Daegen spent the first night sleeping behind a Dumpster, the next in an alley near Shorty's. Cold, dirty, tired, and filled with a burning hatred for the man who had created him, he kept walking around the south side of Boston. After nearly a week on the streets, huddled in doorways or unlocked cars, spending what little money he had on one meal a day, he found an apartment over a service station where the owner, a rotund man with piglike jowls and beefy hands, eyed Daegan and decided to let him pump gas in trade for his rent.

Counting himself lucky, Daegan managed to juggle his hours, still putting in a forty-hour week at the fuel company, but not having much time for school. He managed to sc.r.a.pe up enough credits to graduate and the State of Ma.s.sachusetts handed him a diploma. He could almost hear the nuns who had been his teachers sigh in collective relief that he was out of the revered educational system.

To keep things simple, Daegan didn't see his mother, or Frank, or anyone from the family besides Bibi. Not that he wanted her around, either. But she was a stubborn thing, and for some reason he couldn't quite fathom, she found him interesting. Daegan figured it was some kind of sicko guilt complex or fascination with the black sheep of the family.

"I don't think this is healthy," he told her when she tracked him down from work and showed up at his dingy apartment soon after he'd moved in.

"Why not?"

He'd unpacked his old duffle bag, and the few clothes he owned were strewn on the stained mattress. "I don't like feeling like some freakin' animal in a sideshow."

"That's not why I'm here."

He raised a disbelieving eyebrow. She was standing just inside the door eyeing the place as if she thought it needed dousing with disinfectant, which wasn't too far from the truth. Time-worn varnish on the door. The windowsills had peeled, exposing old wood. Yellowed linoleum that looked like it was laid in the twenties was cracked and curling at the corners, and the sink, shower, and toilet were darkened by rings and rivulets of rust.

The Ritz it wasn't, but it would do. For now.

"Okay," he said, sitting on the edge of the mattress, exposed box springs squeaking in protest. "Enlighten me, why are you here?"

"You don't have to ridicule me. Believe me, that I can get at home." Strolling into the room like she owned the place, she reached into the large bag she was carrying and withdrew a bottle of champagne. "I thought we should celebrate your freedom."

"With that?" he asked dubiously.

"Compliments of my father," she said as she dropped the bottle on one of the grimy counters.

"Uncle Robert sent it?" He didn't bother hiding the sarcasm in his voice. He really didn't understand what Bibi's fascination with him was and yet the street ran two ways; though he was loath to admit it, he was intrigued by her and everything she represented.

"Well, he doesn't really know. I sort of borrowed it."

"And how are you going to sort of give it back?"

"I'm not. I figure he owes me." She peeled off the foil. "Got any gla.s.ses?"

He just stared at her and she lifted a shoulder. "I guess not."

"Crystal isn't a top priority."

"Fine." She bit into her lower lip as she worked the cork from the neck of the bottle with supple fingers. Pop! The cork rocketed across the room and frothy champagne slid down the green neck of the bottle. "Here. You first," she said, holding her prize out to him.

Staring up at her, he grabbed the bottle and took a long pull. Why not? She was here. He'd never tasted hundred-dollar-a-bottle booze in his life and there was nothing stopping him. He handed the champagne back to her and watched as she held the bottle up and sucked, her long neck working.

"It's good, isn't it?" she said, eyes bright.

"It's okay."

Her laughter filled the rat hole of an apartment. "More than okay. It's divine."

"G.o.d might not agree." He took a long swallow. Effervescent wine slid down his throat. Something told him he was being foolish, consorting with the enemy, going to end up detesting these few happy minutes for the rest of his life, but he ignored the warning and enjoyed himself for the first time in weeks.

They drank until there was nothing left and she, seated beside him on the tattered mattress, held the bottle upside down and caught the last drop on her tongue. "Ah, well, all good things have to come to an end."

