"Let's take it one step at a time." He turned off the truck and opened his door. "Kate might need help."

She nodded and slid out the driver's side door. Her legs didn't feel strong enough to support her, but she grew stronger and more determined as she went around to help Kate out of the pa.s.senger side. Kate waved away any help and clambered out of the truck with no problem.

Kate glanced toward the house. "You're pale. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Just shaken. This house used to be gray, didn't it?"

Kate's eyes widened. "Not for a long time. I've seen pictures of me on the steps when I was two, and it was gray then. I'm not sure when she painted it, but it's been blue for as long as I can remember. We can ask her."

Claire had never believed in time warps or other dimensions, but when she put her foot on the first stair step, she felt as though she were about to take a walk back through time. She stopped and looked to her right. "Was there a tree swing in that tree once?"

Kate gasped and nodded. "The rope broke when I was swinging in it the summer after I graduated from high school. Uncle Paul said he'd put up a new one, but he never did. You're remembering things, Claire. When I said I thought you were my sister, I didn't believe it myself, but I'm beginning to."

Claire shivered and rubbed at the goose b.u.mps on her arms. "Maybe I just played here with you sometimes. It doesn't mean I'm your sister." She was suddenly eager to get it over with, to talk to Mary Mason and find out more. Either way, she had to know.

Her head high and her legs strong enough to leap fences now, she marched up the steps to the door. "Should you warn her we're out here?"

Kate moved past her to the door and opened it. "No, it's best we surprise her. Maybe she won't try to lie to us."

The muted sound of laughter from a sitcom filtered into the entry. The scent of a blueberry candle lingered in the air. Light flickered from the screen in the dimly lit living room. Her shoes clattering on wood floors, Claire got a vague impression of pale walls as she followed Kate. Luke took her hand, and she laced her cold fingers with his.

They paused in the doorway, and Claire took in the large, pleasant room. A flat-screen TV hung above a fireplace with painted brick. Mary stretched out on an overstuffed blue-and-white plaid sofa perpendicular to the TV. She appeared to be asleep. Several high-back chairs flanked the fireplace. Nothing in this room looked familiar, but the original furniture was likely long gone.

Kate stepped into the room. "Mom."

Mary rubbed her eyes and sat up. "Kate? What are you doing home? I thought they were keeping you overnight. I left your things at the front desk." Her slight gasp indicated she'd seen Claire and Luke standing behind her daughter. "Is something wrong?"

Kate gestured to the chairs. "Have a seat." She moved to sit beside her mother on the sofa. "We have some questions, Mom."

Claire settled into the comfortable chair to the right of the fireplace and glanced at Luke as he sat across from her. She rubbed her icy hands on her slacks. She was cold, so cold, and she trembled all the way through to her spine. She felt as though she were on a cliff about to plunge into a dark, unknown hole. If she found out she was really Rachel Mason, then what? It opened up an entirely new set of questions. Like why?

Mary's lowered lids shuttered the flash of fear in her eyes. "What about?"

"My imaginary friend, Rachel."

Mary's laugh held no real mirth, only uncertainty. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Kate, I thought you'd forgotten about that long ago. You were a preschooler."

"Look at me, Mom." Kate leaned forward. "I was five when she went away, wasn't I? And I think Claire is really Rachel. Dad took her to replace Claire, didn't he?"

Eyes wide, Mary put her hand to her mouth. Only a gasp escaped, and she shook her head.

"Admit it, Mom. We're starting to put two and two together."

Claire clasped her hands together and leaned forward. "I had a blood test done so the DNA will tell us for sure. Denying it now won't gain you anything but a few days. I paid for a two-day turnaround. Please, tell us the truth. Am I Kate's sister? Are you my real mother?"

She choked over the last word. Did she even want to have a different mother? Lisa Dellamare loved her with everything in her. How did she even begin to come to grips with a world so changed? Did she even want to?

She studied the face of the older woman leaning against the back of the sofa so hard that it looked as if she might break it. Emotions warred on Mary's face: longing, fear, maybe even love. Claire read the truth in her face before Mary opened her mouth.

"I'm your daughter, aren't I?" she whispered.

Mary covered her face with her hands and burst into sobs. "I didn't want to do it, but he didn't leave me any choice."

Luke went to stand beside Claire. His hand came down on her shoulder. She shuddered as Mary's words struck home. Her eyes burned. She wouldn't cry. Wasn't this what she wanted-to know the truth?

"My father insisted?" Her voice was hoa.r.s.e, and she sought out Kate and saw tears rolling down her face as well.

Claire had always somehow felt not whole and she'd begged her parents for a sibling. This was why. The two of them had been ripped apart. "Tell me what happened."

THIRTY-SIX.

Had her mother really just confessed to giving Claire away? No, her name was Rachel. Rachel. It would take some getting used to. Maybe Kate should just call her Claire for now.

