"You can't possibly tell her the truth. It would break her heart."

"I can't live a lie, Dad! You can't ask that of me."

"I've never asked you for anything. All I've done is give, Claire." When she opened her mouth, he fixed her with a fierce glare. "You are Claire. A name doesn't change who you are. So what if you were first called Rachel? People change their names all the time. Who you are doesn't change, and your mother and I love you for all things you are-not for a name."

Pity clutched her chest when his eyes glimmered with moisture. He seemed older, beaten down in a way she'd never seen. Her eyes burned, and she longed to go to him and hug him. To tell him she'd do whatever he asked, but the cost was too great.

She took a step closer. "I think you should tell Mom."

"I can't." His shoulders slumped, and he hung his head.

"She already knows I'm not Claire. She needs to know who I really am."

He jumped to his feet and shook his finger at her. "You think she won't turn her back on you if she knows? On me and our marriage? Do you want to send her back to that mental hospital? You're judging me, and you don't know what it was like back then for her, for me. You are still my daughter. I knew she could love you, and it would bring her out of that dark place where she lived. Surely you don't want her to go back there."

That stopped her. Could she risk sending her mother over the edge? "Of course I don't want to hurt her, but I'm not Claire. I'm Rachel." Something in her recoiled every time she said her real name. When would it begin to feel natural? Never?

He started back toward the steps. "Think it over, Claire. Don't ruin all our lives for some idea that truth is the only thing that ever matters. Truth can destroy, too, and if your mother dies, it's all on your head."

She watched the shadows swallow him up until the sound of his footfalls couldn't be separated from the roar of the waves. Part of her wanted to run after him and rea.s.sure him, but she couldn't. She didn't know how it would end.

The sound of the surf rolled around her in an embrace. Would her mother ever hold her again? And what about Grandma? Did she know about this?

"Very touching," said a male voice behind her.

Then the sound of the sea merged with a roaring in her ears, and her world went dark.

Kate barely closed her eyes all night. Every time she tried, she saw her mother's face and heard the way she tried to excuse her actions. She got out of bed and reached for her phone as the sun began to slant its beams across her pale oak floors. Claire didn't answer so she left a message, then Kate pulled on her jeans and a gray T-shirt. Who knew how long she had with her sister before she left town, and she wanted to make the most of every moment.

It was all she could do to occupy herself until nearly nine when she took the ferry from Summer Harbor over to the hotel and hurried to Claire's suite. The wide hall was empty when she knocked on the door. Though she tried several times, Claire never answered. She waited at least five minutes, then knocked again with the same result.

"No answer?" Luke spoke from behind her. "I was supposed to pick her up at nine." He stepped past her and rapped on the door. "Claire?" He pounded on the door with his fist. "Claire, are you all right?"

Palpable tension rolled off Luke. The muscles in his arm flexed as he pounded again. "Something's wrong. I'm going to call security to let me in. Wait here." He jogged toward the elevator and entered it.

Could Claire be lying in there unconscious? Or worse?

A door on the other side of the hall opened, and her father stepped out. He almost did an about-face when he saw her. His lips flattened, and he quickly pulled the door shut behind him. "What are you doing here?" The strong scent of his cologne, obviously expensive, drifted toward her. The smell brought back memories that made her heart stutter.

"Claire isn't answering her door. Luke was here too, and they were supposed to meet at nine. He went to get security in case something is wrong. Do you happen to have a key card to her room?"

"Of course not."

The torment in his eyes made her turn away. "We'll just wait for Luke and security, then."

His feet shuffled on the dark-blue carpet. "Why did you have to meddle? You've ruined my life."

The wobble in his voice caught Kate off guard. She didn't want to feel pity for the man who had abandoned her, for the monster who had torn her twin sister from her, but compa.s.sion stirred anyway. "How do you think I feel knowing all you've done to destroy my family? Claire-Rachel-should have been by my side all my life, and we've lost twenty-five years together. She was my twin. You don't rip twins apart like that."

He made a dismissive motion with his right hand, and the heavy gold ring on his finger flashed in the light of the sconces on the walls. "She had a much better life."

"Even if that's true, what gave you the right to do it?"

His blue eyes, so like her own and Claire's, opened wide as if he couldn't believe she dared to talk back to him. He tugged at the collar of his Ralph Lauren shirt. "A father's right. I wanted what was best for her."

That hurt, but she managed not to wince. "Oh, and it didn't matter about me? If it was all about your care for your children, you would have taken us both. Mom said you checked us out to see which one looked most like Claire. You just wanted a subst.i.tute, and it didn't matter how it would affect her or me. Or Mom either, for that matter."

"You think I care if your mother suffered a little after what she did?"

"It was an accident!" How on earth was she even defending what her mother had done? Yet she couldn't stand by and let his plat.i.tudes be the last word.

