Kate's mother looked down at the floor. "It's hard watching your daughter struggle. But she's going to be all right. We just have to change drugs."

The doctor sighed, a heavy sound that tightened Kate's gut and made her sit up straighter. "What is it? Worse than we expected?"

He rolled his pen between his fingers. "I just don't know what to do next, Kate. We've been through all the normal treatments. I've never seen aplastic anemia so resistant to treatment right out of the gate. I'd like to try a stem-cell transplant, but we haven't found a good donor."

She already knew a transplant offered the hope of an actual cure, but her antigens were rare or something. She didn't totally understand it. "What about my uncle? Mom wasn't a match, but we never did test Uncle Paul."

"Have him come in and we can check him, but your mom is so far off I think it's unlikely your uncle would work."

Her mother gripped her hands together in her lap. "Can't we just try my cells? Maybe they would work."

"No, Mary, I'm sorry. We can't put Kate through that when success is so doubtful. I think for now we'll have to rely on blood transfusion. And pray for the right donor."

I am going to die. Kate struggled to draw in a breath. She had to stay positive and keep the fear at bay. "The more transfusions I have, the less likely it is that a transplant will work, right?"

"Yes." His large hand dropped onto her shoulder, and he squeezed.

She accepted the rea.s.suring touch. "What if I don't find a donor? How long will the transfusions last? How many can I have before we have to give up the idea of a stem-cell transplant?"

"We can put the first one off a few days, but you'll need one very soon. Then you may not need another for weeks, and with any luck, we can find a donor before you have too many transfusions." He looked down at the floor. "But let's check you again in a couple of days, and if the levels drop even a little more, we'll do a transfusion."

The pressure in her chest intensified. "You don't think this is going to work, do you?"

The doctor held her gaze. "I'm going to fight right alongside you, Kate. I want you to hold on to your faith and fight with everything in you. Will you promise me that?"

She nodded, too choked up to answer him verbally. Her gaze sought out her mom's face, and she found resignation there.

Her mother gave a slight nod. "I think we'd better talk to Harry again."

TWENTY-SIX.

Not Claire Dellamare.

"I'm not Claire." The constriction grew in her chest as the sheriff and his deputy stared at her. "Who am I, Luke?"

His fingers pressed her arm. "We don't know much yet, honey. Let's wait for the results of the DNA tests to come back. Maybe the sheriff is wrong about the dental records. After all, you were a child, so there might have been very similar X-rays for another child."

The sheriff loomed over her. "You're grasping at straws." Perspiration dotted his forehead, and he swiped at it, his hand shaking.

Why was he so upset when he'd basically told her that her entire life was a lie? Then she saw the reason for his agitation. Her father's raised voice was enough to scare the little orca right back out to sea. His pants were covered in sand, and his hair stood up on end as though he'd raked his hand through it.

He pointed his finger at the sheriff. "I got your ridiculous message. You can't possibly think I wouldn't know my own daughter! And you think my wife was in on the collusion? Next I suppose you'll say we murdered the real Claire and put someone else in her place. I'm calling my lawyer. I won't stand for this!"

Claire hadn't thought through the implications. Her father was right. If there was one thing she was certain of, it was that her mother would defend her to the death. She might have her own ideas about how Claire's life ought to go, but it was only because she loved her so much. If someone had brought another child to her and insisted she was Claire, her mother would have seen through that in a heartbeat.

The sheriff had to be wrong. The dental records were wrong.

Luke still held her, and she wished she could put her face against his chest and ignore the world. Unfortunately, she would have to bring calm to this chaos.

She brushed the sand from her legs, then pushed her hair out of her face, realizing her hair was nearly dry. Over Luke's shoulder, she saw Francisca was here too. Mom sat on a large rock off to one side of the melee. Her hands covered her face, and her shoulders shook with the ferocity of her sobs. Francisca stood beside her with her hand on Mom's shoulder. Claire caught Francisca's worried gaze and smiled to let her know things would be all right.

"I need to rea.s.sure my mom."

Luke glanced toward the two women. "I'll try to calm your dad. He's about to strangle the sheriff."

"I just might join him." She pressed her lips together and walked across the rocks.

Francisca's hair was still damp as if she'd been called while in the shower, and she wore black workout shorts and a tank. Her anxious gaze lingered on Claire's face. "You're very pale, Claire. I think you'd better sit down."

