Chapter 1

A cubicle was a depressing place.

There weren’t enough photos of tropical getaways, mountain views, or favorite vacation spots that could possibly begin to make you forget you were crammed into a tiny square of space where the air was stale and that the sun always failed to reach. Taylor Scott reached out and straightened her postcard from Florida and frowned, wishing she were there—or anywhere—right now.

“So, tell me everything you know about Jonathan Wade.”

Taylor knew it was the voice of her senior editor without looking up. “Excuse me?”

Sitting down on the corner of the cluttered desk with a dramatic sigh, Victoria Martin finger-combed her silvered hair behind one ear as she looked down at her youngest reporter. “We just received an exclusive invitation to interview Jonathan Wade! Can you believe it?”

Honestly, Taylor couldn’t. “So…do you need me to pull up some file footage on him or something?”

Leaning forward, Victoria smiled like the Cheshire Cat. “He has requested that you, and only you, do the honors.”

That got Taylor’s attention. Her head snapped up as she pulled off her glasses. “Me?” she squeaked as she looked around to see if Victoria could be addressing one of her coworkers. They all appeared to be staring at their computers and listening to music as they went about their tasks. “Jonathan Wade wants me to interview him?”

“Exactly,” Victoria said with a hint of exasperation. “Now, tell me everything you know about him.” She straightened on her perch, crossed her arms over her chest, and waited for a response.

“I’m afraid I don’t know much, Vic,” Taylor stated as she made herself more comfortable in the squeaky leather chair. “He’s a bestselling mystery writer. His books have been topping the New York Times bestseller list for over five years, they’re loved and admired by men, women, and even teenagers. The movie adaptation of his first book, Midnight’s Obsession, is due out in theaters early next year and is already gaining Oscar buzz. He’s won several literary awards—which he never accepts in person—and he’s a recluse.”

“Recluse is putting it mildly, Taylor. No one even knows what the man looks like! There’s no telling if he’s young, old, married… Nothing. His agent and publisher have been most understanding about not putting his face on the book jackets.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and looked down at Taylor. “If it were me and I were his agent, I might have gone along with the whole thing in the beginning, but I don’t know how they’re able to keep it up—especially with the movie coming out!” She shook her head in disgust. “They claim it adds to the ‘mystery of the mystery.’ Whatever the hell that means.”

Victoria was a brilliant editor and mentor, but irony just seemed to escape her at times. Taylor looked up at her expectantly. She’d known her boss long enough to know she wasn’t done with this discussion.

Pushing a stack of papers aside, Victoria leaned forward again on Taylor’s desk and narrowed her hazel eyes. “So how do you know him, Tay?”

“What? I don’t! Why…? What would make you even think that?”

“You mean to tell me a world-famous reclusive author wants a relative newcomer to the field of journalism, who works for a little-known magazine, to get the exclusive interview of the century?” It wasn’t like Victoria to be so sarcastic, but right now her voice very nearly dripped with it.

Taylor stared back and shrugged. “Look, believe what you want, but I have no idea who this man is. I don’t have a clue why he wants me for this piece, but I guess I’ll do it.”

“Of course you will, Taylor. Don’t be ridiculous,” Victoria stated in her authoritative boss voice. “The concessions for the interview rights are a little demanding, but I guess when you are offering this kind of story—and it’s exclusive to us—you can ask for whatever you want.” Taylor arched a brow, intrigued. “He wants you to meet him up in Maine on his farm. According to the request he sent, it’s in a place called Mechanic Falls. Ever heard of it?”

Taylor shook her head. “No.” Sitting up straighter in her chair, she turned to her laptop and began furiously typing to get her search started.

“Anyway, his agent will be sending you directions once you sign a confidentiality agreement.” Taylor’s only response was to nod as she continued her online search. “He wants the interview done over a two-week period. You may take pictures, but you will have to be the photographer—no other staff is permitted to go with you.”

Looking up from her screen, Taylor hesitated. “I don’t know how much I like this, Vic.” Uncertainty rang out in her voice. “For starters, I am certainly no photographer and—”

“This is the opportunity of a lifetime, Taylor. Don’t think, just do!”

“Oh, sure, that’s easy for you to say! You’re not the one going off to some tiny town where no one knows where you are or who you’re with! No one knows what he looks like, and yet I’m not supposed to think about it!” She stood abruptly and began to pace in her tiny square of office space. “I mean, honestly, I’m twenty-eight years old and work for Newslink magazine. I know what goes on in the world, and I know what kind of freaks are out there. How do we know this request is legit and not from some man who molests women or a crazed ax murderer or something?”

