the soap opera producers would take one look at the pictures of her with the baby and write them both into the script—mother and daughter. Her exceptionally gorgeous baby girl was just the gimmick she’d always needed to break into show business big-time.
And once she did, she’d have the means to solve her other problems, too. The one that had been driving her nuts lately was the need for a baby-sitter. The crying, the smelly diapers, the continual demand for attention were more than she could take. She’d originally intended to bring Arianne with her to New York right away, but after a hellish time on the road, she’d decided to leave Arianne with Kate, then come back for her after she made the all-important contacts and found a place to live near the studios.
Being free for a while felt good. Who knew mothering would be so difficult? She’d thought it would be an adventure…a new, exciting phase in her life. Movies and television had made motherhood seem so desirable. So…easy. And while her ex and his family had been around to help, it hadn’t seemed too difficult.
But the weeks since she’d struck out on her own had been torture. She supposed it wouldn’t have been as bad if she hadn’t lost all her money at poker. She’d had to take a singing gig in Atlanta, which hadn’t paid enough for her to hire a baby-sitter and recoup her losses. She’d brought the baby to the club with her every evening until the manager put an end to it…and to Camryn’s job.
She wasn’t about to let Mitch know she needed help, though.
Give me full custody of her, Cam. Arianne would be better off.
Her hand clenched the steering wheel and she fumbled to light a cigarette. Flicking her gold lighter with a vengeance, she tossed her heavy blond hair over one shoulder and leaned toward the flame. Her professionally manicured nails shimmered crimson in the flickering light; her jeweled rings and bracelets flashed. She drew in a biting lungful of smoke.
She’d be damned if she’d give up her rights in their joint-custody arrangement. In fact, when she had more money, she’d take him to court for full custody. Arianne was her ticket to stardom. But she couldn’t let Mitch know about her plans, of course, until contracts were signed with the television producers. Otherwise, he’d try to stop her.
Mitch was touchy when it came to Arianne. He’d made a big deal out of every mistake. Like when Camryn had taken the baby to New Orleans one night. If she’d known the crowd in the French Quarter would grow wild, she wouldn’t have had all those margaritas. Even so, she’d been perfectly capable of handling the situation…except for the bail money, which, admittedly, Mitch had to bring. The public drunkenness charge had been so unfair.
And then there was the time she’d left Arianne in the car while she placed a few quick bets at a casino. The security guard had called the phone number listed on the car’s registration. Mitch had answered…then blew the whole incident way out of proportion. He told her that he would start proceedings to take her custody rights away from her.
She changed the phone number and address on the car’s registration information the very next day. Mitch and she were divorced, damn it. What she did or where she went was none of his business. Later, after she’d left town in the dead of night with Arianne, she’d traded that car—her beloved ’Vette—for the Mustang in Birmingham. She hoped the switch would stop Mitch from tracking her down.
He might not appreciate her style of parenting, but she was still Arianne’s mother. She had sacrificed her flawless figure and several months of her singing career to bring her into this world. For a few of those months, she’d even given up drinking and smoking. Or most of it, anyway. The baby was hers, and she’d take her wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted.
She wondered how Mitch had reacted to finding them gone. He was probably furious.
Served him right. He’d changed drastically from the first few weeks she’d known him. They’d had great times together at the start. But then she got pregnant, and he insisted she marry him. And all the fun stopped. He no longer tried to please her. All he cared about was the baby. Oh, and his precious shrimp boats.
Well, that was where he’d made his mistake. If he didn’t care about pleasing her, he wasn’t going to have his daughter.
Besides, she had plans for Arianne. Big plans. She and Arianne were going to be television stars. Then she’d have money to hire a full-time nanny, as well as a powerful attorney to represent her in a custody hearing.
Feeling empowered, she took the next curve faster, leaning with the wheel to keep the car on the road. The effort won her a dark thrill. Things were definitely looking up.
She hoped Kate wouldn’t be too angry that she’d left the baby with her. Kate had already been upset that Camryn hadn’t contacted her about her marriage or the birth of her daughter. In a way, Kate herself was to blame for Camryn’s failure to call her. She was always telling Camryn what to do. Even when they were growing up in the Tallahassee Methodist Children’s Home, Kate had tried to run the show. She had such strong views on “what’s best.” Few people had the strength to swim against that particular tide. She’d wear a person down before he knew the fight had even begun.
Like when she persuaded Camryn’s first husband to turn himself in and serve out his sentence for insurance fraud. Or when she talked her second husband into admitting he was sleeping around. Could anyone blame her for hesitating to tell Kate about her third marriage?
She hadn’t even mentioned to Mitch that she had a sister, let alone an identical twin, for fear that if they met, Kate would complicate matters. Camryn had been careful not to tell Kate much about Mitch, either…especially that he’d been granted joint custody. She might feel obligated to contact him.
Disturbed at the thought, Camryn pressed harder on the gas and took the curve in the slick, two-lane highway a little faster than she’d intended. The tires hydroplaned, and she fought to keep the BMW from fishtailing into the woods. Fear heated her insides. Her mouth filled with an acrid taste. Exhilaration gunned through her. Aah, what a rush!
She was feeling alive again! She wanted to celebrate. Maybe she’d stop at a convenience store for a wine cooler.
The next curve in the road came quicker than she expected, though, and she veered across the center line. She barely had time to focus on the oncoming headlights before her world spun…and screeched…and rolled…
And ended in thunderous conflagration.
CHAPTER ONE
Terrebonne Parish, Louisiana
July 4
THE CALL CAME during the Fourth of July crawfish boil in his parents’ front yard on the bayou. The cell phone in his shirt pocket rang, and Mitch’s heart paused.
No one but the detective would call him on this phone. The captains and crew members of his shrimp boats didn’t know the number; they always contacted him by the radio he wore on his belt. So did his neighbors on the swamp. It had to be Chuck Arceneaux, the investigator he’d hired. And if the call wasn’t urgent, Chuck would have left a message on his home answering machine.
The adults at the long picnic table fell silent, their gazes shifting to Mitch. They knew the significance of that ringing cell phone. His brawny, apron-clad father turned from the simmering crawfish kettle to watch him in sober expectation. His mother froze in the act of ladling jambalaya from a huge serving bowl, her eyes widening with hope and fear. The children seemed to sense the sudden tension, and all but the youngest of his nieces, nephews
