she was flaunting Johnny’s mother’s ring. It was a cheap little ring, but unmistakable, with sapphires in the shape of the old anchor logo. Madison had given it to his first wife, then to his son after she died.
One by one, Serena considered all the facts, like pieces of a puzzle and they all fitted into place.
Johnny was alive. And, judging by the conversation she’d overheard between Paige Reynolds and Sally, he had a daughter.
Six years old in May, the little blonde had said. That would put the child’s conception at about the time of Johnny’s rebellious summer bumming around the French Quarter, right after Serena had married his father.
Serena drew on her cigarette. That would make Johnny’s child older than her son. Another heir to dilute the fortune that was rightfully hers. She still hated Madison for refusing to change his will, which named Johnny or his progeny as primary heir to the Yarbrough fortune. But she’d gotten rid of the barriers to Madison Yarbrough’s fortune once, and she could do it again.
She’d taken care of that little problem and now she was in control. She planned to stay in control.
She watched as the young woman worked her way through the crowd toward the door. She nodded in satisfaction.
It was annoying that her stepson had cheated death. But now that Serena knew…
Draining her champagne glass and dropping the half-smoked cigarette into it, Serena pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed a number.
“I have an urgent job for you,” she said quietly, stepping out onto the balcony for privacy. “Well, get out of bed and get down to the office. I have a test case for the new tracking technology.”
As soon as she finished her call, she went looking for Sally. She needed every scrap of information Sally possessed on the artist and on Paige Reynolds.
The promise little Sue Ann Lynch had made to herself the day she ran away from the shabby trailer park and changed her name still festered inside her.
She would never be poor again.
The money was hers. Right now three people stood in her way: Johnny, his child, and the child’s mother.
They all had to die.
DURING THE CAB RIDE HOME, Paige stared out the car window as the dark, colorful streets of New Orleans streaked by. A familiar ache started in the back of her throat, building until it felt like a pair of hands choking her.
It had been seven years since Johnny had walked out of her apartment and her life, over three years since he’d been declared dead, and still she missed him.
She pulled her long braid over her shoulder and played with the ends, her unseeing gaze on the streets outside.
When she’d seen the sketch, for an instant she’d been plunged back into the past, to the time when she still believed Johnny loved her and would come back for her. When she’d been sure she would never end up alone and pregnant like her mother.
The day she’d found out she was pregnant she’d vowed she would keep her daughter, no matter what she had to do.
She knew the pain of abandonment—the hollow, terrifying fear of having no one. Katie would never spend one day frightened and alone, not if Paige were alive to prevent it. She would give her life to keep her daughter safe.
Paige shook her head and tried to concentrate on the awful music from the cabbie’s radio, but her brain wouldn’t let go of the past. She recalled the day six years before when she’d happened to glance at the society page, the day she’d found out who Johnny really was.
He was the son of shipping magnate, Madison Yarbrough, heir to a fortune so vast she couldn’t even imagine it. His family was the Yarbroughs.
Staring at a photograph of Johnny and his father captioned “Son Follows In Father’s Footsteps,” Paige had finally seen her worst nightmare come true.
He had never cared about her or intended to marry her. Their whole relationship had been a lie. He’d just been a rich kid slumming. She’d imagined all sorts of horrible reasons he hadn’t come back for her, but she’d never even considered the simplest one.
He hadn’t wanted to.
Then three years later, she’d seen his photograph in the paper again. This time it was the sensational story of his kidnapping played out on TV. She’d waited with the rest of the city, suffered along with his father, until the police found the bloodstained car and concluded that John Andrew Yarbrough was dead.
Now her daughter was six years old, and Paige had struggled and sacrificed to create a good life for the two of them. A safe, steady life.
No odd coincidence of a drawing with a familiar signature could change that. There had to be another explanation.
Maybe someone had unearthed one of Johnny’s old sketches and either unconsciously or deliberately copied the style and the signature. That would explain the recent date.
As bizarre as that idea was, it was easier for Paige to believe than the alternative…that Johnny wasn’t dead at all. That he was alive and well, living his privileged life and selling sketches of their intimate moments as a lark.
She stirred as the cab stopped in front of her apartment.
As she paid the driver, a car door opened at the curb and a small figure dressed in very long jeans and a very short top got out. It was Katie’s baby-sitter.
The teenager’s painted eyes were wide under her short straight hair. “Ms. Reynolds, I was just—”
Concern about Katie sharpened Paige’s voice. “Dawn? What’s going on here?” She looked toward her apartment. The front door was ajar.
Dawn pouted. “I was just…saying good-night to my boyfriend.”
Paige grabbed the girl’s arm. “Where is Katie?”
Dawn looked at her with eyes wide. “She’s right inside. She’s asleep.”
Paige tightened her grip on the girl’s arm. “You never, ever leave a child alone. Don’t you know that? Not for an instant.” She was so angry and worried that her voice shook.
“Katie’s asleep, Ms. Reynolds,” Dawn said in a small voice. “She’s fine. I was only out here for a minute.”
Rooting in her purse Paige found some bills. “Here. Have your boyfriend take you home.”
As she ran toward the door, she called back to the girl. “I will be talking to your mother, Dawn.”
Telling herself she was overreacting, but unable to shake her unease, Paige pushed the door open.
The first thing she saw was the phone lying in the middle of the living room floor, its torn cord twisted and raw, like the innards of a dead snake. She stared at it for a second, her brain not processing what she was seeing.
Katie!
She ran through the tiny hallway to Katie’s room. “Katie?” she whispered.