“Geez, Taylor, ease up on the drama, will you? Our legal people are hammering everything out to ensure your safety as well as Mr. Wade’s privacy.” Victoria stood and placed her hands on Taylor’s shoulders. “You are a very lucky young woman, Taylor. This kind of story this early in your career could mean big things for your future.” She released Taylor and walked toward her office, turning to look into the cubicle one last time. “It could be your ticket out of this tiny magazine and on to Time or Newsweek. Think about it.”

Oh, Taylor would think about it, all right. In fact, she had a feeling she wasn’t going to be doing anything but thinking about it. Sinking back in her chair, Taylor rubbed at her temples. Just thinking about it now was giving her a headache. Sure, it was the opportunity of a lifetime for someone in her position, but at the same time, it was scary as hell to take that leap.

What if she wasn’t up for the challenge? What if she wasn’t as good a journalist as she thought she was? Could she honestly deal with that kind of criticism and rejection on such a grand scale? Because there was no doubt this story was going be seen and read internationally. This one story was going to put Newslink—and her—on the map. Would her career survive if her story was deemed horribly written? Would she end up working in a mail room somewhere and that would be the closest she came to working in an office ever again?

Headache.

Migraine.

Nausea.

Opening her desk drawer, she bypassed the Advil and grabbed the antacids. Popping several as if they were Pez, she chewed and contemplated all the ways this could go south for her. Her writing could be ripped apart, Jonathan Wade could be a boring or uncooperative subject, her camera could break and she’d have no pictures—on and on her mind spun with negative scenarios.

“Okay, stop it,” she muttered as she reached for the Advil. Shaking off the negative thoughts, Taylor grabbed her pad and pen and began making notes on the town of Mechanic Falls—size: eleven square miles, population: thirty-two hundred per the last census, blah, blah, blah. It sounded like the perfect place for a recluse to live. Too bad she couldn’t get information on the type of farm he owned or the size of it. Taking a chance, she went to the online white pages and typed in “Wade.” No listings. Not surprising. Like no one’s ever thought of that one before, she thought with disgust.

Discouraged, she tossed her pen down and put her head in her hands. There was the very real possibility Wade was a pen name. Authors did that all the time.

“Think, Taylor, think,” she muttered to herself. A Google search proved to be another dead end, with nothing more than the barest of information—all of which she already had. Even by page ten in the search, she couldn’t find one bit of new information. Standing, she stretched. “Clearly this is not the way to go.” She walked over to the tiny kitchen area and got herself a glass of water before going back to her cubicle to pace. If anyone thought there was something wrong, they didn’t mention it. Her coworkers were going about their days as if she wasn’t even there—as if the fact that what could possibly be the story of the decade hadn’t just been dropped into her lap.

Pulling out her chair, Taylor sat down and took a different approach. “His catalog,” she said softly. “I’ve got to get my hands on all the books he’s written. Maybe there’s a clue in them as to who Jonathan Wade is.” A quick search had her filling her e-reader with the dozen titles that were available. “Hmm, maybe audiobooks would be a better—and faster—way to go. Then I can listen to them while I take notes…” The idea had merit and left her excited that she’d be able to get so much done while doing her research. She was familiar with Wade’s books—she’d even read a few—but for the most part, she didn’t spend what little free time she had reading. Her work kept her so busy with research and writing that the last thing she wanted to do in her downtime was look at more words.

Living in New York City gave her so much to do to fill her time. She jogged, she biked—her favorite form of stress relief—and walking around the city left her with endless inspiration for stories to write. She was always able to get a good grip on her subjects before she sat down with them, to form the kind of questions that engaged her subjects, and they were impressed with her advance work. Taylor had a sinking feeling she was going to come off sounding like a babbling idiot to Jonathan Wade simply because she was walking in there blind. It made her pretty uncomfortable. She didn’t like being at such a disadvantage.

Staring at her reading list, Taylor tried to form her first opinion of the author. An image of an older man—probably in his sixties—with graying hair and a serious expression popped into her mind and wouldn’t budge. It fit. For the types of mysteries he wrote, Taylor thought he must have lived a fairly full life from which to get his ideas.

Standing again, she stretched her tired muscles—too much biking the day before—and headed down the wide hallway toward Victoria’s office to find out when this mystery assignment was supposed to begin.

“You didn’t mention when I’m expected up in Maine,” she said as she breezed into her boss’s office. Victoria was finishing a phone call and held up a hand for Taylor to give her a minute. Looking around the room, Taylor envisioned having a big office to herself someday. No more cubicles. This particular office wasn’t her style—a lot of black lacquer and chrome, with no warm colors or comfortable, overstuffed furniture.

She was so lost in her observations she didn’t notice Victoria’s phone call had ended until she was standing directly in front of Taylor. “Well, he wanted you up there immediately, but I put him off for a few days so you’d have time to cram. You’re expected on the farm Friday afternoon. I know it means working over the weekend, but I didn’t think you’d mind. The top brass have agreed to fly you up to Maine—business class—and pay for a rental car, if you’d like.”

