Andrew's morning had been a bitch. It had started with an urgent voice-mail message from his assistant about problems with a rock concert in Mexico. After he'd returned Stacy's call and put out the fire, he'd taken care of some nagging details that had to do with his own fallback plan. He'd come up with the plan months ago, but had hoped he would never have to use it. Now, he had no choice. Tony Bogart was tailing him.

Andrew had spotted him this morning when he'd left the compound and driven into town. He'd managed to lose him, but he had a bad feeling that Bogart was closing in. Maybe the G-man wasn't bluffing. Andrew had assumed the newspaper threat had come from one of the Fairmonts, but Bogart couldn't be overlooked. If he had evidence, he could be waiting for the right moment to blow the lid off-which meant Andrew had to move. Now.

He'd used up the rest of the morning hunting for a needle named Josephine Hazelton in a haystack roughly the size of San Diego County. Unfortunately, no one had been able to tell him anything more than he already knew about Marnie's Gramma Jo, but everyone had expressed concern.

It seemed she was a loner, well-liked by those who knew her, but close to no one but her missing granddaughter. Andrew had not wanted to be obvious by asking too many questions. He'd already picked up on the avid curiosity among the locals about Alison's condition and her return to Mirage Bay. When questioned, he'd said it was a family reunion, long overdue. But some of the looks he'd gotten had made him wonder what rumors were circulating about the Fairmonts. He knew from Alison that the family had always been fodder for gossip, which was why he might have to hire a discreet P.I. after all. A true missing-person's search was beyond his capability, and that's what this seemed to be turning into.

And then there was the other reason he'd left the house at dawn. He'd needed some time to clear his head and try to figure out what had happened between him and Marnie last night. She'd caught him by surprise in the shower, and maybe his guard had been down. All he knew was it would have taken a much better man than him to resist her.

She'd insisted she was all right afterward, but she'd seemed shaken and hadn't wanted to talk about what they'd done, so he hadn't pushed it. She'd rolled to her side, as if she were sleeping, but he'd been awake all night. Their sex had opened floodgates for him. His body may have been designed to do the penetrating, but something about hers had touched him more deeply than he wanted anything to go. He'd lain there, vibrating, haunted by it.

He needed to let it go now, but he was finding it impossible to get back to whatever "normal" had been for him and Marnie, impossible not to think of her in sexual terms. And neither one of them needed the situation to get more complicated.

As he pulled through the gates of Sea Clouds and parked the car in the grand portico, he saw that Julia's Mercedes and the sedan Bret drove were both gone. The house felt empty as Andrew let himself in. His first stop was the kitchen where he found a note from Julia, explaining that she, Alison and Rebecca had gone shopping, and that Bret was at the doctor's.

Andrew checked his watch. Julia's note said the women would be back later that afternoon, which would give him plenty of time, except that he didn't know how long Bret's appointment might take. It was ten-thirty now, and there wasn't a minute to waste. He had a unique opportunity to search the entire house-and he knew exactly where he was going first.

He reached into the coin pocket of his jeans and touched the fake amethyst gemstone, making sure it was still there. He knew what he was searching for, but that wasn't what had his adrenaline pumping. He'd been waiting six months for this.

Julia's office was immaculate. That was no surprise. Everything else about her was, too, at least to the eye. The decor was similar to the rest of the house-shimmering marble floors with tiles so precisely laid you could barely detect the seams. Palladian doors led to the terrace overlooking the ocean, and everywhere, elegant palms threw fronds that touched the floor.

Her desk was an antique secretary with a glass top that reflected Andrew's pensive expression with as much detail as a mirror. He couldn't imagine getting any actual work done in a showplace like this, but it was clear that she was a busy woman. Her appointment book was tightly scheduled. He also noticed that she'd circled certain months at the top of the pages. The current month, July, then February, April, August and November.

It may have caught his attention because of the circled words in the blackmail note he'd received. A coincidence? He didn't see anything to explain it. Most of the copious notes she'd made in the appointment book had to do with her schedule, but there was something printed in the top margin of the month for July that he didn't understand. The letters B.C. were followed by an arrow pointing to the letter S, all in caps.

Andrew made a mental note of it and kept looking.

The inner workings of her desk were not immaculate, he discovered. The drawers were jammed with bulging file folders, mostly filled with newspaper clippings of her accomplishments, hard copies of correspondence and financial records going back several years. She also had a collection of Montblanc pens and enough pricey office paraphernalia to open her own stationery store.

