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Chapter One

“Garrett, thank you for coming.” November rain fell in wind-driven sheets just beyond Barnesworth Mansion’s two-story colonnade. Eve Barnesworth leaned against the imposing mahogany door, fingering her triple strand of pearls. “Calling this moment merely awkward would be the world’s biggest understatement.”

He cleared his throat, brushing past her with a nod. “That about sums it up.”

“Can I take your coat?” Ever the perfect hostess, Eve held out her arms, glad to replace the inevitable hell to come with routine.

He shrugged off his rain-splattered pea jacket, handing it to her with a half smile. In the eight years since circumstance ripped them apart and she’d left their small Florida town, Garrett had changed from boy to man. He seemed taller. He’d become a navy SEAL, and the breadth of his chest and shoulders told the story of how physically powerful he’d become. His hair used to be on the long side when she could’ve spent hours fingering his curls. Now he wore it in a painfully neat regulation crew cut that struck her as distant and cold as his impenetrable gray eyes. In high school, she’d known every nuance and expression of his dear face. With time and tragedy between them—and more anger than she’d sometimes thought her heart could bear—she doubted she’d have even recognized him as her first love had they met in a crowd.

He cleared his throat, his gaze landing on the entry hall’s chandelier. “You, ah, look well.”

“Thank you.” But have you bothered to take one long look at me since you stepped in the door? On such an upsetting occasion, it was understandable she’d be a well of emotions. Being on the verge of losing her father—her everything—was hard enough without tossing this reunion into the mix. Not sure what to do with her hands, she clasped them neatly against the small of her back. “Like I said on the phone, Daddy hasn’t even told me what it is he has to say.”

“Right.” A nerve ticked on his hard, square jaw as Garrett nodded. “Well, I don’t mean to rush something like this, but your dad and I have never exactly been close and with me only in town on holiday leave, we’ve got a houseful of folks at Mom’s holding our Turkey Day dinner until I get home.”

“Of course.” Reading between the lines, Eve got the gist of Garrett’s words. He didn’t give a damn about her beloved father’s deathbed request to see him any more than he’d cared to talk to her all those years ago. “I’ll take you to Daddy’s room.”

* * *

TRAILING EVE UP AN ENDLESS flight of marble stairs, carefully avoiding the sight of her rounded derriere, Garrett Solomon might as well have been in the Buxton County courthouse for all the warmth this place contained. Because Eve’s father, Hal, had been Coral Ridge’s mayor —like her grandfather—for the past forty years, it’d been dubbed the Mayoral Mansion.

Garrett preferred the Snob Hill nickname one of his football pals had thought up. Regardless of the name, the sentiment was the same—enter the old place at your own risk. Garrett might be a SEAL now, but back when he’d been sixteen, sneaking up the servants’ staircase to Eve’s room, he’d had no idea how many years of torment the occupants of this house would cause him.

“Just a little farther,” Eve said, casting a half smile over her shoulder.

Right. The hall was wide enough to drive a VW Bug.

“Good. You’re both here.” Grim-faced Dr. Mulligan slapped his newspaper against the empty half of a brown leather settee. Garrett hadn’t seen the man since he’d broken his arm at thirteen. “Hal’s been calling for you, but gave me the boot.”

“Sounds like Daddy…” Teary-eyed, Eve hugged the salt-and-pepper-haired doctor. “I—I can’t thank you enough for being here. It’s been a horrible few days.”

“Agreed.” The doctor stood, pulling open double doors that led into a dark room lit only by a bedside lamp. Antiseptic overrode the more putrid smells of sickness and pending death. Countless missions had taught Garrett that death indeed had a smell and it wasn’t pretty.

A uniformed nurse sat near the patient, reading from the Bible. The old man had taken on religion a little late in life. “Mr. Barnesworth—” the woman moved to the foot of the bed, making room for Eve to stand near her father “—Eve is here.”

“Garrett?” The old man’s voice scratched as if he’d dined on sandpaper.

“I’m here.” Though Garrett preferred the shadows, he stepped into the lamp’s glow.

“Come closer,” Hal said after a few shallow coughs.

“Daddy—” Eve perched on the side of his bed, taking his hand “—we can come back later if you’re not feeling up for a talk.”

“Nonsense.” Waving toward the nurse and doctor, he managed through another round of coughs to dismiss them both. “Can’t die in peace with this on my heart.”