"Claire?" Her mother dropped her hands and wobbled to her feet. She grasped Claire by the shoulders and pulled her tight against her chest. "Oh, Claire, it's awful what they're saying! Just terrible. The sheriff seems to think we might have killed that poor little girl in the field and had you take her place. Where could he get such an insane idea?"

Claire closed her eyes and inhaled the aroma of her mother's Hermes perfume and coconut body wash. The scent made her wish she could be a little girl and climb into her mother's lap for a good cry. Her back stiffened and she pulled back gently. Nothing could be gained by avoiding this.

"I need to ask you about the day I was returned to you, Mom. I want to be sure in my own head what happened. How did you know it was me? I'd been gone a year. Children change so fast."

Her mother's fingers tightened on Claire's shoulders as though she was going to clutch at her again, then her shoulders sagged and her arms dropped back to the sides of her slim-fitting black sundress. "You'd changed, of course. Grown a bit taller, and you had a Maine accent." Her smile broke out. "It was quite cute, to tell you the truth, but I had to hire a speech therapist to get your accent back to normal."

Claire's mom was a master at changing the subject to avoid a topic that made her uncomfortable, but Claire couldn't afford to let her get off on a tangent. "About my appearance. Was there anything at all that gave you pause? Anything that suggested I might not be your daughter?"

Her mother picked at a nail and didn't look at her. The wind teased wisps of blond hair loose from her French twist. "Nothing important. I knew as soon as I saw your big blue eyes."

Claire glanced at Francisca, who had straightened and widened her eyes. "What did you see that you thought was unimportant?"

Her mother finally looked up with an almost guilty expression. She swiped the hair from her eyes and bit her lip. "It was so minor that it's ludicrous to bring it up now, Claire." She eased back onto the rock and clasped her hands together on her knee. "I really should calm your father down so we can get back to the hotel for dinner."

Claire knelt on the warm sand in front of her mother. "You're not going anywhere until you tell me, Mom. I have to know."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Claire, you'd think it was a matter of life and death." A tinkling laugh came from her pale lips. "Fine, I'll tell you. Your father said things like that can change and grow over, and of course he was right. You had a scar on your right knee from falling off your trike when you were two. It was gone. But scars fade, of course, and you were so young that it made sense. One good thing was that you never had another asthma attack either. I think the cold air healed your lungs in that missing year."

Did scars like that fade? Francisca's face reflected the same doubt that Claire felt rising in her chest.

Moonlight filtered through the open window of her suite, and it was nearly as bright as twilight. Claire knew she ought to get up and close the drapes, but every muscle in her body ached. She moved her bare legs along the soft cotton sheets and buried her face in the sweet-smelling down pillow. She'd dozed off when she first went to bed, but the questions prodded her awake just after one, and her lids refused to stay shut.

She rolled to her stomach and punched her pillow. Prayer would help. She just needed to let go of this burden. While she didn't know for sure who her earthly father was, she knew who her heavenly Father was. That should be enough, shouldn't it?

Lord, calm me. Take this fear and uncertainty away.

Her eyes drifted shut, and she deliberately slowed her breathing. In and out, in and out. Her limbs relaxed, and she smiled at the sense of peace that began to claim her. She let herself remember Luke's smile, the way it flashed in his tanned face. His thick black hair always drew her attention and made her want to put her hands in it. She hadn't dared so far, but she was going to do it as soon as she had the courage.

He made her feel safe and treasured, and when she was in trouble, he always seemed to appear. Was that by G.o.d's design? This was the first time she'd ever felt such a strong connection to a man. When he looked at her, she felt as though he could see right inside, to the deepest secrets she never told anyone. Did he feel that way about her at all? He seemed to seek her out, but was it mere attraction or something deeper?

When the first thump came, she thought she'd knocked a pillow from the bed. Then she heard it again and opened her eyes. Before she could throw the covers off the bed, she saw movement from the corner of her eye-a man in black moving fast toward her. She didn't even get out a scream before a soft pillow came down on her face.

She fought against the hard hands holding her down. Struggling to draw in a breath, she found his wrists and tore at them to no avail. Spots danced in her vision, and she struggled to breathe past the suffocating softness pressed against her face. She had to get him off or she would die. She renewed her attack on his arms, digging her newly gelled nails into his skin.