The drawers were packed, but not messy. They looked tight, tense and disorganized. Like the woman. Julia did seem tightly strung beneath all the makeup and designer clothes-one twist away from snapping like a watch spring.

Among other things he was looking for self-sticking mailing labels, the kind that were computer-generated. He found a rollout cart, designed to match the desk, that housed a laptop computer and a printer. No labels, however, nor had he seen any indication since he got to Sea Clouds that Julia subscribed to the Mirage Bay newspaper, but it couldn't have been that difficult to get a hold of a six-month old issue.

He didn't bother searching her equally immaculate bedroom. He went straight to her dressing room, which was part of the huge walk-in closet. He checked her shoes first and found several pairs studded with fake gemstones, but none with a missing amethyst. Some of her clothing also had gemstones glued to the fabric. One casual top had amethysts, but they looked intact.

He turned his attention to the mirrored vanity table, wasting no time on anything else. The drawers yielded nothing but an array of cosmetics and accessories, but the framed mirror had a secret. One of the rosebuds in the lower right corner of the gilded frame was actually a button. Andrew pressed it, and the entire mirror slid up to reveal a home safe.

He was well-versed with the various options of home safes. He had one hidden in the wall paneling of his closet in Long Island, and he'd recommended them to his clients in the music business.

Right now Andrew was looking for any evidence that Julia or someone in this house had been involved in trying to frame him. A copy of the insurance policy on Alison with him as beneficiary was the sort of document people kept in a home safe, but he was no lock pick, and the safes were impossible to open without a combination.

He glanced at his watch, aware that he had more ground to cover and was running out of time. He gave Julia's walk-in closet, her bedroom and her office a last visual once-over. On his way out, he looked again at her desk and her appointment book. He wasn't quite sure what he'd found here, but he was going to commit it to memory for future reference.

Bret Fairmont's bedroom had its share of surprises, but no way did Andrew expect to find a cache of women's clothing in his closet. The room was situated in a second-floor corner of the house that Bret had managed to make darker than doom with light-blocking shades. It could have been a sports bar with all the neon liquor signs on the wall; however, there wasn't a hint of sports memorabilia to be found.

Evidently Bret wasn't a sports fan, nor was he into cars or any of the other things that most twenty-five-year-old males liked, although the computer workstation wedged in the corner against the shaded windows looked as if it was loaded with high-tech equipment.

The room wasn't as immaculate as Julia's, but there wasn't much out of place. Like mother, like son? A scary thought. Andrew did a quick search of the workstation, but found nothing to implicate Bret in the newspaper threat. That didn't surprise him. Bret would hardly have left evidence lying around, knowing that Andrew and Alison were coming for a visit. Time was tight, so he went straight to the walk-in closet, which was also neat and orderly. Dress shirts hung on an upper rack, slacks on the lower. A rotating device displayed belts and ties, and clear acrylic containers held folded sweaters. Even his casual clothes were sorted and stacked-jeans, T-shirts, shorts.

Bret was a mess, but his personal space didn't seem to reflect that.

Andrew searched for a safe first, but came up empty-handed. He had better luck with the hanging garment bags. The second was full of women's clothes. Andrew was looking at frilly dresses, skimpy skirts and tops, high-heel shoes, even women's underwear, and something that might have been a hairpiece. He didn't find anything with amethysts, but Bret definitely had a few fake-gem-studded items in his collection. The first thing that came to mind was that Bret was a cross-dresser, except that one of the blouses had Alison's initials embroidered on the pocket.

Andrew didn't know what to make of it. Were these all Alison's things? Sibling rivalry run totally amok? He checked his watch. He'd been here fifteen minutes, but hadn't found what he was looking for. Maybe there was still time to check out the computer.

He saw the framed posters as he came out of the closet. Three of them hung on the opposite wall, each lit from below by a small spotlight. They looked like print ads, blown up to poster size, and the model in each of them was Bret, looking rakishly handsome and masculine. Apparently he'd been serious enough about modeling to have some portfolio shots taken. It really was impossible to imagine this guy wearing a frilly dress.

Andrew turned his attention to the computer-and discovered another facet of Bret's personality when he touched the computer mouse. The monitor must have been in sleep mode because it flashed on immediately. Andrew's jaw went slack at the pictures on the screen.

