Why oh why had she agreed to this?

Fiona scowled at herself in the tall oval mirror and adjusted her sparkling, bronze-colored gown. It brushed the floor and hugged each one of her curves from throat to hip in a shimmering display.

Her shoulders and back were bare, but the gown was high-necked with a choker-like collar that made her look even taller than she was. With her hair piled high on the top of her head, she looked like she imagined a Greek goddess would look, especially if she were a statue cast in new copper.

She leaned forward to brush on shiny cinnamon lipstick, then glanced at the clock. Brad would be here at any moment.

Why oh why had she agreed to go with him?

He’d been so insistent, and Fiona had felt so damned confined since breaking things off with Gideon. It had been over three weeks ago, and she hadn’t felt like going anywhere or doing anything.

This was not only a chance to get out of the house, but to enjoy one of her favorite places in an unusual and special way: the annual Children of Grand Rapids Fundraiser was being held at the gorgeous Frederik Meijer Gardens.

The event was after hours, and the patrons would have the opportunity to see the new Japanese tea garden display before it opened to the public. Despite it being mid-November, there would be heat lamps throughout the gardens and large fire pits to add to the ambience and warmth. Inside the sleek and welcoming facilities would be a cocktail party and silent auction, and the guests would move between the inside and outside displays for the evening.

Brad, who’d won his election two weeks ago, certainly wouldn’t miss such a public relations opportunity in the middle of his district—and when he’d asked Fiona to be his companion, she’d forced herself to accept.

She knew she needed to do something other than work at the shop and sit at home.

When he knocked at her front door—she was back at her apartment in Grand Rapids tonight, in anticipation of the event—she gathered up the black beaded shawl and matching handbag from the table, then snagged a long overcoat for the ride in the car.

“Hi Brad,” she said, opening the door wide enough for him to come in. He looked very debonair in his tuxedo, but, like Carl, the man just didn’t do a thing for her hormones.

Damn it anyway.

Oh, this was a bad idea. Maybe she could still get out of it…

“You look gorgeous!” Brad said, literally gawking as he stood on the threshold. “Fiona, you will be the belle of the ball. I’ll be the envy of every man there.”

Hmm. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have her ego stroked like this all evening. She could probably suffer through some excellent food and wine on the arm of the new State Senator if he was going to talk to her like that. After all, a woman needed her confidence shored up every once in awhile.

“I drove myself tonight, and the car is waiting below. Are you ready?” He offered his arm, crooking an elbow, and Fiona reluctantly slipped her hand through it.

Now that she was closer to him, she realized how overpowering his cologne was. His campaign manager should let him know to ease off on it, or he’d be making the babies he was probably still kissing sneeze.

That quirky thought made her smile, and lightened her thoughts as she settled into the sleek Jaguar. It purred like its namesake and the ride from the suburb of Wyoming to Meijer Gardens was smooth but filled with Bradley’s chatter about his recent victory and his plans for the future.

He left his car with a valet stationed at the entrance and led her inside to the cocktail party, which was already in full-swing.

* * *

Gideon felt as if he’d taken a punch to the gut when he caught sight of the elegant couple making their entrance. He stared from across the room as his fingers tightened around a rock glass.

Dear God, it was Fiona.

And she was with State Senator-Elect Bradley Forth.

Rachel shifted beside him, bumping into his arm, and he barely noticed when she turned to look up at him. “Gideon? Is something the matter?” Without waiting for him to respond, she looked over. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Who’s that?” he asked with nonchalance. Lord, he was getting good at faking that.

“It is her. Fiona—was that her name?” Rachel asked ingenuously. Gideon resisted the urge to comment; his fiancée networked like a pro. She never forgot a name, a background, a connection. “She’s very striking—especially in that unusual gown with those long legs and all that hair.”

Those long legs and all that soft, sweet hair had been wrapped around him, plastered to him, heated him, loved him—

Gideon swallowed a large gulp of club soda and wished for something far stronger.

“I can see why you were attracted to her.”

He looked down at Rachel, for there was a note in her voice that seemed off. “Yes, she’s very beautiful. But it’s over between us—you don’t have anything to worry about.” But as he spoke, he realized he was saying it more for his own benefit than for hers.