Taylor was floored by the offer. The management of the little-known magazine was notoriously tight with money and expense accounts. That they were willing to splurge made her feel as if she was finally being taken seriously.

“I guess it would probably be for the best. I’m sure the drive up there would be wonderful, but I don’t think my ratty old Jeep would make the trip.”

“I thought you got rid of that? It costs more to park it than it’s worth.”

So true, Taylor thought. “I’ve got it parked at a friend’s place on Long Island. When I go out to visit, it’s nice to have a car of my own to drive.”

“Honestly, Taylor, once this piece comes out, you can junk that vehicle and move up in the world! Buy a vehicle from this decade, for crying out loud!” Victoria was beginning to get excited about the whole thing. Taylor only wished she could match her enthusiasm.

“That remains to be seen,” she stated levelly. “Do we have any kind of schedule yet? Have we gotten an outline of how this is all supposed to go?”

Victoria reached for a stack of papers on her desk before turning back and handing them to Taylor. “Legal is looking over the contracts, but this stuff here only pertains to you.”

Taylor hesitantly took the papers. “What do you mean?”

Victoria gave a small shrug. “These cover things like how many hours a day you’ll have access to Mr. Wade, your accommodations at the farm, and the parameters for the questions.”

Taylor quickly scanned the documents. “Wait a minute,” she said and homed in on one particular item. “It says here that for the first week I’m not going to have access to Wade at all.” She looked up at Victoria in confusion. “What is the point of being there if I’m not going to be allowed to talk to him?”

“Yeah, I saw that too. He’s out of the country doing research for his next book.” She shrugged it off. “It looks like you’ll be doing a lot of preliminary stuff with his assistant.”

What little wind Taylor had in her sails over this assignment quickly left her. She collapsed into one of Victoria’s uncomfortable chairs and sighed. “Well, that just sucks.”

Taking pity on her, Victoria sat down beside her and took one of Taylor’s hands in her own. “Look, I know it’s not perfect, but you’re looking at it the wrong way.”

“Wrong way?” Taylor repeated with exasperation. “How can I be looking at it the wrong way? I’m expected to go to a place I’ve never heard of, to interview a person no one has ever seen, and to be away from home to work on an interview for two weeks when I’ll only have access to my subject for one of them! I’m getting less and less comfortable with this interview the more I find out.”

“I know it’s not ideal—”

“That’s an understatement.”

“But the assistant could be a wealth of information.”

“Or she could be there to blow smoke up my butt for seven days.” Taylor wondered if maybe she would be able to bond with the woman over manicures and pedicures or chick flicks and ice cream…the types of situations where women normally got together to talk, relax, and generally gripe about life. That could totally work.

“He.”

“What?” Taylor asked.

“He. Jonathan Wade’s assistant is a man.”

Great. There went her momentary splash of inspiration of having a little girl-time to fish for information. With her luck, the assistant was probably older than what she imagined Wade to be and was more like a stuffy, formal butler. She immediately began scanning the documents again for some sort of information on the assistant—something, anything!

“Michael James Greene Jr.,” she read aloud. “Well, that doesn’t tell me much.”

“What were you expecting?” Victoria asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just—” Stopping, a slow smile spread across Taylor’s face.

“What? What are you smiling about?”

Another shrug. “I used to know a Mike Greene.” She paused. “It was a long time ago and I haven’t talked to him in years, but…what are the odds of it being the same guy?”

“Pretty slim. After all, it’s a fairly common name.”

“I suppose. Still, it’s kind of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

Victoria didn’t seem fazed either way. “Wade’s traveling and wants the prelim stuff done before he gets there.”

Maybe now was the time to voice her concerns before negotiations went any further. “Look, Vic, I know you’re super excited about this assignment, and I’m aware that it’s a huge honor that Jonathan Wade has asked for me specifically, but—”

“No,” Victoria interrupted. “There is no ‘but’ here. Yes, this is a little unconventional, and yes, it’s a little weird to be going so far into the unknown, but think about all you stand to gain from this! You’re getting the interview with the man everyone wants to interview! He could have gone to Katie Couric, he could have called Oprah…but he didn’t. He wants you for this project! Can you honestly stand here and tell me you’re going to walk away from that kind of opportunity? Do you really want to be known as the person who walked away from the chance of a lifetime?”

“Do you realize this could all backfire?” Taylor shot back. “This guy could be a total freak! His assistant could be a total freak! You’re sending me to a farm in the middle of nowhere with two guys who no one knows! I think I have every right to be a little bit skittish about the whole thing. I want someone else with me. A photographer, a bodyguard…somebody!”