Pornography. Hard-core. Women with men, other women, mixed groups, and some very friendly animals.

Andrew clicked on Favorites and the list that dropped from the menu bar was almost entirely of X-rated sites. No wonder Bret kept it dark in the room.

He had an Internet porn collection worthy of a true freak. But he'd made no real attempt to hide what was on the screen. Sleep mode meant the screen went dark after a period of time. An accidental brush of the monitor could activate it, or even the vibrations of someone walking into the room.

Andrew tried the workstation's top drawer and found it locked. The second, deeper drawer was half filled with files in hanging folders. Behind the folders were stacks of magazines and videos that looked like a mix of porn and legit films.

Andrew was working with a paper clip to jimmy open the top drawer when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. The house's marble floors let you hear someone coming for miles, and he was back inside the closet before the door opened. But he'd left the closet door ajar, which allowed him to see Bret enter, kick the door shut behind him and drop his jacket on the nearest chair.

He was sporting a good-size bandage above his temple, and he may have had a black eye; it was hard to tell in the dark room. Andrew was curious how he got the injuries, but he was more interested in what Bret intended to do at the computer.

Alison's brother sat down at his desk and used a tiny key from his key chain to open the top drawer. He drew out an envelope, from which he took several five-by-seven photographs, and then he turned on the desk light, which enveloped him in an eerie halo.

More porn? Andrew wondered, as Bret rolled back in the chair and held the pictures up, splayed in his hand so that he could see several of them at once. Andrew could just make out a naked woman in what looked like graphic poses. He eased the closet door open, hesitating at a loud creak of the hinges.

Christ. There was nothing to do but duck out of sight and pray. The door would creak again if he shut it. If Bret turned around, Andrew would have to talk his way out of this. But when he looked again, he saw that Bret hadn't moved. He seemed oblivious to the noise, so engrossed in the pictures he'd tuned everything else out.

Andrew decided to risk it. He crept up behind him, close enough to see the woman in the photos. His stomach lurched when he saw who it was. The sexy blonde who had her legs open and was pleasuring herself was Alison Fairmont.

Andrew fought back the sour taste of stomach acid. The questions assaulting him were ugly, more disturbing than the photos. Bret was clearly twisted, but what about Alison? Andrew could see that this was a much younger Alison, probably still in her mid to late teens. But Bret would have been younger, too, younger than her. Had he taken these photos himself? And had Alison posed for him?

Bret shifted in the chair. Andrew thought he'd been caught, but Bret's eyes never left the screen. He seemed hypnotized, totally unaware that someone else was in the room. Fighting a wave of disgust, Andrew realized that the little pervert was reaching down to unzip his pants. It was time to make an exit.

"Oh, look, here's a lovely pinot! Alison, let's have some wine and relax while Rebecca's gone to find those other sizes."

Marnie uttered not a word of protest as Julia poured them each a generous glass of the ruby-red wine. Just moments ago, Marnie had collapsed on one of the dressing room's velvet settees, and she intended to stay there. She really couldn't hold a candle to Julia when it came to power shopping. The two of them had been trying on clothes all morning, and Marnie was ready for a shot of oxygen. Julia didn't even look winded.

At least the shopping was a distraction from the worry about her gramma Jo. Andrew must have been up before dawn. He was already gone when she woke up, but he'd left a note telling her not to go out hunting for her grandmother. He still had concerns about Marnie's safety, and had told her he would do the searching. He'd promised that he would track down her grandmother himself or put a detective on the job.

It was difficult, but Marnie had decided to trust him with the search. She wasn't nearly as worried about her own safety as she was Gramma Jo's, but she didn't want to undermine his efforts-or have Julia get suspicious about what the two of them were doing.

Julia brought a tray with the wine and some appetizers from the light buffet the store had set up in their fancy private dressing room. It was the size of a small apartment, with its own wet bar, fridge, microwave and bathroom. Marnie couldn't get over it. She'd grown up in a house with less square footage than this-and not nearly as well furnished.

"Isn't this fun?" Julia said, sliding the tray between them on the settee. "I can't tell you how happy I am that we found you some things that fit. But really, darling, it's time for an entire new wardrobe. Andrew should have helped you with that before you came. Look at you." At Marnie's wilted state, she shook her head. "You've lost your will to shop."