Garrett had been in a lot of strange places, but this one beat them all. The imposing, dark-paneled room housing a canopied bed suitable for royalty was about as welcoming as stepping into a museum exhibit. Not even the fire crackling in the hearth provided warmth.

“Go ahead, Daddy. Garrett and I are listening.”

“We a-alone?”

His daughter nodded.

“Your baby—” Hal surrendered to another fit of coughs.

The old man’s words tightened Garrett’s chest.

If prideful Hal Barnesworth hadn’t forced teenage Eve into some random, far-off home for unwed mothers, if Garrett had been allowed to care for her as he’d wanted, their baby might’ve lived.

“It’s okay, Daddy. I forgive you for making me go.”

With a violent shake of his head, the old man croaked, “No. N-not about that.”

Garrett wasn’t forgiving squat.

He might’ve been only seventeen when Hal told him his newborn son died, but that hadn’t lessened the pain. Even years later, during mission com-blackouts, his mind couldn’t resist playing a few rounds of what-ifs, plotting how different his life might be if not only his son had lived, but if Eve had cared enough about them both to stay in Coral Ridge.

“Y-your son,” Hal whispered. “I’m sorry, but—” More coughs erupted.

Silent tears glistened on Eve’s cheeks. Garrett knew the right thing would be going to her, offering her comfort during this obviously difficult time, but his feet felt frozen to the floor. Eve and her father once made his life a living hell. Could he now be blamed for not caring if the great Hal Barnesworth lived or died?

“Daddy, please.” Eve gripped her father’s gnarled hands. “Save your energy. Maybe if you rest, you’ll feel better?”

After a particularly violent round of coughs, the already gaunt man seemed to shrink within himself. “Y-your son isn’t d-d-dead.”

“Shh…” Patting his hands, Eve said, “You’re delusional. My baby died a long time ago. Like you said, it was for the best, right? His poor little heart couldn’t support him. It was good he didn’t suffer.”

Really, Eve? You’re drinking that Kool-Aid? How had losing their son been a good thing?

“I l-lied.” More coughs.

“About what?” Interest finally piqued, Garrett moved closer to the bed.

“Your son’s alive. I—I took him. I—” More coughs made his next few words inaudible, then he rasped, “My precious E-Eve…I’m sorry…I l-love…f-for best.” He took a few deep, gasping breaths, then passed out.

“Daddy? Please, wake up. Tell me what you mean.” Eve wrapped her arms around her father, hugging him to her. “Dr. Mulligan!”

The bedroom’s doors burst open as the doctor hustled to the bed. “What happened?”

“One minute he was t-talking—” Eve wiped tears from her cheeks “—and then he—”

The doctor brushed her aside to check her father’s vitals. “His blood pressure’s dropped substantially in the past hour. Exhaustion’s taking a toll.”

“Do something!” Eve shrieked. “Call an ambulance.”

“I’m sorry.” The physician took a stethoscope from his suit coat pocket, gently nudging Eve aside. “Your dad signed a living will. With cancer and now pneumonia, he knew his time was coming and wished no extraordinary measures be taken to prolong the inevitable.”

With Eve sobbing, hands over her face, and the doctor and nurse hovering over Hal, Garrett wasn’t sure what to do. No doubt the old guy’s words were just crazy ramblings. Also, knowing Hal, he’d no doubt wake in the morning—a good thing as he had major explaining to do.

Garrett knew he should be comforting Eve, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t believe Hal Barnesworth might actually be dying, let alone that his confession may be true. Garrett’s mind raced. His head knew this talk about their baby had to be just one more of Hal’s manipulations, but why? What did he have to gain? If there was so much as a grain of truth to what the old man said, where was their son now?

Chills ran through him. So much emotion he feared he might be sick. Forcing himself to hold it together, Garrett drew on his training to force deep, calming breaths.

To the nurse, the doctor said in a hushed tone, “Please put ointment on Mr. Barnesworth’s lips.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Eve cried harder. “Ointment? Th-that’s all you’re going to do?”

The doctor ushered Eve into the hall.

Garrett followed, shutting the door behind him.

With his arm around Eve’s slumped shoulders, the doctor said, “You have to understand, little things that help him be more comfortable are all your father wants us to do. Even if he didn’t, drastic measures would only prolong the inevitable.”