“I’m not worried whatsoever, Gideon. This was—”

Whatever she was about to say was interrupted by the arrival of Gideon Senior and Iva, accompanied by some of his grandfather’s cronies from law school.

They exchanged pleasantries with Ben Laslow and Norm van Delt and their wives, and Gideon kept his attention on the conversation at hand and away from the exotic and fascinating distraction across the room.

Just keep your distance.

His resolve was shot to hell, however, when Norm van Delt suddenly said, “Don’t I know that woman?”

The group’s attention turned as one, fixating on the cinnamon and bronze column of woman standing next to Forth, now only yards away.

Gideon suddenly realized how Norm van Delt knew Fiona.

He should be relieved she wasn’t his date after all—these more staid folk would remember her as the odd, airy-fairy woman who told their futures by reading palms.

“Oh, that’s right, Norm, she was doing those palm-readings at that fundraiser a few months ago,” his wife told him. “You talked about her for weeks after.” To Gideon’s (and probably Norm’s) mortification, Mrs. Van Delt turned and called, “Yoo hoo! Over here!” and waved to get Fiona’s attention from across the room.

Yet Gideon’s feet were nailed to the floor. He should have bolted from the area. But all he could do, however, was stand there with a fixed half-smile on his face as disparate pieces of his world merged, clashed, then distorted like the insides of a kaleidoscope.

Fiona saw the group and the beckoning woman almost immediately.

“They must recognize you,” she said to Brad as they approached…and then her voice trailed off when she saw Gideon with his grandfather, Iva, and the irritatingly still-slender and very elegant Rachel Backley. She was looking at Fiona with a definite arched-brow look.

“Great,” Brad murmured. “Now that I’m elected, my constituents are going to expect all sorts of favors.”

But as they approached the group, he extended his hand with a hearty greeting and shook all around the little group. “Nath,” he said as he reached Gideon. “Pleasure to see you again. Always seem to be running into you at these things, eh?”

“I remember you, dear,” said one of the ladies whom Fiona faintly remembered. “You were reading our palms at that fundraising event at the JW Marriott back in October.”

“Oh, yes,” Fiona replied, darting a glance at Gideon.

He stood just outside of the little cluster, his mouth anchored to one side in some sort of expression that could have been a smile. Despite the frozen look on his face, he looked so good it made her stomach flutter and her mouth water. He’d recently had his hair cut, and although that stern look still graced his face, she knew there was warmth and emotion beneath the shuttered expression.

Warmth and emotion that was now being given to Rachel.

Fiona couldn’t stanch the flood of memories—remembering how carefree he was when he smiled, and how heated his expression could be when he was trying to argue a point.

How hot and liquid his eyes were when he was moving inside her.

How good that felt.

How right.

“Good evening,” she said, somehow forcing the words from a dry throat as she turned to greet Gideon Senior.

She shook his hand, remembering with a pang how much she’d enjoyed the seemingly blustery man and his date, the latter of whom was looking at Fiona as though trying to see into the depths of her mind.

“Hello, Iva. I haven’t seen you since we found those letters of Valente’s.” Now why had she said that? The last thing Fiona wanted to do was make Iva feel uncomfortable for not visiting her.

“It’s been far too long, dear, I know,” Iva replied. There was what seemed to be genuine regret in her voice. “Hollis and I were in California for an extended visit—but now that I’m back, we’ll have to have lunch again. Soon.”

“I’d like that,” Fiona said—even though she wasn’t certain she would.

It was one thing to enjoy Iva’s company—and that of the other Tuesday Ladies…but now that Gideon was out of the picture, it might be more bittersweet than anything.

She smiled, and then turning—having no choice but to greet the elegant woman standing very close to Gideon. “It’s Rachel, isn’t it?”

Fiona forced herself to put sincere warmth in her voice and made sure she made good, solid eye contact with the elegant dark blond who was standing hip to shoulder with the man Fiona loved. “Congratulations to both of you.”

At the last phrase, Fiona finally looked at Gideon, head-on, and when their eyes met she was stunned at the blankness—bleakness—therein. His gaze contained emptiness, only emptiness—not even the cool professionalism she’d known—and she couldn’t suppress her own wave of grief.