He growled, and the pressure released slightly. Kicking off the covers, she brought her feet up and kicked him hard in the chest. He reeled back, and the pressure on her face eased. With the pillow off her nose, she coughed and drew in a sweet breath of air. She rolled to the opposite side of the bed and landed on the carpeted floor where she leaped to her feet and grabbed the lamp from the table.

The black ski mask he wore creeped her out. She shrieked a battle cry at the top of her lungs and brought the lamp crashing down on his head. He crumpled to his knees, and she raced for the door. She wrenched it open and tore down the hall toward the elevator. Screams ripped from her throat as she ran, pausing long enough to bang on other suite doors as she went.

She reached the elevator and punched the Down b.u.t.ton, then turned to face her attacker. No one was there. He must be escaping. Did she dare go back to the room to try to identify him? She took a step back toward her room as her father rushed from his suite across the hall.

His blond hair askew and in his favorite blue pajamas, he hurried toward her. "What's wrong, Claire? I heard you scream."

"Someone was in my suite and tried to smother me. Call the sheriff." Though Sheriff Colton was the last person she wanted to see now. Her vision dimmed, and she leaned her head against the wall. "I feel a little woozy. Just give me a minute."

Her mother, still dragging her filmy white robe on over the matching nightgown, rushed from their suite and took Claire's hand. "Honey, are you all right? Harry, call the doctor. She's as cold as ice."

The silky feel of the white negligee encompa.s.sed her as her mother hugged her tight. "I'll be all right. I just need air." Claire dragged in several long breaths until her vision cleared. "Let me up, Mom. I need to see if he's still in there."

One by one, doors opened all down the hall as guests peeked out. Two security men dressed in blue uniforms dashed up the exit stairs. They were both young and beefy, and seeing their bulk and determined expressions, Claire felt safe enough to briskly step toward her door.

"Let me, Ms. D-Dellamare." The tallest security guard sent a sidelong glance her way, and she knew the news of her ident.i.ty had raced through the town.

She lagged back to let him enter before her. The lights flipped on, and she peeked through the doorway into her suite. At first nothing looked disturbed except for the pillow and lamp on the floor, then she saw her easel overturned. "My picture of Jenny's attacker-it's gone!" She stepped closer and saw her sketchpad was gone as well. He'd been here for several reasons, but who was he?

And would he be back to finish the job?

TWENTY-SEVEN.

The sun pushed back the shadows as Kate drove her Volkswagen off the ferry and found a spot in the hotel parking lot. Her hands trembled as she punched the lock b.u.t.ton and shut the driver's door. How did she even begin to tell Claire who she was? Yes, they'd had a pleasant though distant lunch, but how would a young woman of Claire's background react to such a wild statement by a complete stranger?

At least Kate had managed to wash out some of the atrocious red dye from her hair, though it still gleamed like copper in the light of the sun. The aroma of bacon and maple syrup drifted out the windows of the restaurant as she marched toward the hotel's front door. Did she call up to Claire's room and ask her to come down, or should she call her father and give him one more chance?

She brushed by several people checking out and went to sit on the sofa by the fireplace while she considered her options. Stretching out her jean-clad legs, she people-watched for a few minutes while she gathered her courage. It was about nine, so maybe Claire hadn't had breakfast yet. All she had to do was pick up the house phone on the table beside her and ask to be connected to Claire's room, then invite her to come down for breakfast. If it was so simple, though, why did her hands go moist? She wiped her palms on her jeans and picked up the phone.

She stared out the window and listened with half an ear to people talk about the grisly find of a child's bones in a nearby cranberry field.

Claire's voice came over the earpiece. "h.e.l.lo?" Her voice was flat, as though she was depressed.

"Claire? It's Kate. I wondered if maybe you'd want to have breakfast this morning?" A long pause stretched out, and she gripped the phone receiver so tightly her fingers went white. "Claire?"

"Sorry, Kate, it's just been a bad morning. I'm supposed to meet my parents for breakfast. You're welcome to join us."

Kate bit her lip. Did she have the courage to do this? "Of course. I'll get a table. See you in a few minutes." She replaced the receiver and stood. By the time she got a table, Claire and her parents would be down.

"Kate, what are you doing here?"