Taylor was growing more and more frantic with every word she said and clearly Victoria knew she needed to act quickly to get Taylor to calm down. “Okay, okay, okay…” she soothed. “I see your point and I don’t want you to worry about it. Let me talk with legal and with Wade’s people and see what we can do, okay?”

Taylor was fairly shaking, but she agreed and stood on unsteady legs. “Okay. If it’s all right with you, I’m going to head out of the office. Grab some fresh air and maybe something to eat. I’ve downloaded all of Wade’s books so I can listen to them while I do my research and go about my day.”

“That’s very clever,” Victoria said, speaking carefully so she wouldn’t spook Taylor more than she already was.

“I wish I had my bike with me,” Taylor said, more to herself than to her boss. “A good ride would go a long way to help me relax and come to grips with this assignment.”

Inspiration struck. Victoria came up beside Taylor and put her arm around her. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Go home, grab your bike, and go for a ride. It will be good for you.”

“But…?”

“Taylor, this is an important assignment and I’ve already gotten approval to let you know that if you need to work from home until you leave, that would be okay. Just check in and keep me posted on how it’s going and how we can help. Okay?”

Nodding, Taylor considered the offer. “And you’ll get someone to go with me?”

“As soon as you leave, I’ll get on the phone to try to make it happen.”

The fact that it was a long shot was left unspoken. “Sure. Okay.” Taylor stepped away from Victoria. “Vic?” The older woman stopped to consider her. “I won’t let you down. I know this is a big deal, and I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed by it all. But I promise to do my best to make the magazine proud.”

* * *

As soon as Taylor stepped out of the building, she felt like she was able to breathe for the first time in an hour. Her day had started off relatively boring—as did most days—and never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined the turn of events that took place today.

Why her?

Why now?

All around her, people were walking and going about their business. Didn’t they see she was spinning out of control? That the biggest celebrity interview was just dropped in her lap and rather than feeling privileged and honored, she wanted to run and hide? Obviously not, judging by the way no one even glanced in her direction.

Damn city.

Taylor didn’t live far from the office, but today the short walk gave her time to think and plot and plan her strategy for this assignment. She felt so far out of her league and yet invigorated at the thought of this being the piece that helped her break out.

As she walked along the crowded streets, her mind raced with different angles to approach her subject—and then convinced herself they all sucked. She second-guessed everything she thought up, and by the time she was walking through the front door of her building, she was exhausted. She climbed the four floors to her apartment and quickly closed the door behind her before sinking to the floor.

What had she agreed to?

How was she going to make it work?

What if her story wasn’t good?

On and on the questions swirled in her mind until her headache grew from dull pain to full-blown pounding.

Trying to push her depressing thoughts aside, Taylor wondered where the confident girl of eighteen had gone. She had started college with all the confidence in the world—she was going to win awards with her stories and be the darling of journalism. She almost snorted at that thought now. Darling of journalism?

After all her years of studying and writing and researching, she had some success in her career—yet still she felt inadequate. Maybe that was why this assignment was weighing like a boulder around her neck. Why would someone as gifted and sought-after as Jonathan Wade want her for such an anticipated piece? Surely all the major television networks as well as the mainstream news publications would be better suited for a man of his caliber.

Ah…that had to be it. Because of who he was and the life he’d led, maybe he still didn’t want the glare of the media on him too strongly. A well-known journalist would bring a lot of publicity in their wake. Maybe Taylor was a safe entry back into the world without complete loss of privacy through overexposure. That had to be it.

Relaxing a bit, Taylor recalled what she did know about Jonathan Wade’s writing.

All his books had a recurring theme—his hero-slash-detective was not quite the same caliber as James Bond, but was compelling and handsome just the same. He attracted women as Bond does, but Jonathan Wade’s detective was constantly searching—no, aching—for the one woman who got away.

His description of this elusive woman struck a particular chord with Taylor. Maybe it was her own ego talking, but the woman’s physical description almost fit her perfectly. From the blond hair and aquamarine eyes to the height…why, the woman in all the books even had a birthmark on the small of her back like Taylor did! It was an eerie coincidence.

Surely that’s all it was, right? Honestly, Taylor wasn’t conceited enough to believe she was the only blue-eyed blond on the planet with a birthmark, was she? Still, when she read or listened to his stories, she’d mentally placed herself there, in the arms of the hero. The woman of his fantasies.

How awesome would that be? If such a thing were even possible. As far as she knew, Taylor had never been anyone’s fantasy—and she had the dating track record to show for it. So for a little while, as she prepared for her trip, she allowed herself to slip into the world Jonathan Wade had created and pretended there was at least someone out there who pined for her.

Too bad he was fictional.

What must that be like—to be the object of one man’s fantasies? To know there was a man out there who was consumed with thoughts of you and who would move heaven and earth if he could, just to be with you. Did such a love even exist? It had never happened for her, and with thirty quickly approaching, she feared it never would.