His door opened and Lisa, dressed in white slacks and a red ruffled top, stood swaying in the doorway. Her face was nearly as washed out as her pants. Her tortured gaze went to Kate, then to her husband. "Harry." Tears ran down her cheeks. "I just knew there was something you weren't telling me." She rubbed her hands on the sides of her capris. "Claire is really this girl's twin? Still your daughter but s-she belongs to Mary." She spat Kate's mother's name like it was a bitter taste in her mouth.

His hand out, Harry took a step toward his wife. "Lisa, let me explain."

She held her hands out in front of her. "Don't touch me."

"Lisa, you are my everything. I did it all for you."

"You did it for yourself. Don't lie to me. I never want to see you again. Your things will be outside this door in half an hour. Hand over your key." She held out her hand, and he slowly reached into his shirt pocket for the key card. Her fingers closed around it. "You'll be hearing from my attorney." She slammed the door.

THIRTY-EIGHT.

The guard's hooded eyes said he'd been up all night, but his movements were quick and precise as he pulled out his key card.

"Open it," Luke said.

The gray-suited security guard slipped in his card and pushed open the door. "Ms. Dellamare?"

Luke pushed past him. "Claire?"

Kate and Harry followed, though they didn't look at one another. He'd sensed the tension between them the second he'd gotten back, but that was the least of his worries. They could work it out for themselves.

He glanced at the bed, still turned down for the night with the chocolate on the pillow, and he fisted his hands. "Her bed hasn't been slept in." Fear choked him. "I left her here at ten last night, and she locked the door behind me."

Arms hanging limply at his sides, Harry stood in the middle of the carpeted room. "She went out later. I found her sitting on the steps looking out at the water. We went for a walk along the sh.o.r.e, and she told me she'd found out she was Kate's twin. W-We had words, and I came back to the hotel."

"You left her there alone? Where?"

"Near the sandbar."

He knew the tombolo area. "You knew she'd been attacked. How could you just walk away and leave her unprotected?"

The guard stepped between them with his hands up. "Everyone, calm down." He turned to Harry. "Do you want me to call the sheriff, Mr. Dellamare? It's clear she never came back last night."

"Yes, yes, call the sheriff. Tell him to spare no expense. I'm going to call in a private investigator too." He turned on his heel and rushed out of the room. "I must tell Lisa."

Good riddance to him and his expensive brown loafers and his hundred-dollar haircut. He seemed to think money and power were the answers to everything. He glanced around. "Do you see her cell phone anywhere?"

"I'll check the bathroom." Kate hurried through the door and returned a few moments later. "Not in there."

"Not anywhere in here either," the guard said.

She'd been missing close to twelve hours. And he knew in his gut that she wouldn't just walk away from the problems here. And she wouldn't leave what was developing between them without a word. The tenderness between them last night had kept him tossing and turning in his bed. This was the forever kind of thing.

"Do you have any security footage?" he asked the guard.

The guard turned toward the door. "This way." He led them to a service elevator that opened into the bowels of the hotel bas.e.m.e.nt with fluorescent lighting that buzzed. A ten-by-ten room in the far corner held banks of equipment. The guard fiddled with the computer for a few moments, then the screen lit up.

They watched people coming and going outside. "There she is," Kate said. "She left with Harry."

"Let's check the outside camera." The guard maneuvered the mouse and pulled up the other footage. "There they are again."

They watched father and daughter walk toward the cliff steps and out of the camera's view.

Luke turned toward the door. "I'm going down to the water's edge." He and Kate ran for the elevator.

When they reached the ocean rocks, he saw only several male tourists dressed in loud shirts and sporting white legs beneath their shorts. He took off running for the tombolo. His legs pumped hard in the uneven sand, kicking up gritty particles that stung the back of his legs. The surf was high today, washing kelp and seaweed onto the sandy rocks before ebbing out to rage back with fresh fury. Had she been carried off by a rogue wave? No, she was ocean savvy. She'd know better than to turn her back to the sea.

He shaded his eyes and looked up and down the coastline. Was that a drag mark off the rocks and into the bushes? He pointed it out to Kate, and she ran ahead of him to push aside the brambles and dig through the thin soil.

When she turned with a pink-covered iPhone in her hand, his gut clenched. "That's Claire's."

"I know." Kate bit her lip and looked down. "And look here. I think she lay here awhile. The cell phone was in the deepest part of it. There are big footprints here too."

Luke knelt and examined the indentation in the sand. It could have been the depression where Claire lay for a while. Drag marks continued on for six feet, then the footprints went deeper as if someone had carried her out of here. He prayed that meant she wasn't dead, but there was no guarantee of that. Someone had killed Jenny very near here, then disposed of her body.

He stood and looked down the coastline to where the land curved into the Sunset Cove harbor. Sailboats and motorboats bobbed in their moorings. "I think I need to check the cave where we found Jenny's body."

Kate, her blue eyes wide and shadowed, clutched his arm. "You don't think . . .?"

