his book, but he heard the patio door slide open, and the soft approach of those size-six feet. She straddled his lap and gently pushed down the book. She batted heavy black eyelashes at him and tucked a few strands of silky sable hair behind her ears. She leaned forward and the long, thick braid she always wore when she went swimming fell forward and tickled his stomach.

She asked, "Would you rather I said, 'Oh fuck'?"

His mouth dropped open in feigned shock. "Good heavens! Such language from such a good little Catholic girl."

"I may be Catholic but I'm no little girl. And you didn't answer the question."

He bobbed his eyebrows. "Well, I guess I wouldn't mind. But only if you meant it. As in 'Oh, let's fuck,' or 'Fuck you.' But it would have to be...you know...sincere. So, what do you say?"

She leaned in close and nibbled on his ear before whispering, "I say let's go in the kitchen, clear off the table, and make mad, passionate fudge."

He laughed. "Now you're talking. I'll take chocolate over sex any day."

She leaned back and slapped his chest, but her retort never made it past her lips because at that moment a very wet and slimy little boy wriggled his way between them. "Can I invite Chantel over? Pleeease?" beseeched David's I'm-so-cute-and-I-know-it voice.

"Aren't you a little young to be playing with girls?" asked Troy suspiciously. "I'm thirty-four and they still scare me."

David scowled. His dark eyebrows pulled together in a perfect rendition of one of his mother's expressions. He was a tiny little clone of Carolyn. They both shared the same fine features and dark hair and eyes. They also shared a dusky complexion that after a few weeks of poolside frolicking, darkened to the color of a rich, mocha ice cream.

Sometimes her beauty took his breath away. And rarely a day went by that he didn't marvel that she had chosen him over all her potential suitors. He didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve either of them, and yet here they were, both of them accepting and loving him. Sometimes they loved him so hard it hurt.

David continued to drip on his father. "Chantel's not like a real girl. She's my friend."

"Oh," drawled Carolyn as she eased herself away from her men. "And I suppose I'm not like a real girl either."

"No," said David brightly. "You're my old lady!" Troy grimaced. "Now, where do you suppose he heard that?" She tossed an accusing glance in Troy's direction. "I think it's a very good time to invite Chantel over. I think I might need witnesses." With a shriek of delight David leapt from his father's lap. Chantel lived next door, and would arrive shortly. Which, judging from Carolyn's expression, was a good thing.

"She'll be here soon," he ventured. "You won't have time to do anything that might necessitate cleaning up blood or bodily fluids." "Oh fudge," she said through a rigidly straight face. "I might have to resort to a nice neat drowning. The Pope does frown on such things, but still..." They heard the doorbell from inside the house. "My, that was fast." She turned toward the door, but Troy was already on his feet. He wrapped his arms around her waist. "David wouldn't ring the bell." "Oh. Right." "Don't worry, I'll get it. I was going to get a beer anyway." He nuzzled his lips against her throat. "And you're not an old lady. At least not yet. You've got a couple of years before you have to start thinking about tummy-tucks and facelifts."

"Gee," she growled as he let go and trudged toward the doors. "I feel so much better now." Feeling better than he had all morning-better than he had since awakening with a raging hangover headache that could crack glass-he plodded through the house. He reached the door and swung it open. His headache returned in a heartbeat.

"What do you want?"

"Gosh, it's nice to see you too," sneered Perry.

"If you wanted a brotherly hug and an invitation to dinner then I suggest you visit the next-door

neighbors. I'm fresh out." Perry ignored the hostility, and pushed through into the house, uninvited. "You're in a rare mood. Sloan's return has obviously done little to lift your spirits."

"Sloan has nothing to do with this. You can irritate me all by yourself." He closed the door, but hoped desperately that it would be opening again real soon. Perry sauntered into the living room and flopped down on the burgundy leather couch. He grabbed a throw pillow and examined the bold Navajo design. "It's been a while since I've seen the place. It's...funky."

"Yeah, like you know funky from frumpy. And it's not funky, it's Southwestern. I'd offer you a tour, but I know you're in a rush. So..."

"Do you really hate us so much?"

"More. I wish to God I had never been born into this family. Is that clear enough for you? Are you offended enough to leave now?"

"I don't offend so easily."

"Christ!" Troy threw himself into the matching armchair and propped his feet on a scarred pine and

wrought iron coffee table. "Then what is it? You know how I truly abhor your visits. Let's get this one over with." "You said Sloan had nothing to do with this? I beg to differ. He has everything to do with it." "What the hell are you talking about?" "Why do you think he came back?" Troy rolled his eyes. In a bouquet of undesirable traits, Perry's paranoia was the most pungent. "He came back because Sabrina invited him to a party. In his honor. Few people can resist that kind of adulation, and Sloan isn't one of them." "I don't buy it. There's something else going on. He ran out of here with his tail between his legs. He had to have a better reason than that for coming back." He pointed a stubby finger at his brother. "He knows something. He denied it to Lydia today, but-"

"Lydia?" hissed Troy. "Why are you dragging her into this?" "I didn't drag her anywhere. She was in it long before I came along." "Maybe so, but I think she's suffered enough." He leaned forward and whispered. "For God's sake, leave her out of it." Perry waved away his objections as if they were so much secondhand smoke. "You're such a sap, Troy. To you everyone's a victim."

Troy drew in a deep breath but Perry cut off his retort. "Don't worry, big brother. I didn't browbeat her, and I won't bother with her again. The whole thing was fruitless. He denied everything." Troy's relief was minimal.

Perry continued, "He denied it, but I don't buy it. Janelle must have followed through on her threats and told him."

"You're crazy, Perry. If he knew about the operation why the hell would he have left?"