The familiar male voice made her whirl to face her father as the entry door closed. The scent of fresh air still lingered on him. Dressed in linen shorts and a casual blue shirt that opened at the neck to reveal a patchy bit of white hair, he stood with his feet apart and his hands on his hips.

She straightened and met his gaze with a defiant stare. "Exactly what I told you I was going to do. I'm going to tell Claire who I am. I think she will be happy to know she has a sister. Half sister," she amended when his gaze slid to the side and his face went white. Kate turned to look too.

Claire stood staring at the two of them. She glanced from her father to Kate. "What did you say?" Her blue eyes were shadowed and sad, and she looked pale, as though she hadn't slept well. She wore a pale-pink sundress that showed off her toned arms.

Her father shot Kate a warning glare. "Nothing much. Kate said you're having breakfast."

Claire stepped closer, her high-heeled white sandals slapping against the wood floor. "Dad, don't lie to me. Not anymore. I heard Kate say we were half sisters quite clearly. Is it true? I can't take any more deception." Her voice was low and choked.

Kate eyed Claire's white face. "What's wrong? Has something happened?"

Claire pushed her hair behind her ears. "Apparently I'm not a Dellamare. At least according to some dental records."

"I-I don't understand." Kate glanced from Claire to their father. "Look at us, Claire. We look so much alike." She flipped the ends of her garish hair. "This is dyed. I only did it to hide our resemblance for a while. Your father had an affair with my mother, and I'm the result. I bet if you put our baby pictures side by side, you wouldn't be able to tell us apart. We have the same big blue eyes. And look at the shape of my nose and lips. Isn't it like looking in a mirror?"

Claire's lips flattened and she shook her head. "You are mistaken, Kate. Is that why you cozied up to me in the bathroom? You thought you could get money from Dad with this claim? I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but becoming my friend isn't going to get you anything. He may be your father, but he's not mine. I'm probably going to be out on the street soon."

Harry reached toward her. "Don't be ridiculous, Claire. Of course you're my daughter. This is all going to be sorted out soon. I think we should just go home to Boston and let law enforcement figure out their mistake."

He didn't look at Kate once during his plea. She couldn't take being ignored, not any longer. She plunged her hand into her pocket, brought out her trump card, and held it out. "I have proof, Claire. Here is a picture of me with Harry when I was five. Let's have a little chat with your wife. She might have some questions too. Here she comes."

Claire's chest tightened as she watched her mother approach. Dark circles shadowed Mom's eyes as though she hadn't slept well, but her blond bob was smooth and neat, and the clear turquoise of her top brightened her complexion. The hum of conversation around the hotel lobby made everything seem so normal, and yet it wasn't.

Claire had managed to hold herself together by clinging to the thought that the dental identification might be wrong, but Kate's defiant proclamation brought her to the edge of her control.

Kate stood off to one side. She twisted a lock of hair around one finger and bit her lip. What had she hoped to gain by coming here? Claire knew her father, and he didn't take kindly to being pushed. He could be all smiles while he was guiding his adversary to a cliff.

Claire stepped out to intercept her mother. The hotel lobby wasn't the right place to have a discussion like this. "Hey, Mom, let's get some breakfast." She took her mother's arm and tried to steer her back toward the clink of silverware and the scent of bacon in the breakfast area.

Her mother looked over Claire's shoulder to where Kate stood. "What's going on here?"

"Nothing." Dad smiled at Kate. "Just meeting as planned for breakfast."

Kate clenched her hands together and burst into noisy sobs. "I'm not going away. If you don't tell her, I will."

"Tell me what?" Mom's brows winged up, and she took a step back.

Claire stood frozen as she waited for some sign of what her dad would do. Her mother was one of the most possessive wives she knew, and she would erupt at this news. If it was even true, and Claire wasn't convinced Kate had told the truth. For all she knew, this was some kind of elaborate scheme to get money.

She released her mother's arm, then turned toward Kate. "Let's go talk this out. We don't need to go into this in front of the entire hotel."

Kate shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere. It's time there were no more secrets. Besides, I'm sick. I need help from my biological family."

Life-threatening sick? Claire took in the other woman's sallowness and the way her hands shook. Could she need an organ transplant or just money? Staring at her, Claire saw truth blazing out of Kate's blue eyes. However ludicrous the story seemed, Kate believed it wholeheartedly.