"Pray," he told her.

"I have been. Can I go with you?"

"I'd like you to check in with the sheriff and show him what we found. Give him the cell phone and let him check it for prints. I think it fell out of her pocket when she was dragged over here, but we can't be sure."

She nodded and pulled out her own phone. "What's your number?" When he rattled it off to her, she punched it into her phone. "I'll call you after I talk to the sheriff. If you get to the cave first, call me and let me know what you find."

He nodded and headed for his boat. A sick feeling lodged in the pit of his stomach, and he prayed G.o.d would keep Claire safe until he could find her. Lightning flickered in the dark sky. The promised storm was here.

Dribbles of water in her face made Claire gasp and crack her eyes open a slit. Her head pounded, especially a spot in the back. Nausea roiled when she touched the goose egg. She became aware of a rocking sensation that made her dizzy, too dizzy to want to open her eyes all the way. Gulls squawked and more raindrops. .h.i.t her cheeks. The stench of gasoline added to her upset stomach.

She was in a boat.

She forced her eyes open, wincing as the daggers of light jabbed at her. Where was she? Her left hand touched what felt like a tarp, and a dull rumble under the boards indicated an engine powered the craft toward its destination. Her memory flooded back. She'd been down at the beach at night, and someone hit her on the head from behind. It was daylight now so she must have been unconscious for some hours.

Her hands and feet were free and unbound, but she'd been attacked. The sharp taste of fear lingered on her tongue along with a sickeningly sweet chemical taste. Ether? The b.u.mp on her head wouldn't have kept her unconscious so long.

Fighting dizziness, she struggled to a seated position, then got on her hands and knees before managing to stagger to her feet. She grasped the side of the boat to keep from falling back down to the deck. She searched her pocket for her cell phone, but it was missing. She had to get help somehow, but she couldn't think past the panic welling in her chest.

The vessel was a lobster trawler, with about a forty-foot beam. She was on the top deck, and the Bimini top wasn't up, which was why the cold rain continued to ping down on her. Looking out on the horizon, she saw no sign of land. Only the heaving sea.

Her gut clenched, and she grabbed the metal rail in a white-knuckled grip as she struggled not to vomit. They were heading due east. Toward Canada or open water? Was he meeting up with another boat out here, or did he intend to dispose of her body far from sh.o.r.e?

He is going to kill me. She had to find a weapon. No one could help her.

Clinging tightly to the rail, she descended the steps. She entered the back of the bridge. The man seated at the helm didn't turn, but she didn't have to see his face to recognize the neat ears and rough, dark hair.

It was the man she'd painted, the one she saw over and over in her nightmares.

Her tongue didn't want to work at first so she tried again and managed to choke out a few words, though she wanted to turn and run. "Who are you?"

He turned then, revealing a rather handsome face. His salt-and-pepper hair and his tanned, leathery skin made her guess his age at about fifty. His arms were ropy with muscles, so she'd have a hard time overpowering him and getting the boat turned around.

"You're awake." He rose and stretched. "I thought I had more time." His feet were bare, and he wore navy shorts and a white T-shirt.

She glanced around for a weapon but saw nothing. "Where are we?"

"About ten miles off from Folly Shoals." His face betrayed no emotion as he looked her over.

Something clicked in her head as she looked at him. The family resemblance was obvious in his eyes and the tilt of his mouth. "You're my mother's brother, Paul. The one who buried Claire."

He reached over to cut the engine. The sudden cessation of the throb under her feet was as loud as a bomb. "Very good. You were smart even at four." He took a step toward her.

Was that regret in his eyes? She backed up. "If you kill me, there's one more murder added to your list. I already redid the painting, and there are posters of it up all over the area. Someone will recognize you."

He balled his hands into fists. "I kept hoping you'd shut up and go away, but you kept poking and poking. I have no choice. My sister will give me an alibi for your disappearance, and I can talk my way out of just about anything."

"Jenny was going to turn you in, wasn't she? That's what the letter she sent the sheriff was about. She couldn't bring herself to report you directly but hoped implicating me would bring out the truth. So you killed her."

"There's no evidence tying me to Jenny. Especially with you gone."

Dizziness. .h.i.t her hard, and she reached out a hand to steady herself. Images flashed through her consciousness, a.s.saulting her like bricks. Horsey rides on his back, a sandbox he'd built for her and Kate, candy he'd bring to them.

And in an instant, she remembered it all.

The trees reached k.n.o.bby hands for her. Rachel rubbed her eyes and tried not to cry. Her daddy said only babies cried. But Uncle Paul promised to take her fishing. She loved going out on the boat with him. She'd gotten all ready, and then he'd said no, he was going to check his traps. When he walked off and left her and Kate with the babysitter, she'd followed, determined not to be left behind.

Now she wished she'd stayed with Kate. She wanted to be back home in her bedroom with the covers over her head, not here in these dark woods.