Somehow she shook Rachel’s hand, but Fiona simply couldn’t make herself touch Gideon—especially those gorgeous hands.

Before he even had the chance to offer, she turned to the other couples, whom she barely knew and who would be a wonderful distraction, and reintroduced herself to them.

The ladies babbled about her palm-reading, and even the men—for all the stiff-necked properness of their proper old money and power—seemed fascinated by her talent.

“You’ve never read my palm, Fiona,” Brad said with an inflection of intimacy that made her cringe.

She’d never even allowed him to kiss her, let alone given him cause to use that tone.

“I should have asked you to do it before the election—but now that we know I’ve won, maybe there’s something else you can tell.”

Fiona laughed brightly, studious in keeping her gaze from checking Gideon’s reaction to Brad’s comment. “I wouldn’t have been able to tell you if you’d win the election anyway…but I should be able to tell you whether you’ll find success in your new job.”

Relieved to have something to focus on—even if she didn’t want to broadcast the lack of their non-existent intimacy, she took Brad’s hand and turned it palm-up.

And then she almost dropped it.

Fiona had never had such an immediate reaction to reading someone’s palm before. Intense discomfort and unease washed over her in an awful surprise. She felt as if a black cloak had sudden dropped over her, smothering her.

What was wrong with her?

Fiona blinked to clear her mind, and focused on Brad’s hand.

She tried to follow the lines of his palm, but anything she might have read into them was engulfed by her strange feelings of aversion. Nevertheless, she concentrated, traced some of the lines on his hand with her index finger, and babbled something—she would never remember what—about him being a success and having a happy life with two children and a wife and several other comments that sounded palm-reader-like. She was relieved to notice that at some point, Gideon and Rachel had stepped away, and that made her slightly more at ease.

Slightly.

Nevertheless, as soon as she could—after the comments about her reading died down—Fiona excused herself from the little group before someone else asked to have their palm read.

Brad wanted to accompany her as she put distance between herself and the others, but with a playful little laugh, she told him, “I’m just going to step into the powder room for a minute. Why don’t you stay here and talk to your constituents for a bit? I’m sure they have a few things on their minds.”

The chuckles from the group followed her as she stepped away, and it wasn’t until she’d made her way across the room that she felt able to breathe again.

Between unexpectedly seeing Gideon and his fiancée, and then having the strange reaction to Brad, Fiona definitely needed a few minutes to herself.

Her knowledge of the layout of the facilities at the Meijer Gardens aided her in her quest for privacy, and Fiona had no trouble finding a small alcove where she could stand and pretend to admire a modern metal sculpture while trying to get her composure under control.

She felt a presence behind her almost immediately, and, half-expecting—wanting, and yet not wanting—to see Gideon standing there, she turned.

Her heart plummeted.

“Iva. I’m so glad to see you again…and I want to apologize for my comment about you not coming by. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot—it was very rude, and I feel terrible about it.” She heard herself babbling, but she couldn’t stop. She was afraid what would happen when her emotions caught up with her.

“Fiona, dear,” was all Iva said before pulling her into her sweet-smelling embrace.

The short, plump woman hugged her tightly, and for a minute, Fiona didn’t want to let go. She blinked hard, trying to keep surprise tears from spilling from over her eyes and ruining her makeup.

“I wasn’t offended at all,” Iva said into her ear. “I was afraid you wouldn’t want to see me—at least, not for awhile. I should be the one apologizing for not coming by. I wasn’t certain what had happened between the two of you. And, well…you know Gideon. He wouldn’t say anything about it.”

Tears knitted into the corners of her eyes and Fiona felt a huge lump forming in her throat. How could this woman she barely knew evoke such an honest response in her when her own mother never could?

Finally, Fiona pulled from the comforting embrace, only slightly embarrassed by her emotional reaction. It had felt good to let someone hold her—to let herself grieve for a minute.

“You love him,” said the older woman, looking up at her with sad blue eyes. “Just like I love Hollis.”

Fiona swallowed over the heaviness in her throat, considered lying, but then nodded. “Yes.”

“He’s making a terrible mistake, Fiona,” Iva said, beginning to dig around in her handbag. She pulled a tissue free and offered it to her. “I know you’re not used to such a small purse.”

