for that matter.
Unfortunately, Reyes volunteered at the Family Center—the treatment facility and organization for victims and survivors of substance abuse that Mari Kavanaugh had opened last year. Liam had learned from experience that his sister would likely be in a bad mood on Wednesday evenings, since Eric worked at the center on Wednesday afternoons.
“What’d the prince of physicians do this time to get your knickers in a twist?” Liam asked.
“He trumped me with one of my clients.”
Liam whistled under his breath. Colleen and Liam were close. They were only fifteen months apart in age, and they’d gone through a lot together as the two youngest Kavanaugh children. He could easily tell his sister was on a low boil at the moment, and he knew why. Colleen fought like a lioness for her clients. If he cared two cents about Eric Reyes, he’d actually feel sorry for the idiot for stepping into her clinical territory.
“I can put up with his cocky attitude. I have put up with it. But if he thinks he can mess with my clients or my course of treatment, he’s got another think coming,” Colleen said.
“Seems as if the Reyes family is stepping up the feud a tad.”
Colleen glanced at him sharply. “What do you mean?”
“I had a strange request for a meeting yesterday.”
“From who?”
“Natalie Reyes.”
Colleen’s aquamarine eyes went wide. “What in the world did she want?”
Liam glanced warily at the screen door, worried his mother might overhear. When he heard the distant clatter of a dish in the kitchen, he spoke in a low voice, giving Colleen the major details of his meeting with Natalie. She stared at him, obviously as stunned as he’d been.
“I don’t understand,” Colleen said when he’d finished his explanation. “What does she hope to accomplish by having someone investigate the crash—you, of all people? It happened sixteen years ago.”
“You’re telling me?” Liam asked wryly. “I was blown away when she said it.”
“What was Natalie like?” Colleen asked curiously, after a moment. “She’s so quiet. I’ve lived in Harbor Town for most of my adult life, but I’ve only caught glimpses of her in the distance. She works in that office downtown, but she’s practically a recluse.”
“She might be the solitary type,” Liam muttered, “but she’s every bit as annoying as her brother. She’s a block of ice.”
“And…”
“What?” Liam asked. He was confused by his sister’s manner—intense but hesitant at once.
“How bad was the scarring?”
Liam just stared at her. When Colleen took in his expression, she clarified. “On her face. It was in all the papers and news following the crash. Don’t you remember? The left side of her face was…” Colleen sighed sadly and began to rock back and forth on the swing. “They had photos of her in the papers. She was a beautiful little girl before the crash. That’s what a fair portion of Dad’s estate went toward. The judge ordered it for Natalie’s reconstructive surgery and compen-sation…if the surgery didn’t work.”
Liam blinked. Suddenly Natalie’s tendency to hide in the shadows made perfect sense. He didn’t want to believe it, for some reason, didn’t want to even consider what his sister had just said.
His mother had sequestered Liam and Colleen—her two youngest children—in Chicago after the crash, where the media clamor had been muted. He recalled few details from that gray, grief-filled time. They’d stayed in Chicago until Brigit had lost their family home in the lawsuit, and they’d relocated permanently to the vacation home in Harbor Town. By that time, the sensationalized reports in the news had tapered off, even if the memories and sometimes harsh judgments of the townspeople hadn’t.
“Liam?” Colleen prompted when he didn’t speak.
“I never saw any scars,” Liam replied hoarsely.
Colleen shook her head so that a portion of her long, thick hair fell from the twist on her head and coiled down her shoulder. “I’m not really sure what Natalie’s intentions were, but I do know it’s not uncommon for a trauma survivor to feel a need to make sense of what happened to them. Natalie Reyes was the only one who lived through that accident, after all,” Colleen said.
She sighed and kicked on the floor of the porch, sending the swing into squeaky motion. “If she struck you as cold, I’d imagine she comes by her aloofness honestly.”
The muscles in Natalie’s left eye began to twitch under the constant strain. She placed her hand over the scarred portion of the eyelid and pressed gently, trying to alleviate the familiar discomfort. Shutting the folder on the monthly financial reports for the Silver Dunes Country Club, she glanced at the clock. It was going on nine. She wasn’t tired, but her damn eye was, and that meant her work day was over whether she liked it or not.
A sigh of relief leaked between her lips when she flipped her desk lamp to the dimmest setting.
She started at the sudden sound of a knock on the door, her hand falling to the desk. When the loud rapping resumed after a pause, she stood.
Who in the world was knocking? It was about the time Erma often began her night cleaning, but Erma had her own keys. Perhaps she’d forgotten them?
She hurried through the dark, silent waiting room, seeing a tall figure through the frosted glass of the front door. The outline was definitely not that of her short, stout cleaning lady. She hesitated before she flipped the lock.
“Who is it?”
“Liam Kavanaugh.”
Her hand moved clumsily as she fumbled with the lock. Why had he come back? Over the past forty-eight hours, she’d come to terms with the fact that she’d handled their meeting the other night all wrong. Natalie was only used to dealing with people in the cut-and-dried language of business and numbers. She didn’t have much of a social life. Of course she had a few friends, like Mari Kavanaugh, and she and her brother, Eric, were very close.
But she wasn’t “good” with people. And she had little experience in dealing with a man like Liam Kavanaugh.
Strike that. She had no experience in dealing with a man like Liam.
“Hello,” she said breathlessly after she’d swung open the door. A distant streetlight allowed her to see him. He stood on the sidewalk wearing a dark blue T-shirt and pair of faded, worn jeans that looked as if they’d been tailor-made for his body. All the Kavanaugh children had been natural athletes, Natalie recalled. Something about Liam’s balanced stance and long, lean frame reminded her of that.
Twilight made it difficult for her to read his expression, but she saw the gleam of his eyes beneath his lowered brow.
“Can we talk for a minute?” he asked.
She nodded. Even if he’d come here to castigate her more for her request, he was here. She’d have the opportunity to explain herself
