She’d known there would be a high price to pay for ignoring her mother’s request to invite Jared to her father’s birthday celebration, but there had been no way she’d been about to spend one more moment in that man’s company than was absolutely necessary. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

Briefly, she deluded herself that he wouldn’t show. Tomorrow was Saturday. But deep down, she knew better. He’d be here. After their encounter earlier today, it was only too clear he enjoyed wreaking havoc on her already shaky world.

She let out another sigh. Thinking of him—of today— was a subject she’d been dancing around all afternoon. Remembering how she’d run like a coward didn’t sit well. She wasn’t proud of her reaction to finding him in the office, and it was a reaction she didn’t plan on repeating. Somehow, before tomorrow morning, she was going to have a plan on how to effectively deal with him. Thank goodness for insomnia. At least she’d have plenty of time to figure out what to do.

Jenny grabbed her purse and the leftovers her mom insisted she take home and got out of the car. As always, the first thing she looked to was the lake. At this late hour and with no bright moon high in the sky, the water was nothing more than a smooth black canvas that stretched as far as she could see. But just knowing it was there, waiting for her, was all she needed. In the quiet she could hear the water brushing against the pilings.

She was halfway to the front door when she knew something was wrong.

The porch lights.

They were on.

For anybody else, that’s how it should be. But Jenny could never seem to remember to turn the outside lights on when she left, a fact Steven and her whole family had berated her for on more than one occasion.

Panic squeezed her. The last night she’d come home and the lights had been on, her parents had been waiting for her inside her house.

“We’re so sorry—” her dad had begun, only to be stopped by her mother’s heartbreaking sobs.

“What?” Jenny had demanded.

“There’s been an accident.”

“Not Paul. Or Anna, or—”

“It’s Steven,” her dad had said softly, reaching out to her.

Jenny had stared at her father’s outstretched hands, shaking her head, refusing to hear what he was saying. She backed away from his embrace, blocked out his words . . . her mother’s cries. She felt frozen as if she were in some horrible nightmare and couldn’t wake up. Then the dam burst, and she’d turned, started to run back to her car. “We need to go. Tell me which hospital.”

Her mom’s sobs had grown louder.

Her dad reached out, stopped her. Gathered her in his strong embrace. “Honey, he didn’t make it. Steven’s gone.”

She didn’t remember much after that. She didn’t remember collapsing or her dad carrying her to the couch or her parents trying to console her. Later, she’d been told all of those things. What little she did remember were words like “drunk driver” and “he didn’t suffer.” And she remembered the horrific truth she’d learned that night: there were degrees of grief. Some sorrows could be compartmentalized, tucked into a corner of your heart where, while they still made you ache and pray for the time Before, you could go on. You were still whole. But other griefs destroyed you. Left you a hollowed shell of your former self. Before that night, Jenny had had everything. On nights when the pain became more than she could bear, she told herself she’d been lucky; some people went a lifetime without knowing the kind of happiness she had had. And some nights she almost believed it.

It wasn’t until days later that she found out why it had been her parents who had to deliver the devastating news. Steven’s driver’s license listed his parents’ home address, not hers. The police had gone to their house to deliver the news. It had been Steven’s parents who had called Jenny’s mom and dad, not wanting her to be alone when she heard. While she and Steven had built a whole life together, they hadn’t been married. She was only a fiancée, not a wife. He had been hers, but only to a point.

The memories were overwhelming, and she leaned against the side of her house, tried to stop herself from shaking. She should leave. Get back in her car and drive away. But drive where? There was no outrunning bad news. She’d learned that the hardest way possible.

Drawing in a deep breath, she straightened and went to her front door. Opening it, she listened. At first, she heard nothing, and then a low murmuring came from the back of the house. Her stomach knotted, and fear coiled through her. Not again. Please. Not again.

The voices grew louder as she neared the kitchen, and a soft flickering of silvery light came into view. She went weak with relief.

The TV.

She’d forgotten to turn it off when she left. And apparently remembered the porch lights for once. She walked into the family room.

Someone rose from the chair. Someone she didn’t recognize.

Screaming, she threw everything she had in her hands at him before turning and running as fast as she could back down the hallway. All she wanted was to get out the front door.

She was almost there. A few more steps and—

A hand clamped onto her shoulder.

She screamed again and then her Oprah-ism kicked in. “I have a black belt in jujitsu.”

Was it go for the eyes first or the instep? Damn, she couldn’t remember.

“Right,” a horribly familiar voice said. “And I know ballet.”

Jenny turned, already knowing what she’d find. Six foot two of pure, undiluted sex appeal. A stranger would have been preferable. Her heart was beating as fast as a hummingbird’s. “I’m calling the police. Breaking into a house is against the law.”

Jared leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. His black T-shirt molded to hard, well-defined muscles. “I didn’t break anything. Ever hear of locking doors?”

Her heart was still racing. She didn’t want to examine too closely if it was because she was still scared or because she was standing so close to him. “No one on Hidden Lake locks their door.”

“Of course they don’t.”

“If you dislike being here so much, leave.”

“Gladly. Just as soon as you give me my—”

“If you say money one more time, I’ll scream.”