She watched as Luke grabbed a throw on the back of the chair and draped it around Claire, who was shivering with shock. He was a good man, and while he might not know it yet, he was more than halfway in love with her sister. The knowledge made Kate a little sad. She'd hoped to have her all to herself for a while.

Her mother rose from the sofa and went to look out the window. From here, she appeared to be shaking too. And no wonder. What could have driven her to allow Harry to take her child?

When Mary finally turned back to face them, her shoulders were squared. She licked her lips. "Of the twins, Rachel looked the most like Claire, so that's who he took."

Claire's lips parted and a gasp escaped. "Twins?"

Kate locked gazes with her. "We're twins?"

"Yes. And it's my fault Claire died so your father thought he was well within his rights to demand a replacement."

Kate's lips felt numb. "I don't understand. You murdered a child?"

Mary shook her head violently. She shivered and bent down to straighten a photograph of the two of them that had fallen over on the stand. "It was an accident, but she was still dead." She clasped her hands together in a gesture of entreaty. "I was jealous. There he was at the hotel with his wife and daughter. He didn't have time to take a half-hour boat ride to see me and my girls. He hadn't been to see us in a month. I went to the hotel and waited, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Claire came out of the back when the children were playing hide-and-seek. In a spur-of-the-moment decision that I'll regret forever, I-I took her."

"Didn't she scream?" Luke asked.

"No. I told her that her mom had sent me to get her, that her dad had been in an accident. I hustled her to my car and drove off with her. I'd just thought to scare Harry a little, then I'd take her back." Mom ran her hand through her blond hair and exhaled. "But I didn't know she had asthma."

Asthma. Kate wanted to cling to some kind of hope that her mother wasn't a murderer, but shouldn't she have known about the asthma? Maybe she'd secretly hoped the little girl would die.

Claire clutched the blue throw around her and stood. "Mom mentioned I used to have asthma, and she was glad I outgrew it."

Kate's mother seemed lost in a trance now with her gaze fixed on a spot above the fireplace. "I stopped a few miles from the hotel, and we got out. I was going to try to make sure she wasn't scared, but she ran off. I heard her crying and tried to find her. When I finally tracked her down, she was clutching at her neck trying to breathe. There was nothing I could do to save her." She reached to the lower shelf of the table stand and pulled out a tissue.

Nausea roiled in Kate's stomach as the scene played out in her head. That poor little girl. "Why didn't you take her to the hospital or call the sheriff?"

Her mother shrugged. "I had you girls to raise. What would happen to you if I ended up in jail? I-I called Paul, and he took care of burying her while I went to day care to get you girls. I'm so ashamed of it, but I can't change it."

"You called m-my father?" Claire asked.

Kate's mother shook her head. "I couldn't face him."

Her face flushed and perspiring, Claire shrugged off the throw. "But if Harry didn't know what you did, how did he get me?"

"He figured it out later. He kept looking for Claire, always looking. He wouldn't give up. He found someone who saw me near the hotel that night and confronted me. I was desperate to confess so it wasn't hard to pry the truth out of me. The guilt has eaten me up." She finally went back to the sofa, practically falling into its embrace. The blueberry candle had gone out, and she picked up the lighter. Her hand trembled as she held it over the wick and relit it.

Could she ever feel the same way about her mother after listening to this story? Kate took deep breaths to fight the nausea. What kind of person left a dead little girl unclaimed in the woods? It was heartless. The least she could have done was put her somewhere the body would be found.

Luke guided Claire back to her chair and stood over her protectively. "And your brother made all the arrangements with you to take possession of Rachel, didn't he?"

Mary nodded. "Harry didn't want to be seen here until his little girl was found. He wanted to make sure no one figured out the truth."

"Why didn't he just turn you in once you confessed?" Luke asked.

"His wife." She spat the words and her mouth twisted. "She was in a bad way, and he feared finding Claire's body would totally destroy her. I sent him current pictures since he hadn't seen you both in a year, and he decided Rachel looked the closest to Claire. He promised me Rachel would lack for nothing and that he'd take care of me and you, Kate. But it didn't last. The few times he came back, it was clear he couldn't bear to even look at me. He finally stopped coming when you were ten or so." She looked down at her hands. "Not that I can blame him for that. I can't stand to look at myself in the mirror." She looked up at Kate with a pleading expression. "It was an accident. You forgive me, don't you?"

The cramps in her stomach hit again, and Kate bent over in pain. She wanted to run from this house and never look back.

Luke had Claire wait by the door while he checked out her suite. The pulled-back coverlet revealed crisp white sheets and a square of chocolate. The housekeeper had closed the curtains over the patio doors, but he checked to make sure no one lurked outside. After checking under the bed and in the marble bathroom, he motioned for her to come in.

"You look done in."

"I am." The door clicked shut behind her.

She leaned against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her. The clock at the bedside read ten, and she looked gla.s.sy-eyed with fatigue. It wasn't every day a person found out she'd been sent in as a pinch hitter for a half sister. He couldn't even imagine how she was feeling right now.