"To protect his parents' image? To protect his own?" He leaned forward. "And now why did he come back?" Perry was so caught up in his delusions that he didn't give Troy a chance to answer. "Dad and I liked him far away, and out of touch. Now his return has us very nervous again. I think he does know the truth about the Auction House, and he's tired of keeping quiet."

"You sound thoroughly rattled," drawled Troy with approval. "But if you're looking for sympathy, you're looking in the wrong place. You deserve to be nervous. You go into this kind of business-and I use that term loosely-and you better get used to looking over your shoulder. The lot of you have gotten away with this shit for too long."

"We've done more than get away with it," gloated Perry. "Thanks to me and my ingenuity, we've thrived. The Auction House and all its facets are flourishing. And may I remind you that you are hardly untainted in this whole thing either, Troy. You've reaped a few benefits along the way. If not for me and my connections you wouldn't have a son, and you just might not have a wife."

"Will you shut up," whispered Troy, furious that Perry had managed to turn the tables on him. "What if Carolyn walked in?"

Perry leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his ample thighs. "Exactly. If she found out the truth about what really went down at that fertility clinic you'd lose her for sure. You'd lose them both." He lounged back in his chair, a smug smile twisting his lips. "Like it or not, you're in this up to your neck, Troy-boy. And, just like always, I expect a little cooperation."

"I should have turned you all in when I had the chance," he muttered.

"You should have but you didn't. You have your priorities." He pulled a crumpled bag of nacho chips out of his breast pocket. "And I have mine." He peeled open the bag and stuffed a few measly crumbs of cheese-drenched corn into his mouth. "Now tell me what you know about Sloan."

Troy dropped his head back on the cushion and resigned himself to the inevitable. He hated that he was bound to Perry this way, and he hated all that he'd been forced to do in the name of that obligation. But he hated the idea of losing his family more. He'd do anything to keep them.

"His leaving had nothing-or almost nothing-to do with Janelle or the business or the Auction House." He waited a beat. "He left because he's gay."

Perry said nothing.

Troy lifted his head and looked at him.

"What?" asked Perry.

"You heard me. He left because he was confused about his sexuality. He finally figured it out, I guess, because he and his friend are...together. Have been for several years. He says he's very happy." He tapped his fingers on the leather, and glared at his brother. "So? Is that a big enough reason for you?"

Laughter erupted from Perry like a rude belch. "You have got to be kidding! You don't mean to tell me you actually believe that shit."

Troy tamped down his temper. He was sick of hearing how gullible he was. "I trust Sloan. And besides, you should see them together. It's spooky. They're like this old married couple."

Perry wiped a tear out of his eye. "I don't suppose you would know this, but back in the days when the four of you were in your prime, there were days when you and Sloan gave me the creeps. You knew each other so well you'd finish each other's sentences. But I never suspected you two were humping each other. You just spent a lot of time together." That finger wagged again. "You mark my words, Sloan is lying."

"Believe what you want," said Troy through gritted teeth. "I really don't care. But I'm telling you, the way they looked at each other, and touched..." He suppressed a shudder as images of Sloan and Craig in a torrid embrace flitted through his mind. "It convinced me."

"Maybe..." Perry tapped a finger on the arm of the couch, his gaze suddenly far away. "It would explain a lot, wouldn't it? And it would be so ironic."

"Ironic?" asked Troy, confused by Perry's sudden change of mood.

"Yes. You know. Satirical. Paradoxical. Rife with hidden meanings. Kind of like your marriage." He grinned evilly.

"Daddy!" called David from the back door. "Can me and Chantel have some of those barbecue corn chips?"

Troy glared at his brother. "Sure," he called. "I'll bring 'em right out."

"Thanks, Dad!"

"I think this conversation is over." He stood. "Now, as you can see I have a family to look after."

Grudgingly Perry stood and headed for the door. "Right. You do and don't you forget it." He stopped on the threshold. "But remember what I told you. Sloan is up to something. Gay or not, he's hiding something, and he damn well better not be planning on snooping around Lakeside House, or talking to people he has no business talking to."

Troy held the door. "Or what? What are you getting at Perry? I don't take kindly to threats aimed at me, or the people I care about."

Perry stepped out into dappled sunshine underneath the birch tree in their front yard. "I'll only say this-if you care about your friend, you should do your darnedest to find out where he stands in all this."

"I won't interrogate him," said Troy evenly. "I won't be your stooge, either."

Perry went on as if he hadn't heard him. "We'd like to know exactly what he knows and what he plans to do about it. He trusts you. He might tell you things he won't tell anyone else. He tells you. You tell us. Once we know, perhaps we can deal with it in a civilized manner. Otherwise-"

"Goodbye, Perry."

"You mark my words-" "I've marked enough of your words. And just in case you've forgotten, I'm loyal to my friends. And Imake my own decisions about my future and the future of those I care about, so you can keep your empty threats to yourself." Perry's face set into a network of grim lines. "My threats aren't empty." Troy slammed the door. But the thing was, he believed his brother. He knew exactly how far his family would go to protect what they'd built. And he hoped to God that Sloan wasn't planning on threatening it. Because if his family lost their empire, it would mean the end of Troy's world as well. "Daddy!" called David from the kitchen. "Are you coming?" And Troy couldn't face losing this. And he wouldn't. Not even for Sloan.

Chapter Nine.

"Is he okay?" whispered Bree.

Sloan glanced at Craig who was quietly watching the world go by from the backseat. "Everything okay, Craig? You seem kinda blue."

Craig shrugged, his eyes never straying from the passing scenery. "My grandmother died of cancer when

I was fourteen. I was just thinking about her."