"So they say." He was feeling a little lightheaded but he wouldn't admit it. When he looked at her, she was prettier than he'd originally thought. Sleek hair, wicked little I-know-what-you're-thinking smile that curved her full lips and large eyes capable of turning a dark shade of blue.

"Gotta run," she said as she glanced at her watch. "But I'll be back."

"Will you?"

"Umm." Nodding, she fished in her bag, found a tube of lipstick, and painted her mouth a glossy shade of plum. "If you'll let me."

"I don't know."

"Why not?" she asked innocently, eyes round, eyebrows elevated.

"I don't trust you."

She looked wounded. "Why not?"

Flopping back on the mattress, he sighed. "Figure it out, Bibi. Your last name's Sullivan."

Stuart wanted to lash out and at anyone for anything! Rage stormed through his bloodstream and he let out a string of oaths that would have sent his mother right to her grave. All because of his sister, his d.a.m.ned, fool-hardy, let's-dance-with-the-devil sister!

Bibi was out of her mind! No two ways about it. She wouldn't leave O'Rourke alone. Stuart had kicked himself a thousand times over for getting involved, but now the damage was done. She was enthralled by the b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"This is your fault, you know," he said to Collin as they drove to the lakeside house. It was summer now and the roads were wet from a warm rain.

"My fault?" Collin chuckled. "You blame me for everything. What Bibi does is her business."

"Is it?" Stuart wasn't convinced. He shot his cousin a look that could cut through granite. "You're the one who started all this with your talk about him!"

"But you took it one step farther, didn't you? I just mentioned him to Bibi. You're the one who decided to contact him and make sport of him." Collin sighed and shook his head. His blond hair gleamed pure gold even in the cloudy day. "You'll never learn, Stuart. Never."

"I know, I know. I f.u.c.ked up this time. Believe me I've lived to regret it." He stepped on the throttle and his Porsche leaped forward, the speedometer pushing ninety, rain singing beneath the wide tires.

Collin sighed and fiddled with the radio until he found a song he recognized. Old Janis Joplin tune. Just the kind of heart-wrenching gritty rock that Collin favored, though few people knew about that side of him that he so jealously guarded. There was Collin the perfect, the A student at Harvard, a member of the crew and debate teams, a man never without his argyle socks...unless you came across him after midnight when he was on the prowl. "So why blame me?" Collin asked.

"You know she's in love with you. Has been since she was about six, I think."

"We're cousins, for G.o.d's sake." Collin laughed nervously.

"Since when would that stop you?" Stuart asked, his thoughts dark. "Besides, it's kind of a family tradition. Sullivans have been s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g Sullivans since they first landed on Plymouth Rock."

"We weren't on the Mayflower, Mayflower," Collin reminded him. "You keep forgetting that."

"A real blight on the family name." Stuart braked for a corner and the tires squealed a bit. Collin didn't even seem to notice.

"Not the only one," Collin said, leaning back against the pa.s.senger seat, his hands tapping in rhythm to the song on the radio. His fingers were long and strong. Graceful and supple from years of practicing piano, violin, and guitar. "Remember-Great-great-great-great-aunt Corinne was-"

"Burned at the stake, I know. A witch. Could read people's minds or some such rot. I think you missed a great or two in there somewhere."

"Probably. And not burned at the stake. Just accused of being a witch. I think someone else was flogged for witchcraft, but his or her life was spared." Collin's expression turned dark. "It looks like you're going to be in charge of this family someday, so you should get the history right." He reached into the glove box and found a pair of sungla.s.ses he'd left in Stuart's car nearly a year ago-last summer. "I wonder why O'Rourke took a pot shot at Dad."

Stuart laughed dryly. "He missed, didn't he? Point-blank range. My guess is that he wasn't really trying, but then maybe his aim was off. He's probably never been skeet shooting."

"Nor fenced or read Th.o.r.eau, or caught an opening on Broadway, either," Collin said without the slightest trace of a sneer. He slid the aviator gla.s.ses onto the bridge of his patrician nose though the day was already gloomy.