He buried his nose in her sweetly scented hair. She relaxed against him with a sigh. Nothing he could say would make it better, but holding her might. When she lifted her face up to his, her lids were half closed. Enticed by the invitation on her face, he bent his head and brushed his lips across hers.

She wound her arms around his neck, and he obeyed her silent urging for a tighter embrace. Her lips were soft and yielding, and he pulled her closer yet. He'd thought to offer a kiss of comfort, but the pa.s.sion sparked between them in a rush of heat.

The ping of caution finally made him lift his head reluctantly. If he didn't let her go now, he wasn't sure he'd be able to. Her eyes were still closed, and he ran his fingers over her lids and down her cheeks, then stroked her lower lip with his thumb. "I could kiss you all night."

She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. "I could let you. I'm not crazy about being alone tonight, but it's too dangerous to let you stay." Pushing her heavy hair out of her face, she dropped her arms from around his neck. "All I can think about is that my real mother gave me away. It makes me feel like I was thrown out with the trash."

"The urge to survive is pretty strong. And I'm sure she thought you'd have a good life, honey. You did too. Love, a nice home, good schooling. You lacked for nothing."

"I didn't have my sister. My twin sister." She stepped away, then wandered over to the door out to the balcony.

He followed her out to cool night air. Lights from a couple of boats glimmered on the water, and more lights at the marina at Folly Shoals lit the darkness along the coast. When she shivered, he draped his arm around her and pulled her into his side. A couple on a lower balcony seemed to be having an argument, and their sharp tones mingled with the rumble of a car turning into the parking lot. Her hair tickled his chin, but he didn't mind as they stood there and looked out on the ocean.

She stiffened and looked up at him. "Luke, we haven't talked about your mother."

"What about her?"

"Your aunt said your mom heard a child crying. That means she heard the real Claire run away f-from Mary. She would have heard that just a few minutes before she died. What if she saw everything and Mary killed her?"

His fingers curled more tightly around her shoulder. "You're saying your mother killed her?"

"Don't call her my mother. She gave me away." She shook her head in a jerky motion. "She conveniently left that off, but someone murdered your mother, and Mary was right there trying to cover her tracks. I think we should go back and talk to her tomorrow. There's more she isn't saying." Covering her mouth, she yawned. "Sorry."

"I'm glad you're sleepy. I'm going to go and let you get some rest." He dropped a chaste kiss on her lips, then stepped back. He locked the balcony door behind them, then moved a table in front of it. "Just as an added precaution. There's a storm coming in tonight too."

"I sleep well in storms." She reached up and brushed a kiss across his cheek. "Will you go with me to Mary's tomorrow?"

"I'll pick you up at nine." Reluctantly, he unlocked the door to the suite and stepped into the hall. "Throw the dead bolt behind me."

"I will." She blew him a kiss.

He hurried down the thick carpeting to the elevator. He didn't want to believe Mary had murdered his mother, but he was beginning to think there were many layers to this story.

THIRTY-SEVEN.

Claire sat on the steps leading down to the water from the hotel. Luke would have a fit if he knew she'd come out here after he left. She'd tried sitting on the balcony, but it wasn't close enough to the sea, her lovely, mesmerizing solace. The moonlight shimmered on the waves, and the sea breeze lifted the strands of her loose hair. A diesel truck lumbered along the access road spewing fumes that blotted out the scent of the ocean.

"Want to walk on the beach with me?" Her father stepped from the shadows by the box shrubs. He had changed into shorts, a rarity, and wore a casual T-shirt.

She rose so quickly that she lost her balance and nearly tumbled down the steep stairs, but he caught her arm. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

"I saw you from our balcony." He offered his arm. "I owe you an apology. Let's walk on the sand."

Could he see her anger, her disappointment? Probably not. The moon wasn't that bright, and the lights were only bright enough to cast dim illumination down the stairs. "Okay."

She barely rested her fingertips on his bare forearm, just enough to steady her down the steps. They didn't speak as they navigated the hillside down to the water. Away from the stench of vehicles she could breathe and think. How did she even begin to tell him all she knew? Luke might have warned her not to be alone with her dad, not after what her father had done, but he'd never given her a reason to fear him.

Her flip-flops slapped against the slabs of granite. Her father's gaze never left her, as if he was waiting for her to make the first move. When she started off toward the pier, he followed, still silent, almost morose.

"Claire."

She stopped and turned to look at him. "I know, Dad. I know my name is really Rachel, though it fits about as well as my toddler-size sneakers."

He reached out blindly for a nearby rock and sank onto it. "Mary told you."

"Yes, but Kate figured it out first. How could you, Dad? How could you let Mom raise me when you knew all along I wasn't hers?"

He swiped his hand over his brow. "Don't say that! You were hers just as much as Claire was. Have either of us ever given you reason to doubt our love?"

"Love built on a lie! What kind of love is that?"