“Are you sure you don’t mind leaving already?” Fiona asked as Brad draped the wrap over her shoulders. All of a sudden, she was cold.

Chilled to the bone.

Oh, Gideon.

It had been all she could do to stop the angry tears before Brad—or someone else—noticed them.

“Not at all. I was ready to go too.” He flashed a smile at her as they stepped out to his Jaguar.

Fiona settled into her seat, her heart still hammering with anger and her veins still jumping.

How dare that stiff-assed lawyer tell her he was in love with her when he was planning to marry someone else?

What did he want—a wife, a child, and a palmist on the side for when he was ready for some fun?

True, he didn’t look as though he was having fun. In fact, he’d looked down right miserable. But that wasn’t her fault, and there was nothing she could or would do about it. He’d made his bed, and so on.

“I still want to stop by the shop to see if my wallet’s there—I know it’s down in Wicks Hollow, but I’ll feel better once I check.”

“Oh, right.” Fiona had forgotten about that detour. She settled back in her seat and closed her eyes in an effort to relax, already looking forward to slipping into bed and having a good cry. She’d planned to go back to her apartment tonight, but with the detour to Wicks Hollow, she’d probably just stay at Ethan’s.

It was after ten o’clock, and Violet Way was deserted of people and vehicles, as the tourist season was well past and the autumn night was chill and dark.

Fiona dug the keys from her handbag, wondering with a spur of apprehension whether The Lamp—Gretchen’s Lamp—would be playing any tricks tonight. It had never done so when anyone else was with her in the shop, but tonight had been so full of upheaval and surprises that she rather expected something else crazy to happen.

The little bell jingled when she opened the door, and she stepped over immediately to disarm the security system. After punching her code into the keypad, she turned on the closest lamp and watched as Brad walked toward the middle of the half-lit shop.

“Don’t turn on any more lights,” he said, turning to face her.

“What? How are you going to find your—” Fiona’s mouth stopped when she saw the gun pointing at her.

The gun in his hand.

“Brad?” Her stomach squeezed and she couldn’t catch a breath.

“We don’t need any more lights on in here.”

His face had shifted into a mask that Fiona barely recognized. Even in the half-light, she read his expression: ugly and determined. “What’s going on? Why do you have a gun pointed at me, Brad?”

“I tried to do it the easy way, Fiona. Really I did. But nothing seemed to work out right.”

She didn’t know whether she should move or just stand there. That pale glint of metal pointing at her didn’t help her focus on her choices…all it did was freeze her mind.

“What are you talking about? You don’t need the gun for anything. I’ll help you.” Fiona kept her voice calm and soothing as her brain began to function. “This won’t be good for your political career, you know,” she said reasonably.

“I tried to find it on my own…the stuff that Valente left. But you’ve hidden it so well that I couldn’t.” His words rambled and the tone of his voice sounded surprised and confused.

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t hidden anything—”

“What is this about hidden drawers? You found hidden drawers in here, didn’t you? What was in them?” He moved toward her, lurching as though his legs had numbed. The gun stayed steady, focused at her. “I heard you tell that old lady tonight. Where are they?”

Fiona’s heart stopped as Brad grabbed her arm, pulling her closer as he aimed the gun at her middle.

“If you would tell me what it is you’re looking for, I’ll help you to find it.” She tried to keep her voice calm and steady as she frantically searched for a way to escape this horror.

But his fingers dug into her upper arm and he gave a rough jerk—unexpected and sharp, so that her head snapped back and forward, leaving her disoriented and dizzy.

“Valente had secrets, you know…you must know what they are, or he would never have left this shop to you. It has to be here. Now show me the hidden drawers.”

With a vicious shove, he thrust her away from him and she slammed hip-first into the edge of a table, then stumbled and tripped on her gown, tumbling to the floor. A lamp on the table teetered, then fell off the table, landing with a crash next to her. Fiona began to pull herself up as he came to stand over her, his stance threatening as he pointed the gun two inches from her forehead.

“Now. Show me the hidden drawers.”

Her throat was too dry to swallow, though she tried. Her fingers were numb with cold and fear, and she could barely make them move to clutch the table for support as she staggered to her feet. Her hip stung from ramming the edge of the top, and she’d ground her knee into a shard of glass as she struggled to stand.

“There’s a—a drawer in that big desk over there.” Fiona kept her voice steady and cool, despite the reality that had begun to set in.

Brad Forth was a political figure, completely in the public eye. He had a gun, and he wasn’t about to let anything ruin his career, now that he’d won.

Fiona was suddenly, sickeningly certain he had no intention of letting her tell the tale of what happened here tonight—once he found what he was looking for. She was going to conveniently disappear.

Just like Gretchen had.

“Valente was a criminal, you know, Fiona.” His words became conversational, now that it appeared that she was going to comply. “He was a horrible man. And ugly one. His real name was Kremer…Josef Kremer. Ever heard of him?”

Fiona gasped in spite of herself. “He was Josef Kremer? The Nazi war criminal?” She gaped at Bradley, who seemed to relish the moment of her shock. “Valente?”

“My great-uncle…yes, and his father too, who was one of Hitler’s elite. They were infamous, notorious anti-Semites.” He laughed darkly, then prodded her with the gun. “The drawers please.”

She limped toward the back of the store. That explained why Valente had been blackmailed about the whereabouts of Josef Kremer. He hadn’t killed Kremer—he was Kremer. He couldn’t let anyone learn his true identity.

