she hadn’t moved back, would Mike Parisi be dead now? Sam wondered if that was a question Kara had asked herself, one she’d been running from that night when she’d landed in his arms.
Susanna set her cup down after the tiniest of sips. “Sam, I understand you were at the opening of the Gordon Temple exhibit a couple of weeks ago. You’ve been so busy, I haven’t had a chance to talk to you about it. Mum and Dad are thrilled to have him at the gallery. Jack and I couldn’t make it to the opening. He’s an incredible artist, isn’t he?”
Sam shrugged. “The paintings looked fine to me. I don’t know that much about art.”
“My mother said you didn’t stay long. They’re curious because you two have the same last name.”
Jack shifted in his chair. “I wondered about that, too. Sam, you’re part Native American. This guy’s Cherokee. He used to live in San Antonio. What’s the story?”
“No story.”
It was a true answer, if not a complete one. Sam had known for the past five years that Gordon Temple was his father. Biologically. He had never had a real father. His mother, an elementary-school art teacher in a poor section of San Antonio, had finally told him the truth when Gordon’s fame was on the rise. Sam had already known his mother and Gordon were briefly married when they were both twenty. Gordon left after a year. Loretta Temple said she never expected him to stay. He was a nomad, an artist who needed his freedom. It was a rationalization, maybe, but Sam didn’t resent her for it—she wasn’t the one who’d left. She didn’t find out she was pregnant until a month after Gordon Temple had withdrawn from her life. She thought it would be easier on him, and ultimately their child, if she said nothing and didn’t tempt him to come back.
Thirty-five years later, she admitted she wasn’t sure she’d made the right decision in not putting a father’s name on her son’s birth certificate, but it had been the only choice she’d felt she could make at the time.
No, no story, Sam thought. Just a string of simple facts.
Susanna fingered the delicate handle of her espresso cup. “Did you run into Kara at the opening? I understand she didn’t stay long, either. She got the call about Governor Parisi’s death and left quickly. Mum didn’t realize what was going on at the time or she’d have made sure she was all right.” Susanna fixed her vivid green eyes on Sam. “I hate to think of Kara dealing with such a terrible shock all alone.”
Sam sipped his espresso, which was very hot and very strong, and offered no comment. This explained the invitation to dinner. Susanna was suspicious of what had happened at the opening, but she would be. She was convinced women fell all over him. It happened, but not every time—and it hadn’t happened with Kara. Her grief and shock had more to do with their night together than any attraction to him. But Sam couldn’t be sure his preoccupation with Gordon Temple hadn’t affected his own judgment.
Jack shook his head, finished with his espresso. “You following this governor’s death?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I can’t get Kara to talk about it. She’s buried herself in her work. She went up to Connecticut for the funeral. The new governor’s a friend, as well—Kara’s godmother to her children. They flew back with her to go to a kids’ dude ranch.”
“We sent Maggie and Ellen to a dude ranch that one time, remember? Ellen loved it, Maggie thought it was hell on earth—”
But Jack was not to be distracted. “I don’t like reading my sister’s name in the paper in conjunction with the unexplained death of a governor. At least she was in Austin and not up there when Parisi drowned. I’d hate to see her get involved in something like that.”
Sam understood Jack’s reaction, but decided it wasn’t his place to bring up Zoe West’s call checking Kara’s story. Let Kara tell her brother two weeks after the fact that she was one of the few who knew Mike Parisi couldn’t swim.
“Dad!”
The panic in Ellen’s voice instantly brought Jack to his feet, Sam a half beat behind him. Susanna rose unsteadily, grabbing the back of her chair, her dark hair catching the glow of the white dinner candles. Her face was pale, as if she were back on that day six months ago with her daughters at the mercy of a killer.
Jack caught Ellen by the shoulders in the doorway, strands of dark hair matted to her cheeks. Her breathing was shallow, rapid. “Dad, it’s Aunt Kara. Something’s wrong—”
Jack swore and pushed past her into the family room, but somehow Sam reached Kara first. She was standing, ashen-faced, Maggie Galway at her side. Sam managed not to touch her, but she clutched his upper arm, her fingers digging into his flesh, her dark eyes wide. “Sam…”
“Kara,” Jack said sharply. “What the hell’s going on?”
She shifted her gaze, focusing on her brother. “Henry and Lillian Stockwell are missing.” Kara took in a breath, obviously trying to calm herself, but she maintained her death grip on Sam’s arm. “They took off from the dude ranch late this afternoon. At first everyone thought they were hiding somewhere, or misunderstood instructions—”
“The ranch is about an hour from here,” Sam said.
Jack nodded. “These kids are what, twelve?”
“Henry’s twelve, Lillian’s eleven.” Kara’s voice was tight with fear. “Allyson called me a few minutes after I left work. I was south of town, anyway, meeting friends. I decided to head straight here, in case you’d heard anything.”
“We haven’t,” Susanna said gently. “Kara, why don’t you sit down? Tell us what you know.”
She seemed to give herself a mental shake, some color returning high in her cheeks. She released her grip on Sam. “I held it together all the way down here and sort of fell apart when I walked in the door.” She brushed her hand through her hair, pulling out the turquoise comb she’d worn the night of the opening. She gave no sign she remembered him taking it out of her hair. She cleared her throat. “I’m sure they’re fine.”
Sam glanced at Jack. “The two preteen kids of the governor of Connecticut on their own in Texas—I don’t like it.”
“Sit,” Jack told his sister, firmly but gently. “Catch your breath. Tell us everything. Goddamnit, I was just saying I didn’t like any of this business.”
Ellen started for the kitchen. “I’ll get her a glass of water.”
“Come on, Aunt Kara,” Maggie said, taking her aunt’s hand and pulling her onto the couch beside her. Maggie had her mother’s build and her father’s temperament, her Dunning grandparents’ creative flair. She was wearing one of her bizarre outfits, a vintage loud-striped dress from the 1960s and turquoise sneakers. “It’ll be okay. Ellen and I ran away once. Mom, Dad, you remember, don’t you? We were going to take a bus to Hollywood, but we got hungry and came home.”
Sam didn’t share her optimism, possibly because of Zoe West’s call. Susanna smiled reassuringly. “Maggie has a point. Kids don’t usually run off for long. It’s barely nightfall now—”
Kara nodded, calmer. “Allyson said someone would call me if they turn up. There’s still time.”
Jack grunted. “How the hell could this dude ranch lose two kids? Did they have the same schedule?”