Fiona smiled again and blew her nose. “Thank you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me…well, actually, I sort of do. Something happened tonight.”

“What do you mean?” Iva’s eyes turned sharp. “Did Gideon say something to you? Or that woman Rachel?”

“No, no,” Fiona replied quickly. Not only did she want to change the subject, but she needed to tell someone about Brad. And Iva, of all people, would understand. “When I picked up Brad Forth’s hand just now to read his palm, something strange happened.”

“You weren’t hit with a bolt of lightning and fell madly in love with him, were you?” Iva demanded.

“No…in fact, it was quite the opposite. Exactly the opposite. I felt this surge of dislike rush through me. I almost dropped him—his hand, I mean. That horrible sensation made it difficult to focus on what I was reading, and I just made some stuff up. I just wonder what caused me to react that way.”

“Does he frighten you? Perhaps you shouldn’t be alone with him, Fiona.” The older woman was dead serious, and she gripped Fiona’s hand tightly. “Don’t forget we still don’t know who’s been breaking into the shop and trying to find—well, whatever they’re trying to find. Has anything new happened in the last few weeks, Fiona?”

Fiona shook her head. “No, nothing. And Helga and Captain Longbow don’t really have any news.”

“I don’t trust that man,” Iva said. “That politician. Ever since I first met him, I had a…feeling about him.”

Fiona rushed to clarify her experience. The last thing she needed was Iva saying or doing something about Brad…

“It wasn’t necessarily that Brad frightened me when I touched his hand—after all, I’ve been alone with him many times, and he’s never raised the hair on the back of my neck like tonight. He’s never given me cause to feel uncomfortable around him before.

“I think it must have just been the fluke of a moment…maybe he’s just another dishonest politician, and it came out in his palm.” She shrugged off the older woman’s concern even as her insides remained tight and nauseated. “I’ve already decided I’m not going to see him anymore anyway. He’s just not my type.”

“Well, he is Valente’s grandnephew,” Iva said with a gentle smile, looking at her with a gleam in her blue eyes. “We’ll get to the other stuff in a minute—about that foolish boy Gideon—but first, I found out some things about your benefactor that might explain your ghost.”

Fiona raised her eyebrows, glad to have something to focus on instead of her riot of emotions. “You did some research at the library?”

Iva nodded. “Along with Maxine and Juanita, of course. They had to be involved once they heard about everything from Orbra. They scrolled through the microfiche, and I looked up some other resources.

“Fiona, do you recall that I mentioned the name Josef Kremer as being familiar to me? I can’t believe I didn’t remember right away—but he was a Nazi war criminal. The son of one of Hitler’s elite, and very much involved with the inner workings of the Third Reich. Kremer—the son—was thought to have escaped Germany and fled to Argentina with some of the others.”

“I haven’t heard of him myself, but I’m sure you’re right. What do you think his connection to Valente was? Do you think he killed Josef Kremer? And maybe the blackmailer knew it. Maybe Kremer killed Gretchen, the love of Valente’s life, and Valente avenged himself on Kremer by taking him out.”

Iva was nodding. “Perhaps. It’s possible. What a romantic story that would be. I thought I would let you know what I learned about Kremer—so maybe if you come across any more hidden drawers with secret letters in them, they might mean something to you.”

“Hidden drawers?”

Fiona nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Brad’s voice behind her.

“I’m so sorry, ladies. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just realized my wallet is missing, Fiona, and wondered if you’d seen it.”

“I don’t remember seeing it anywhere. When was the last time you had it?”

“I know I had it when I stopped by your shop this morning—I wanted to make sure our date was still on for this evening,” he added, winking at Iva. “But I haven’t had need of it since, and I’m wondering if I left it there, at the store. I’d taken it out of my pocket while looking for a business card, and I’m thinking I must have left it on the table by that walnut secretary—you know the one, Fiona, don’t you? Would you mind if we stopped by on the way home tonight to look?”

“Of course not,” she replied, waving away his hang-dog expression. “Although I’m sure Carl would have noticed if you left it there, and he’d have called me.”

“Well, I’d feel better if I had the chance to check. Maybe it got knocked to the floor. Anyway, ladies, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Fiona, are you hungry or thirsty? Would you like me to get anything for you?”