"I'm fine." Marnie took a sip of the wine and sighed. Lovely. Really. She could get used to this. Maybe not the shopping, but the wine, the appetizers and the cushy velvet furnishings.

It did feel odd sitting around in her underwear, but the store had provided silk kimonos to wear while they were waiting for Rebecca to come back with the different sizes. Normally it would have been one of the store's stylists, but Rebecca had volunteered.

Private dressing rooms were a first for Marnie, as were most of her experiences so far as a Fairmont. But she was learning to deal with Alison's life by being quiet and observant, and by following Julia's lead. If Julia loved a polka-dot capri outfit on her, that was the one Marnie chose. If she thought a certain dress needed alterations, Marnie stood on the seamstress's stool and let herself be measured and turned, the garment pinned and tucked.

Flying under the radar. Marnie was used to that. She'd had to do it most of her life, but never like this, immersed in enemy territory.

"Are you having fun?" Julia asked.

There was a hopeful note in her voice, which made it easy for Marnie to smile and say that she was. "I've missed having a mom to go shopping with."

Marnie had actually been thinking about her grandmother when she said "mom," but should she have said "mother"? Did the Fairmonts use words like mom? Surprisingly, Julia seemed touched. She tried to laugh it off, but the sparkle in her eyes looked suspiciously like tears.

"I don't think you've ever said that to me before," she replied softly.

Marnie wasn't sure what to do. Julia set down her wine, trying to regain her composure. On impulse, Marnie sprang up and went over to her. They were hugging even before Julia had risen to her feet.

Marnie's only desire was to put her at ease. It was hard for her to witness any kind of suffering, probably because she'd had her own fair share. But Julia was clinging to her, and Marnie didn't know how to comfort her, except to hang on, too. It was so odd. In the enemy's arms, Marnie felt the very real concern of a mother for her child. Julia really did love Alison.

The awareness touched Marnie, but it also stirred guilt about pretending to be the daughter Julia so clearly wanted a relationship with. She was glad to have seen this side of Julia. She wouldn't have guessed it existed, but she didn't want to complicate things by adding to her pain.

Julia pulled back, and Marnie felt a tug of sadness. She wanted something like this, too, a connection with another human being. She missed her grandmother and the comfort that had come from their special bond. This life was lavish, but lonely.

"Sorry," Julia said. Hurriedly, she began to straighten herself, brushing at her hair and rearranging her kimono. She was clearly embarrassed.

Marnie stepped back to give her some room. "Would you like your wine?"

"Yes, please." Julia sat down and took the glass Marnie handed her. When she looked up, she was clearly chagrinned. "That was awkward," she said. "I do apologize."

"Why, for heaven's sake?"

Julia took a deep breath and chased it with a swallow of the wine. She shook her head, as if gathering herself for something. "Let's talk about you, Alison," she said. "Please, while Rebecca's not here. I'm worried."

"Why? What about me?"

"You would tell me if anything was wrong, wouldn't you? You didn't seem at all yourself when you showed up in the kitchen this morning."

"I'm not sleeping well," Marnie said. "It was a bad night."

Julia's gaze was searching. "I know this is going to be hard to hear, but I have to say it. Everyone believed that Andrew tried to kill you, including me. And you can't really blame any of us. There was the accident and the insurance policy, and the two of you weren't getting along. Why were you even out on the seas in that storm?"

Marnie finally understood why Alison and Andrew had been summoned to Sea Clouds. Julia was concerned about her daughter's inheritance, and her son-in-law's motives. And if she believed him capable of attempted murder, then her distrust was profound. It was ground zero for Alison Fairmont and her mother, and Marnie was going to have to rebuild from the ashes. Now. The rebuilding had to start this moment, but sadly, it would all be lies.

"Going for a sail was my idea," she said. "Andrew and I had been having some problems, and I wanted to be on the water. I thought we'd be able to talk there. He warned me about the storm, but I insisted."

It was almost exactly the story Andrew had told her. Not completely lies, then. "Really, everything's all right," she said imploringly. "Drink your wine and let's talk about something else, anything, that silk jersey wrap dress. Did you like it?"

"No, let me finish. I've been trying to find a way to tell you this since you arrived. Sit down, please."

Marnie did, and Julia continued. "You and Bret will each come into a great deal of money when I'm gone," she said, "but Alison, never forget that you're wealthy now. Your grandmother's trust will be yours on your next birthday. It's been carefully managed by Jack Furlinghetti, one of the estate attorneys, and it's worth considerably more than fifty million now. It's important that you're prepared to handle it wisely."