He grinned, a crooked smile that had probably conquered half of the female population. “You already have. Twice.”

“You are not funny.”

“Believe me, Cotton Tail, I’m not trying to be.”

She thought about reminding him—again—to stop calling her that demeaning name but knew it wouldn’t do any good. Besides, she was positive he said it just because he knew exactly how much it annoyed her. Instead, she marched back into the kitchen and picked up the phone.

He was right behind her. She hadn’t even heard him following her.

“This is your last chance,” she said.” Leave now, and I won’t call the police.”

“What are you going to tell them? You’re throwing out an invited guest?”

Was this 911-worthy, or should she use the sheriff’s office number? “Invited? I hardly think so.” She looked at him, waited. “Are you leaving?”

“No.”

The threat of calling the police had no effect on him. He’d probably been in trouble with the law so many times one little B and E would be nothing more than an insignificant blip on his mile-long rap sheet.

On second thought, she’d call her brother. Tonight she’d had to listen to her family tell her how having a partner might be a good idea. Once they saw he was a criminal, they’d have to reconsider their pro-partner angle.

She punched in Paul’s number. The line was busy.

Could just one thing go her way today? Just one?

“No luck?”

She wanted to wipe that knowing smirk off his too-good-looking-to-be-true face. “This is your final chance.”

“Sweetheart, you could give me a hundred chances, and I still wouldn’t budge.”

“I hear our jail is quite comfortable.”

He walked around her, and she caught the subtle whiff of cologne. Really nice cologne. And something more—something that hadn’t come from a bottle. Like sun-warmed earth, and a gentle breeze off the water. How long had it been since she’d been this close to a man?

He headed into the living room, sat back down in the club chair, and picked up the remote. She noticed an open beer on the table next to him.

Unbelievable.

“Be honest.” He took a drink from the longneck bottle. “You’re speaking from firsthand experience.”

“Excuse me?”

“The jail. How many times have you been locked up?”

He really was an ass. Nice-smelling or not. With his back to her, she tried her brother’s number again. Still busy. She looked at the kitchen clock. It was nearly eleven thirty. Who could Paul be talking to?

All threats aside, she really didn’t want to call the police. Or her brother. The sirens would wake her neighbors, Bill down at the Hidden Lake Tribune would pick up the story from his police scanner and plaster it all over the front page, or at least page two. He’d never liked her ever since she’d told her best friend Maddy he’d been two-timing her in the eleventh grade. And her family would only make her life all that more miserable. The porch light debate paled in comparison to the locking her doors argument. Contrary to what she’d told Jared, some people on Hidden Lake did lock their doors—her parents and brother, to name a few.

Jared flipped through the channels. All five of them. “Ever heard of cable?”

“If you like TV so much, you should have stayed at Lovie’s Bed-and-Breakfast. I hear she has cable.”

“Mrs. Murphy closed up shop and left for a family reunion today.”

A fact her mother conveniently forgot to mention tonight when she’d told Jenny where Jared had been staying. Jenny hadn’t even thought to question how her mother knew this. Nothing escaped her mom’s notice. “Seattle and the surrounding area has hundreds of B and Bs. I’ll get you a list. And another of hotels.”

He stopped surfing and settled on a late-night news program. Jenny got the impression he wasn’t too interested; the sound was muted. “I told you I’m not leaving. I was invited.”

“For the second time, I didn’t invite you.”

“I never said you did.” He pulled a duffel bag out from alongside the chair. The bag looked as old as he was. He reached in and withdrew something.

It looked like a letter, but Jenny didn’t care. The bag was the final straw. She couldn’t believe it—he’d all but moved in. Ignoring the letter or whatever it was in his hand, she stepped forward, grabbed his bag, and planned to throw it out the front door. Along with him. But she forgot it was unzipped. Clothing spilled out along with his motorcycle helmet, landing right on her foot.

With a muffled curse, she looked down, ready to throw it across the room. Then realized it wasn’t a motorcycle helmet. She stared at the fighter pilot’s helmet at her feet and felt herself hurled back in time.

She thought Jared might have said something, but she couldn’t be sure. Tentatively, she reached down, picked up the helmet. The hard plastic was smooth and cool to her touch. She ran her hands over the rounded surface, her fingertips finding a few imperfections: a scratch here, a small indentation there as if it had been hit by something. Or something had hit it.

Steven.

How many pictures did she have of him either wearing his helmet or carrying it tucked under his arm? It had been as much a part of him as the gold wings they’d pinned to his chest on graduation day.

But like so many of his things, it had been packed away and sent to his parents’ house. They’d needed those tangible memories of their son. Jenny had understood, of course she had. But that still didn’t stop her heart from hurting when the boxes had been carried out.

She traced the call sign imprinted on the helmet’s side. But the nickname beneath her finger wasn’t Steven’s.

Blood pounded in her ears, and her breath caught in her throat. The house was eerily quiet as she slowly looked to the man in front of her. “You’re the Ghost.”

It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway. “Yes.”

“Oh God.” She stumbled back, sank down onto the sofa. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice seemed to come from far away.

“I didn’t think it would matter. It’s just a damn call sign. Nothing more.”