Iva glanced at Fiona and then turned a sudden dazzling smile on Brad that Fiona recognized as one hiding an ulterior motive. It was the smile Iva utilized when she wanted to bend Gideon Senior to her will without him realizing it.

“Mr. Forth—can I call you Brad?—I’d like to ask you a few questions about your platform—now that I’m one of your new constituents,” she added with a tinkle of a laugh. “There are a few things I’m not certain I’m in agreement with.”

“Certainly, Mrs.—er

“Ms. Bergstrom,” she replied.

“Yes, then, Ms. Bergstrom. If I could just—”

“My Ladies Guild at the library in Wicks Hollow might be interested in having you come in to speak with us—and we usually have quite an attendance.” She fluttered an old-lady look that made her appear fluffy and disingenuous, and Fiona had to hide a smile. “In particular we want to know about your position on legalizing marijuana.”

“Oh,” Brad said, drawing himself up into formal, very rigid pose. “Well, I’m definitely against the legalization of marijuana, Ms. Bergstrom.”

“Well, that’s going to be a big problem then,” Iva replied, still in her easy-going-slightly-batty old lady tone. “Because the entire Ladies Guild grew up in the Sixties and Seventies, and half of us had pot plants growing in our dorm rooms at college!”

Fiona smothered a smile at the shocked expression on Brad’s face, then realized Iva was giving her the perfect chance to escape…and escape she would.

But as she stepped out of the alcove, she came face to face with Gideon.

She’d known it would happen—both hoped and feared it would, if the truth were to be known—and she was always honest with herself, at least.

But the sight of him—his tall, familiar, handsome form—still made her draw up quickly, and her insides jerk and flutter.

“Fiona.” His tone sounded as though he’d expected to see her—so he had the advantage. She never liked that.

“Hello, Gideon.” She would remain cool. Not too stand-offish, and certainly not deer-in-the-headlights speechless.

In fact, she would seize control of the conversation since he’d obviously sought her out. “I must say, you look absolutely delicious in that tux.”

Fiona couldn’t believe her own audacity when she reached out to tug on the collar of his jacket, then slide her fingers on down to smooth it into place.

He was warm and solid even under that brief touch, and she immediately regretted her boldness. “I’ve always said you fill out a tux better than pretty much anyone I know…with the exception of Robert Downey Jr. as Tony Stark.” She grinned cheekily even though her insides churned.

Gideon finally found his tongue, startled by Fiona’s sudden appearance, and then by the onslaught of her icy calm. Surely she wasn’t faking nonchalance too?

“Thank you for the compliment. You look stunning as well…just, gorgeous…but I don’t want to stand here and mutually admire each other for the next ten minutes, Fiona.”

“Whyever not?” She was practically batting her eyelashes at him—a sure sign she was hiding something. “We spent several weeks doing little more than that, didn’t we?” Her smile bordered on suggestive, but her eyes were still flat.

Gideon reached for her, wrapping his fingers gently but firmly around her wrist before she could sidestep him.

“Are you dating Forth now?” he asked before he checked the words with his brain and realized they sounded petulant and jealous, and were utterly and completely out of line.

Nevertheless, he didn’t give her a chance to respond before directing her around a corner and through a door—and suddenly they were outside in the Japanese tea garden.

The faint trickle of water burbled in the quiet, and a large, shallow, metal bowl contained a roaring fire. A cloudy sky above allowed glimpses of a half-moon and part of a starscape. The air was chill and brisk, and smelled faintly of burning wood.

“Well, it’s not the riverfront at the JW Marriott,” Fiona commented, bringing to mind the last time they’d both attended an event and ended up in a private setting by the river. She drew her beaded wrap a little closer. “And no I’m not dating Brad. As if it’s any of your business. You’ve always had a craw up your butt about him for some reason, haven’t you?”

Gideon had no reason to feel the relief, but it washed through him. Then it was replaced by irritation with himself for his selfishness. Just like his father.

“Did you want to talk to me about something Gideon?” She’d stopped and turned to look up at him. Her gaze searched his, but it was cold and emotionless. He wanted to warm it again, to melt away that reserve and see her easy and giddy.