Marnie was stunned. Andrew had said the trust might still be coming to her, but she had figured the family lawyers would find some way around that.

"Of course," Marnie said. "I'm sure Mr. Furlinghetti will advise me."

"I know you're shocked. I can hear it in your voice." Julia twisted her ring. "I wasn't being honest with you last February. I said you'd breached the morals clause by running away, that you'd blown your chance at the trust. I was still angry and wanted to hurt you. I apologize for that."

Marnie nodded, afraid anything she said could give her away. Apparently Andrew knew nothing about this, either. He'd never mentioned it.

"Alison, do not put the money in Andrew's name. Don't commingle it with your joint funds or give him control in any way-"

"Mother, Andrew has his own money."

"How much? Just exactly what does he have?"

"I don't know. We don't discuss it."

"That's what I thought." Her hand closed over Marnie's forearm. "Alison, I can help you. I have the means to get you out of any situation you're in. I have the means to make him go away, just talk to me. Tell me what's he's done, and we can deal with it together."

"He hasn't done anything. Really. Why do you think he has?"

Julia's fingers tightened on Marnie's arm. "You must remember that nasty mess with Regine several years ago. You were there when it happened."

"When what happened?" Marnie was stunned. Julia must mean that Alison had been involved somehow. Was she talking about the love triangle Andrew had alluded to? He'd refused to discuss it with Marnie beyond insisting that Regine's death was an accident.

Julia's eyebrows shot up. "When she drowned at his New York apartment in that ridiculous rooftop pool, of course. The police report said you were there that evening, at the scene."

Marnie knew Alison had moved to New York and that she'd been a source of support to Andrew after Regine's death. The tragedy had actually brought the two of them back together, but Marnie knew nothing about Alison's having been there that night. She wondered how Julia could have known.

"You mean the newspaper, right?" she asked Julia. "How could you have known what was in the police report? They don't make those things public."

Julia drained her wine glass and glanced around as if she wanted a refill.

Marnie snatched the glass away. "Answer me," she said, her voice faint. "How did you know what was in the police report?"

"I hired a detective to check up on Andrew, but only because I wanted to protect you. I was terrified he might try to harm you, too." Julia rifled through her tote bag, pulled out an accordian file and handed it to Marnie. "Here's what the investigator uncovered. I never told you because I was afraid you'd hate me for interfering, but your accident convinced me that I was right about Andrew. Look at it, Alison. Dammit, look."

Reluctantly, Marnie set down the wine glass and took the file. Inside was extensive coverage on nearly every aspect of Andrew's life. She skimmed the reports of his financial and personal history. If the figures were accurate, he had considerable wealth at the time of Regine's death, but that wasn't what Julia wanted her to see, she realized. There were also old newspaper clippings, and one instantly caught Marnie's eye. It was a story about Regine's death with a huge color picture of the young pop star.

According to the caption, the shot was taken at a concert a month prior to the drowning accident. Petite and elegant in a form-fitting gold lame jumpsuit, Regine waved to the crowd. Her ginger-colored hair was pulled tight against her scalp and knotted in a long, swinging ponytail. Huge pink gems sparkled from her earlobes.

"The earrings," Marnie whispered. She touched her own earlobe. She'd actually worn the pink diamonds today for the first time since the reception. She'd been hoping to feel their magic again, but what she felt now was horror. He'd given her his dead fiancee's earrings?

Julia pushed back Marnie's hair for a better look at the earrings. Obviously she hadn't noticed them at the reception. Marnie's hair had covered them that night, too. "When did he give you these?" she demanded. "You know their history, don't you? These are the Villard diamonds. They're cursed."

"I don't believe in curses." Marnie was utterly shaken by the thought of wearing jewelry he'd given to Regine. Why hadn't he told her?

"Read the background information on Andrew," Julia urged. "The earrings belonged to his mother. She was an opera singer, supposedly with great promise, but she died in a freak accident when Andrew was a teenager. He inherited the gems and gave them to Regine-and she died in a freak accident. Now, you've had an accident, too."

And so had the real Alison. Marnie had been given the earrings after the accident, but she couldn't tell Julia. Andrew hadn't said whether he'd given the earrings to Alison before she disappeared, but he'd said she loved to wear diamonds, that she wore them to bed and nothing else.