Begrudgingly, knowing it was the right thing, Garrett went to her, attempting a hug, only she pushed him away. “You hate him. Don’t even try pretending you don’t.”

“Eve…” Not knowing what to do with his hands, Garrett crammed them into his pockets. “What I do or don’t feel for your father has nothing to do with what we just heard. Think about it. I don’t have a clue why, but your father has to be lying. You need to pull yourself together so when he wakes, we can drill him as to why he really wanted me here.”

“I agree. What he said c-can’t be true,” she managed to cry between more sobs. “Daddy wouldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t be that cruel.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. You heard him—for the best? As in just like he controlled whether or not you were allowed to have a relationship with me. Seems your old man’s playing games all over again.”

“Stop!” Eve turned her back on him, but Garrett wasn’t having it. She wasn’t running from this, the way she had after their son’s death.

“I, ah, need to make a call.” Dr. Mulligan waved his phone before leaving the two of them alone.

“Look—” Garrett placed his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her to face him “—I’m sorry your dad’s sick. I know you two are close. But if there’s even the slightest chance what he said is true, we have to find out more. Hopefully, Hal’s going to wake up. And when he does, we have to question him for definitive answers. We—”

“What’s wrong with you? He’s dying. But if there’s any hope of him hanging on, I can’t risk upsetting him again.”

The doctor had returned and now paused alongside Garrett. “Maybe it’s best you leave. I’m going to give Eve a sedative, and my nurse will stay with Hal through the night.”

Tossing up his hands, Garrett laughed. “There we go with that word again—best. Oh, I’ll leave for the night but, Eve, you’ve got exactly twelve hours until I’m back.”

* * *

GARRETT’S FAMILY MAY have been waiting for him, but considering he’d just come out on the wrong end of playing emotional catch with a grenade, he wasn’t ready to see them.

He’d have liked a hard run to work off the tension knotting his shoulders, but considering the Thanksgiving Day weather, he opted for the less healthy alternative of Schmitty’s.

The bar and burger joint was good and dark. High wooden booths allowed for privacy. Loud ’70s rock made it damn near impossible to think. When the waitress stopped by his table, he ordered a pitcher of beer. But once she brought it, he was too shell-shocked to drink.

Hal’s revelation had Garrett pissed. Actually he was beyond pissed. He had passed into some bizarre state he hadn’t been in since he was seventeen and the old man told him his son had died. Logically, hearing the opposite should’ve sent his spirit soaring, but it wasn’t that easy. On the off chance what the old man said had been true, even all-powerful Hal Barnesworth couldn’t turn back time to rest that baby in Garrett’s loving arms. And he would’ve loved his kid. Eve, too. They could’ve had it all, but their futures had been manipulated as though they’d been puppets on strings.

Their every choice had been stolen.

Worse yet, Eve seemed more concerned about her father’s passing than the news that their son may actually be alive.

Chalk him up as a horrible person, but Garrett sure as hell wouldn’t be sorry to see Hal Barnesworth go.

While all around him seeds of a good time were watered by beer and burgers into louder conversation and laughs, Garrett’s mood grew proportionally darker. What if this was just the grand finale to Hal’s puppet show? Garrett wouldn’t put it past him to lie for the twisted amusement of seeing Eve and Garrett dance. But if Hal had spoken the truth? That meant somewhere out there Garrett and Eve had a son. Garrett’s Thanksgiving leave was only a week, which didn’t offer much time to find a child gone eight years. Even if Garrett eventually found him, what happened then? Was the kid happy and healthy? Assuming he was, then what? There wasn’t exactly an Idiot’s Guide written on how to tell an eight-year-old you were his dad.

Covering his face with his hands, Garrett struggled to find answers where there were none. He’d hoped to seek solace in the pitcher on the table, but had yet to take a drink. In order to process Hal’s revelation he needed clarity, not a good buzz.

After thirty more minutes staring at the initials carved into the backrest of the wooden seat across from him, he finally paid his tab and exited the warm bar.

The night had grown even more ugly, wind driving rain so hard against his face that the drops nipped like teeth. In the car, he couldn’t focus. Soaked, cold, his hands shook so bad it was a battle to work his Mustang’s manual gearshift. While his mother lived only a few miles away at the foot of Coral Ridge’s lone hill, the few-minutes’ drive lasted a minilifetime.