He reached to touch her hair, piled tall on her head, leaving her long, elegant, sexy neck and shoulders bare. His mouth went dry.

He knew exactly how warm her skin would be, how it would smell like spice and sweet and something exotic…how she’d shiver, and catch her breath if he pressed his lips to that spot just below her ear—

He dragged himself back to reality. “I just wanted to know that you’re all right. I think about you…often.” Twisting a loose coil around his finger, he rubbed the silky strands between the pads of his fingers until she stepped back and the lock slipped from his fingers.

“I’m doing just fine, Gideon. How about you? Are you happy? Picking out names? Will there be a Hollis Gideon the Fourth, or are you waiting to learn the sex? Decorating the nursery? Planning a wedding—or did you elope?”

He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach, then grief and anger, emptiness and fury rushed over him.

It was his own fault for seeking her out, for getting this close to her again. He should have just stayed away, across the room, with his fiancée.

It would have been much safer.

Yet impossible to do.

“I love you, Fiona.” The words shocked him as much as they did her, and he gaped for a moment before trying to backpedal. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

Her entire face had frozen. Now, it sagged, then drew tight with incredulity. Her eyes snapped wildly as she got in his face, the words tumbling out. “You didn’t really just say that, did you, Gideon? I had to have imagined it. How dare you do this to me—to yourself—and to Rachel. How dare you.”

Gideon had never seen her so angry—so cold and detached and deadly furious.

It was frightening and illuminating at the same time. He thought for a moment she was angry enough to strike him, but instead, she whirled and stalked away, her feet clipping hard on the stone pathway as she disappeared into the night.

He stared after her, ill and ashamed.

Empty.

Then the sound of clapping…slow, steady, mocking…reached his ears.

Gideon turned to see Rachel, leaning against one of the tall columns that created a stone archway.

He turned cold.

“Nice job, Gideon.”

“Oh, God, Rachel…I am so sorry.” He went toward her, his whole body numb, his brain frozen. Misery, shame, desolation warred inside him. There was nothing he could say.

Rachel allowed him to take her hands, but she didn’t move away from the column against which she leaned. “What in the hell was that?” she said in a clipped voice.

Her fingers felt warm in his freezing hands. He scrambled to pull his thoughts together…but the only thing he could focus on was the image of Fiona’s shocked, loathing expression before she turned away.

Forever. Gone. Forever.

“Rachel…I’m sorry. I’m sorry you heard what you—thought you heard,” he said, gathering his best lawyerly defense: admit nothing.

Then, he realized with a deep, heavy thud in his heart that he wasn’t going to lie. Or obfuscate.

The truth was, he did love Fiona.

He owed it to her—or at least, to his memory of her—to be honest about that.

“It’s over with me and Fiona, Rachel. That was…that was just goodbye. I told you, I’m not going to walk away from my responsibility. And you and I are so well-suited to each other.”

“Obviously not as well-suited as you and Fiona. My God, this garden was sizzling with the chemistry between the two of you.” She withdrew her hands, her voice bitter and Arctic. “And you’ve never said you love me. Ever.”

“I care about you very much Rachel,” he said quickly. But, again: he wasn’t going to lie. “And I’m going to be a wonderful father. I would never let you raise our baby alone, Rachel. I want to be a part of—”

“This is the 21^st century, for God’s sake. Do you think I want—or need—a pity husband? A man to take care of me? You bastard.”

She was the one who cracked him across the face with her hand after all—the cool, controlled businesswoman, not the wild redhead.

He didn’t bother to lift his hand to the stinging cheek. He’d deserved it. Oh, he’d deserved it. “That’s not—I’m not going to be a pity husband—”

“Well, whatever you are, it’s not going to be a husband. Mine, anyway.” She was already working the diamond off her finger. “I don’t need you, Gideon. I don’t need a damned husband.”

“But I’m the father—”

“Yes. That’s right. But I sure as hell am not going to marry a man who’s in love with someone else.” She whipped the ring at him, and it glittered as it bounced off his arm and tumbled into the bushes. “What sort of woman do you think I am, to take leftovers?”

“Rachel, I—”

“Stop it, Gideon. Just stop.” She stared at him, heaving, her eyes black with fury. “Don’t say another word.”