“Look, I’m not going to tell about your great-uncle,” she told him, pausing to turn and look back. “I don’t really care. No one really cares anymo—”

“Get going!” He shoved her again, and she fell forward again, this time flat on her cut knee, her palms slapping onto the floor. They stung and the sharp pain zipped up her arms. “I’m tired of you playing games with me—you pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, playing hard to get, toying with me…Well, tonight I’m going to take care of you and my uncle once and for all….no more waiting, no more games. Tonight, I’m in charge.”

* * *

Gideon could still hardly believe it.

He was free…free of an obligation that had torn at him, pulled at him, for weeks.

It had been an ugly moment with Rachel.

An ugly, mortifying situation when he’d realized—belatedly, and only after having made a complete ass out of himself—how much of an ass he’d actually been all along.

To Rachel and to Fiona.

But now, thanks to a woman with too much sense and pride to settle for his half-assed decision to marry her—he was set free.

He would make Fiona take him back. He loved her; he knew she loved him.

He hoped she loved him.

A dark worry clouded his moment of elation. What if she didn’t?

What would he do then?

He’d fight for her—and be damned if he’d spend the rest of his life looking for a more “suitable” woman.

Fiona was the only one for him…despite her quirky ways and off-the-beat habits, he’d found what he needed. She’d brought fun and spontaneity into his life, and she’d even forced him to look beyond hiding his sketches in a drawer.

His dad was right, Gideon reflected, pacing as he waited for the valet to bring his car.

Damn Gid. First time in his entire life, Gideon’s father had actually acted like a father and given him something worthwhile to think about.

“Gideon?”

He turned to see Iva standing there. She had a sort of arrested look on her face. “Your grandfather and I are leaving now—just waiting for him to bring up the car. I…thought I just saw Rachel climbing into a car. To leave.”

Unspoken were the words: without you.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Is everything all right?” Iva said. “With the two of you?”

He sighed, loosening the tie at his throat. “I suppose it depends who you ask. We’ve broken off our engagement.”

Iva did a very poor job of hiding the elation that leapt into her eyes, but her voice was calm and properly sympathetic. “I see.” She waited a beat before continuing, “I never had the chance to tell you that I admired you for walking away from something you really wanted in order to do what you thought was your duty—as misguided as I thought you were…”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you walked away from Fiona to do what you thought you should do. Needed to do. You put—again, misguidedly—someone else’s needs before your own, and in many ways that’s very admirable. But…what kind of man would you have been without Fiona in your life? Now you have the chance—”

“Fiona dumped me before I even had the opportunity to talk with her about the situation with Rachel.” He should have been feeling elated, relieved, and giddy…but it was more of a desolation that crept over him.

“Oh, Gideon. That was self-defense. Pure self-defense. She had to dump you before you walked away from her—that way she would be the one left standing. You scared the hell out of her, and when she saw you acting all mopey, she knew the writing was on the wall.”

“Maybe.”

“She cares about you deeply, Gideon,” Iva said as his grandfather’s sleek Mercedes pulled up at the curb. “Everything will work out all right. Call her.”

* * *

Fiona’s fingers shook as she fumbled the spring on the hidden drawer to show Bradley, who bent close enough that his fading cologne nauseated her. She’d never be able to smell Blue Water again without wanting to puke.

If she lived to smell anything again.

“There’s nothing in here,” he growled, jabbing her shoulder with the gun. “Where’s the journal? The bank book?”

His eyes darted about like fleas, hopping from Fiona to the desk to the gun. “Where are they?”

He yanked her to her feet and she tripped over the hem of her gown, staggering into him. He pushed her away and she fell again, the weight of her piled-up hair sagging to one side.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bradley. I haven’t seen anything like that, I swear it.” Panic began to dart through her, muzzing her brain and numbing her face. The man was insane.

“I know he left them for you. There must be another hiding place. Get up…unless you want to take a break?” His sudden leer transformed his eyes from glassy to intent. “You’ve been teasing me for months…if you want to take a break to make that up to me right now, I certainly wouldn’t mind that.” His expression was lascivious as he stood over her, gun aimed at her head, one hand on the fastening of his trousers.

Fiona pushed back the surge of nausea. She looked up at him, braced by her hands behind her on the floor, sprawled in a pool of sequined gown. Now her intense reaction to reading his palm made sense. Somehow tonight, his growing desperation had come past the mask he’d worn for months.

Brad stepped closer, one foot planting on the material of her gown, holding it—and her—in place. “We’ll have a little bit of fun, then we’ll get back to work. I’m sure by that time, you’ll be much more accommodating.” He laughed, and it was nothing like the polite, gentle chuckles she’d heard from his politician persona. This was a deep, roiling, nasty laugh.

What had happened to change him so quickly from the polite, debonair politician to this half-mad, leering person?

All at once her attention was drawn to The Lamp where it sat on the walnut desk behind Bradley. It glowed a soft color and then went out abruptly. An idea crystallized in Fiona’s mind.

“I think you should know—there’s a ghost here,” she told him, making her eyes wide and fearful. “Gretchen’s ghost.”

He laughed again. “Don’t be frightened, my dear. You’ve been wanting this for months.” He bent toward her, menace in his eyes, and suddenly there was a loud crash.

Fiona, who’d half been expecting something, started, but Bradley jolted as though he’d been pushed. He whirled around to look beyond the desk, into the darkness, where the sound had come from.

Just then, The Lamp came on, glowing whiter and brighter than Fiona had ever seen it.

“What the he—” Bradley’s words choked off when a palpable chill filtered through the air—sudden, subtle, but unmistakable. “What kind of game are you playing here?” He whirled back to Fiona, brandishing the gun, swinging it sharply toward her.

She staggered to her feet just as the gun smashed into her temple.

Pain exploded, and everything went black.