Finally, he parked in front of the modest ranch-style home where his mom lived alone since his fireman father had died while on duty a few years back. Having nagged Garrett for grandchildren, what would she think of this possible twist of fate?

The Barnesworths were Florida royalty, local gods. After an obligatory round of questions ranging from what the house looked like to what designer Eve had been wearing, his mother finally got around to asking, “So? How was seeing Eve again? Is Hal as sick as she led you to believe?”

“Who knows?” Garrett shrugged off his coat, hanging it on a rack beside the door. “He’s for sure bad off, but I wouldn’t put it past him to rally, then live fifty more years just to torture me.”

“Oh, dear…” Dina Solomon leaned forward from her seat on the couch. “What did he talk about?”

Garrett sighed, wishing for privacy instead of an audience consisting of not only his mom, but maternal grandparents, his mom’s sister Carol, brother-in-law Todd and their son, Zane. “I’m not sure I should say. Probably his big confession isn’t even true.”

“Now,” Dina said, “you have to tell us.” The group sat in the formal living room near the fire, being teased by the rich scent of Thanksgiving dinner still on hold in the kitchen. His mom usually went overboard when it came to decorating for holidays and this one was no exception. Life-size stuffed pilgrims stood smiling in a far corner, framed by dried cornstalks and, of course, a stuffed turkey.

“Bet the old man left Garrett a bundle,” his twenty-year-old cousin Zane said.

“Put a sock in it.” Garrett thumped the back of the kid’s head. “Well, I can’t believe it, but Eve and I might still share a connection.”

Ashen, his mother—the only person present who’d known what he’d been through—frowned. “What’s that mean? I thought this was the first time you’ve seen her since she left for—” she stopped herself from blurting where Eve had really gone “—finishing school?”

“It was.”

“I went to an Easter egg hunt on the mansion grounds when I was a little girl.” Grandma Fern sipped from her ever-present martini. The woman was already a touch senile. Why was his mom adding liquor to her already addled mind? “The gardens were like something from a fairy tale. Are they still as fancy?”

“I don’t know, Grandma. It was dark and raining.”

Dina adjusted the throw pillow nestled near the small of her mother’s back. “I’m sure they’re just as gorgeous as you remember.” To Garrett, she said, “Go on, hon. What did Hal say?”

Tired of keeping everything secret, Garrett told them the whole story—including Hal summoning him to the mansion to inform him his son had been stillborn. Eve moved from the unwed mothers’ home to an East Coast college prep school, then on to college. He hadn’t spoken to her since she’d left town carrying his son. “Tonight, Hal coughed so hard he could hardly speak, but what he did manage to get out…” Garrett shook his head. “Hal said my son’s alive.”

Garrett’s mom clutched the gold cross she always wore on a thin chain around her neck. “I have a grandson. Where is he? I want to see him now.”

“Slow down.” Garrett helped himself to someone’s abandoned glass of white wine. “I’m having a hard time believing this is even true. If it is, our son may be out there, but Hal didn’t say where. I’m going back in the morning. Hopefully, he’ll tell us more. But my gut feeling is that it’s a lie.”

“Hal wouldn’t lie on his deathbed. You’ll find your son,” Garrett’s grandpa Ira assured him.

“Where’s Eve now?” his mother asked.

“I assume with Hal. Best as I could, I tried comforting her, but she pushed me away.”

“As much as we all want you here,” his grandmother said, “you should go to her. I remember when her mother died like it was yesterday. Marianne Barnesworth was a lady through and through. Each public appearance, she and Eve were always matching, only Eve had that blond hair of hers fastened up in a big bow. When Marianne died in that car crash, the whole town nearly shut down. And the funeral—saddest thing ever. Eve looked so small and alone. Those horrible photos of her standing graveside were published in most every paper in the state. Such a fragile little girl.”

“Yeah—” Garrett shook his head “—well, now she’s all grown-up and more than ever, wants nothing to do with me.”

* * *

AT 1:57 FRIDAY MORNING, Eve’s father died.

She refused the sedative the doctor had left and dismissed the nurse. What she needed was privacy—not coddling.

Hugging a bottle of merlot, grateful the staff and her father’s longtime housekeeper, Juanita, were off with family for the holidays, she returned to her father’s room. The coroner had taken her father’s body a while ago and the nurse had changed the bed linens and removed all signs of this having been a makeshift hospital room. Even the sick scents had been sanitized away. Now all that remained of her once strong father was the faint trace of his spicy cologne.