"Never suffered through the Russian Ballet or had the opportunity to learn French in Paris."

"Poor unfortunate wretch."

"A lucky stiff if you ask me. He can do what he b.l.o.o.d.y well wants. Like try to shoot Frank Sullivan."

"Probably missed on purpose."

"My a.s.s. He hates your old man."

Collin's lips curled slightly. "Don't we all?"

"So why don't you pick up a gun?"

With a slow smile Collin said, "There are better ways to get back at dear old dad, don't you think?"

"And you know them all."

Collin's laugh was downright dirty. "Not only know them, but practice them daily."

"If you're lucky."

"I usually am," Collin a.s.sured him as Stuart rounded the final bend and eased the Porsche through the open gates. Robert and Adele had already moved to the lake for the summer, and this was their first party of the season. Stuart had offered to pick up Collin as he'd been trapped with late finals, so they'd driven up together.

"The least you could do is offer Bibi some encouragement," Stuart said. "Maybe then she wouldn't be so interested in O'Rourke."

"That would be cruel."

"Why?"

"Because I don't love her-not like that." His lips pinched at the corners.

"What's love got to do with anything?"

"For Christ's sake, Stu, forget it. If you're so interested, you do it."

"h.e.l.l, Collin, she's my sister."

"She's my cousin!"

"So?"

"Oh, for the love of G.o.d. There's no way I'm going to lead Bibi on."

"Sure you will. Come on, it could be fun."

"Fun?" Beneath his sungla.s.ses, Collin's eyes narrowed. "I don't think so."

"Think about it," Stuart said.

"What do you want me to do? Kiss her? Feel her up? Get into her pants, for Christ's sake? What are you, her f.u.c.king pimp?" He was angry now, his usually calm expression changed by fury. Blue eyes were narrowed, lips grim and flat, nostrils flared. Outraged. Just the way Stuart liked to see him.

"Just show her some attention."

"Seduce her?"

"There are worse things you could do."

"I don't think so!"

Stuart parked near the garage. He yanked the key from the ignition and Collin shoved open his door. "Wait." Clamping strong fingers over his cousin's arm, Stuart said, "Just be kind to her, okay? Don't lead her on, but give her some hope so that she gets over O'Rourke."

"False hope, you mean."

"We could make it more interesting."

"I don't need more interesting, Stuart. Or don't you remember?"

Stuart wasn't listening. As the oldest, he'd always been able to get his sister and younger cousins to do his bidding. Sometimes he asked them, other times he threatened, but his true skill, his talent, was in manipulation. "Come on, Collin, give the girl a break. It won't take long and you might enjoy it. Right now O'Rourke's new and interesting, but she's really hung up on you."

"Great." Collin rolled his eyes. But he was weakening. As he always did.

"This...intrigue she feels for O'Rourke will pa.s.s of its own accord, but we're just giving it a little push."

"We?"

"Well, you, really."

Muttering under his breath, Collin fell back against the seat. "I don't know why I let you talk me into all this nonsense."

"'Cause you love it. Now, listen. It'll be easy to turn Bibi's head from the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. She's had this crush on you since she was six." Now that his quarry was in no danger of escaping, Stuart could remove his hand from Collin's upper arm, but he let it linger, reminding Collin just who was boss. "Oh, I know she's been with a couple of other boys-infatuations that pa.s.sed. She's always been way ahead of the girls her age. Once Mother caught her making out with Donny Cheltham on the dock. The top of Bibi's swimsuit was off and Donny had a b.o.n.e.r so big his Speedo couldn't hide it."

"Your mother told you this?"

"I was there," Stuart said, and he felt a familiar rush in his bloodstream at the thought of Bibi and Donny groping and rolling around in the hot summer sun, their bodies slick with sweat and suntan oil. "They just didn't know it."