“Is that true?”

“It was true,” Ann said, flashing Tara a little smile of guilt. “They were worried about the integrity of the underground structure. I don’t really know what the situation is right now. There were a few write-ups in the paper when they began, but now, there may be a column or two every few days.” She glanced at Tara and shrugged as she drove. “Okay, I think they have opened the dig to tourists. I’m not sure why.

We’re really nothing more than a little village on the outskirts of a big city—Paris offers the visitor so many major attractions that a small dig doesn’t usually get much attention. Some professor involved is certain that he’s on to a major historical find, but he doesn’t seem to generate much enthusiasm from his colleagues. And most people come to Paris to see the art and beauty. Those with a morbid twist to their minds can crawl down into the catacombs and see thousands of bones.”

“Perhaps Grandpapa is all excited mainly because the ruins are in our little village. He grew up here, lived a lot of his life here. Maybe he feels that there is a family connection to this dig.”

“I asked him that,” Ann said.“He was appalled, assuring me that we had nothing to do with ground that was deconsecrated. But then, hey, you’re not exactly a seasoned Parisian, but you have been to what’s world famous and historical here. If you want to tramp around in a crypt, be my guest.”

“But you said you were afraid that it would feed into his fantasies.” Ann shrugged. “Well, I’m still afraid. But I’m also trying to catch up with work. And trying to keep the old place going with little help. I don’t mean you, your folks, your brother, or my folks. I mean on a day-to-day basis, simply keeping bathrooms clean, straightening out, keeping the roof on, and the ivy down. We’ve only got Katia running the house and Roland keeping up the grounds. Debbie, his old assistant in the States, has written to say that she wants to come to look after Jacques, but it will take her a while to put her affairs in order. So, you see, I really haven’t had any extra time to go running around to ruins. And I’m really glad that you’re here. You said that you were actually all caught up and would do some painting that you wanted to do—rather than what was commercial and paying the bills—while you were here. Maybe you’ll find inspiration in the crypt. Maybe they’ll even let you set up an easel. I don’t know. I love old Jacques with my whole heart. Remember when we were kids? He wrote popular fiction, but people were always interviewing him as if he were a great scholar or literary writer. He’s always had such a grip on the world, on human nature ... I don’t want to lose the grandfather we’ve known and loved all our lives.”

“I love him, too. He was always magnificent, larger than life. He gave me my love of art, and you’ve certainly learned a lot about writing and publishing from him. He means the world to us, and he loves us very much as well.”

“Yes, but you are the one with the love of stories and tales and fantasies. I am far too logical and straightforward for him. So you talk to him. See if you can make sense of it all.”

“I’m here to do whatever is needed.”

Ann nodded, falling silent as they drove.

They had left the city behind and were driving through beautiful countryside with little clusters of charming old houses. Minutes later, Tara saw the drive to the chateau before them, and then the home that had been her fantasyland as a child. The drive wound haphazardly through trails of flowers—Ann’s babies, as she called them. Then they came around the gravel drive directly in front of the old stone steps.

The front door opened and Roland, who was close to her grandfather’s age, came hurrying down the steps, throwing open the car door before she could do so herself. He burst into a warm and enthusiastic greeting so quickly spoken that she could pick out only one word in every few; it didn’t matter, she knew she was being welcomed. She hugged Roland, then insisted she was perfectly able to handle her own bag. By then, Katia, a few years younger than Roland, had arrived at the door. She wiped her hands on her apron, ran down the steps, and folded Tara into a massive hug as well. Tara struggled for the right words in French to return her greeting, gave up, and hugged her back. It seemed that the cheek kissing went on forever.

“I’ve got to get back to work,” Ann called to her. “I’m not going inside. You’re in your old room.” Tara had her own firm grip on her bag again; she wasn’t about to let either Roland or Katia try to take it from her.

“Your grandpapa is in the library!” Katia said with stern disapproval, shaking her head with such vehemence that little gray tendrils of hair escaped from her neat chignon and whispered around her face.

“You mustn’t excite him too much; he can be such an old fool!”

“I’ll tie him down if he gets too frisky,” Tara assured her.

Ann continued around the gravel drive and headed for the street, returning to the city, and Roland and Katia followed Tara back into the house. In the once grand foyer, Tara paused. She looked around at the beautiful woodwork, and the fraying tapestries on the wall. The long, claw-footed table in the hall held Ann’s computer surrounded by mounds of paper.