Seated in a wing chair before the dancing fire, Eve poured the wine, but left her glass on the side table, too exhausted to lift it to her mouth.

Eyes closed, she struggled to wrap her mind around his words. Your son isn’t dead. I lied. For best.

“Daddy,” she whispered, “how could you?”

With her father’s cancer, her divorce from Matthew only a year behind her, two miscarriages before that, she was afraid to hope she might truly have a son. For so long her mind had been focused on grief, she was afraid to even hope for light.

Lately, aside from work, it seemed her life had been nothing but a succession of grief-filled episodes. It’d been so long since she’d truly been happy, she feared permanently losing her smile.

But with this news…

She fumbled for her wineglass, taking a fortifying sip.

She’d loved Garrett more than she’d thought it possible to love. The only time she’d ever fought her father was when he’d sent her away. How different would her life be had she stayed? Faced the ridicule of her classmates and no doubt the whole town? How hard could it have been compared to losing Garrett? Their son?

My father. His admission compounded the pain of her most recent loss. Not only was he physically gone from her life, but she wasn’t sure he was the man she’d forever admired. Forget the fact he was her dad—the one person she’d always believed unconditionally had her back. Where was his soul? Who told his own daughter her child died, then justified it by saying it was for the best? When was a lost child ever best?

Eve pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead and struggled to make sense out of a night that’d been sheer chaos.

Abandoning her wine, Eve sought her room—not the nondescript luxury guest room she’d slept in since leaving Matthew the year before, but the space she’d occupied in what felt like another life.

As dusty and disorganized as the place felt in her mind, it came as a shock to find it in pristine condition—as if none of the memorabilia, pictures and uniforms had actually been used, but were merely props for a catalog diorama.

Eve fingered her cheerleading skirt, recalling the thrill of working the crowd at her first varsity game. Of Garrett kissing her after that game. He’d scored his first varsity-team touchdown and she’d rewarded him with what started out to be seven kisses, but ended as so much more. Her gaze skipped to history and chemistry texts that’d never been returned. To snapshots of her friends making faces in the locker room before that long-ago season’s first basketball game. Garrett’s Christmas gift—a giant stuffed alligator—still sporting his big, red bow. Folded love letters that’d been passed during class were in a box she’d decoupaged with magazine clippings she’d found in Coral Ridge High’s blue-and-gold colors.

Having left school in January, she’d never gotten yearbooks for her junior and senior years, but as she perched on the foot of her bed, she flipped through page after page of sophomore memories, chest aching when tracing Garrett’s image on the page they’d shared for being on the homecoming court. Funny how pics of her ex-husband, Matt, only made her angry. Seeing Garrett reminded her how rich and full her life at fifteen had been compared to now.

Two pages were dedicated to the class trip they’d taken to Disney World. Space Mountain had not only terrified her, but given her a wicked case of motion sickness. Garrett hadn’t pressed her to get over it, like some of his jock friends. He’d bought her a Sprite with his precious lawn-mowing money, then held her hand while they’d explored what most of their crowd considered to be the more childish sections of the park. They’d ridden the boats on the “It’s a Small World” ride five times, always laughing and singing along. That day, with Garrett by her side, she’d felt like the luckiest girl alive. Like nothing or no one would ever break them apart.

Throat aching for the many losses she’d suffered, she touched the tip of her finger to the phone number he’d childishly written on the photo sideways up his tie. They’d moved, necessitating the change to his home line. He’d wanted a cell, but his parents refused. How many times had she called? Lying on her pink striped comforter, talking with him until his mom yelled for him to go to bed.

Eyeing the phone on her nightstand, knowing Garrett’s mom still lived in the same house, Eve couldn’t help but wonder if the family number was also the same. If so, who would answer? Dina? What would she say? If Eve asked for Garrett, would his mother pass him the phone?

As badly as she’d earlier wished to be alone, she now craved her old boyfriend’s company—not for any romantic sentiments—all of those were long gone. More to verify she hadn’t been dreaming. That there really was a chance she might be a mother.

On autopilot, she lifted the handset. The low, flat dial tone seemed to fill the room, much the same as her pounding pulse reverberated in her ears.