Tara smiled. It was good to be here.

Far across the Atlantic, Jade DeVeau woke with a start, and then wondered what had caused her to do so.

It was still night... or the wee hours of the morning. For a moment, she lay tensely, eyes narrowed, as she tried to ascertain what danger might have stirred her survival instincts while she slept And yet...

She heard nothing.

She opened her eyes farther, twisted silently around.

Moonlight streamed through the window above the charming courtyard of her Charleston home. Lucian sat in the rocker by the window, looking out at the night.

It wasn’t strange that he should be there. Jade had changed her own natural sleeping schedule to coincide with his, and he had learned to lie down and rest in the darkness of the night. But still, many a night she woke, and saw him there. Sometimes, he read, with a book light, so as not to disturb her.

Sometimes, he sat, rocking, watching the moon. Most of the time, he was at ease, simply a quiet night owl, who, when really restless, went downstairs to work or watch one of the twenty-four-hour news stations or an old classic movie.

Tonight... there was something different.

Jade sat up, reaching for her robe at the foot of the bed, still afraid, though she knew not why, and feeling strangely vulnerable in the naked state in which she slept. She knew that he was instantly aware that she had wakened; he could sense her slightest movement.

He turned toward her, and even in the dimness of the moonlight, she saw that he smiled apologetically.

“I woke you. I’m sorry. I thought I was quiet.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t wake me. I just woke.”

He pulled her down to sit on his lap. She drew her fingers through his hair, wondering if it was a sin to love anyone so much.

“What is it?” she asked him, her voice a whisper.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

A shiver shot through her. His arms tightened around her. “Don’t be frightened. It’s ... whatever it is, it’s away. Far away. Of course, that’s what bothers me. I can feel something. But I don’t know what.” As if he were afraid that he might be sending his tenseness straight into her soul, he stood suddenly, setting her upon her feet. “I’m in the mood for a hamburger.” She looked up at him dryly.“At five in the morning?”

They were interrupted by a sudden wail. “The baby,” Jade said. She turned, hurrying to the next room down the hall. She knew that Lucian dogged her footsteps, though she didn’t hear his movement.

She flicked on the light and hurried over to the crib where six-month-old Aidan slept. At the moment, he was wide awake, tufts of blond hair standing straight up from his tiny skull, cheeks red, little fists flying, tears streaking down his little face. Jade scooped him up into her arms.

The hardest thing for her to face when she married Lucian was the fact that she couldn’t have children.

She had decided not to adopt; she wouldn’t put an infant into danger. But then, she heard about Aidan, just days old at the time he was orphaned.

And now ...

It didn’t matter that she couldn’t bear children. Aidan was her child. She loved him as fiercely as she ever could any child who had been born of her own flesh and blood.

She cradled him gently in her arms, crooning to him. He began to calm down, making little gulping sounds. “Little boy, little boy, little boy ... you’re all right. It’s all right. Mommy is here.” His sobs subsided, then began again.

“Here,” Lucian said, and took him from her arms. Lucian looked down at their son. He spoke softy in French. Aidan looked up at his father, fell silent, and slowly closed his eyes, sound asleep.

Jade took him from her husband and slipped him back into his crib, then came back to Lucian. “I should resent your ability to calm him so easily, you know,” she said.

“I cheat. My French is excellent. And it’s a soothing language.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, raising him, trying to keep working ... to keep up ... I’m far too exhausted most of the time to be resentful.”

He kissed her on the forehead. “Go back to bed, my love. Get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired anymore. Let’s have hamburgers.”

“You don’t want an omelette?” he asked. “It is veering toward breakfast time.”

“I’m in the mood for beef, very rare. How about steak and eggs?”

“That will do.”

They went down the stairs, hand in hand. Jade was proficient in a kitchen, and good scrambled eggs were one of her specialties. But she noted, though Lucian spoke to her, his words casual, that he kept staring out the rear windows. The pool—not much of a pool, but enough of a little lap pool—was in the back, surrounded by latticework and vines, a beautiful area. And a high stone wall that dated back more than a hundred and fifty years surrounded the backyard. She couldn’t understand what he was watching so intently.