There was something in his voice Jenny couldn’t identify—a distance. Detachment. But she didn’t dwell on it. Too many other things were pressing in against her.

“Your name.” Her mouth was dry. She swallowed, tried again. “When you first introduced yourself at my mom’s restaurant, you asked if I recognized your name. I didn’t. But the Ghost . . .” She trailed off, lost in a hundred different memories, a thousand different conversations she and Steven had had.

Jesus, Jen-Jen. You should see the Ghost fly. In the air, he’s magic. There’s no other way to describe it. No one can catch him. Hell, they can’t find him. I’ve never seen anything like him. No one has, not even the CO.

And then there were other conversations, ones that Jenny didn’t want to remember. Conversations where she’d learned of Steven’s and Jared’s friendship. Only, Steven had never referred to him as Jared. Always by Jared’s call sign. She remembered one call in particular. It had come late at night. She and Steven had been talking for over an hour when his voice had grown weary, threaded with an unfamiliar vulnerability. If not for the Ghost, Jen, I’d never make it. It’s only because of him that I’m going to pass and become a fighter pilot.

Why hadn’t Steven just called Jared by his given name? But Jenny knew. To them, their call signs were everything: their name . . . their identity . . . their life.

The helmet seemed to grow heavier in her lap, and she set it on the coffee table in front of her. Cool air swirled over her legs, marking its absence. “The Ghost, I know,” she said softly, struggling to say the next sentence. “Steven thought you were some type of god in the sky.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear. I had a job to do, just like everyone else.”

She knew he was holding back, not telling her the truth. The admiration and awe that had been in Steven’s voice when he spoke of Jared had held a respect and reverence few men achieved. And Steven didn’t give praise where praise wasn’t due.

She got up and walked over to him, holding out her hand.

He gave her a puzzled look.

“The letter.”

“Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

Somehow she knew it did. Without waiting for him, she reached out and took the envelope. She was almost certain what she would find, but even knowing didn’t prepare her for the stab of emotion that pierced her when she saw the handwriting.

For several long moments all she could do was stare. The envelope was wrinkled and stained, and the postmark had all but faded, but the bold, heavily slanted writing was unmistakable.

“A letter from Steven.” She was going to lose it. Tears burned the back of her eyes, and she knew it was only a matter of moments before they blurred her vision. “Wh-what does this have to do with me?”

“Read it.”

She thrust it back at him. Was he kidding? Upstairs in her bedroom safely tucked away in shoeboxes were dozens and dozens of letters and cards and notes she’d received from Steven over the years. She’d read them all so many times she knew them by heart. But a few months back, she’d made herself stop. The pain of those concrete reminders was too much. “No.” Her voice wobbled.

He looked at her hard, and something changed in his expression. The chair creaked as he got up and took the letter back. She thought she detected a slight hesitation, but she had to be mistaken. If there was one thing Jared Worth was not, it was indecisive.

“ ‘Jared,’ ” he began to read, and Jenny tried to block out the words, but couldn’t. “ ‘If you’re ever in my neck of the woods, our door is always open. I mean it, man. Jen-Jen and I would love to have you.’ ”

Jen-Jen. Her vision blurred. “Steven invited you.”

“Yes,” Jared said in a low voice, refolding the letter and putting it back in his duffel bag.

It was as if all the air had left the room . . . left her lungs. “Why . . . Why now?” She swallowed hard, rushed through what she needed to say. “If you’ve had that letter all along, why did you stay at Mrs. Murphy’s in the first place?”

His expression was unreadable as he stared at her. “I didn’t think I’d be sticking around.”

She felt a shiver go through her. The man was ruthless. Determined. He’d do anything to get his way. Even stay in a house where he clearly wasn’t wanted.

Every part of her screamed to throw him out, and if she couldn’t, then call the cops or her brother. Front page news and lecture be damned. But she knew she wouldn’t.

How did you fight the wishes of the man you still loved?

“There’s a spare room upstairs. Third door on the right. You can stay in there.” And then she couldn’t say anything more.

“Son of a bitch.” He got out of the chair and began to pace. The room was spacious with its soaring ceilings and exposed wooden beams, but even so, he felt caged in, trapped. Everywhere he looked, there were reminders of the people who had either lived in this house or had been loved by them. Dozens of pictures vied for space on the thick wooden mantel. Older black-and-white pictures in tarnished silver frames intermingled with newer color snapshots. On the far wall there was everything from wedding photos to baby pictures to graduation portraits.

Jared stared at them, easily identifying Jenny. Even as a kid playing on the beach or climbing a tree or riding a bike, she had the same big smile and bright blue eyes. In several pictures she was with an older woman who Jared guessed to be her grandmother. He was struck by how happy Jenny looked. It was a side of her he hadn’t seen.

He paused at her graduation photo. Even then she’d been a knockout.

Near her senior photo were two others in identical frames. From the resemblance, Jared could only assume they were her brother and sister. Lovie Murphy had made sure he knew as much as she did about the Beckinsale family.

Jared thought about his own graduation. There’d been no photos, no memories, no celebration, which had been just fine with him. School had been a means to an end, nothing more. He could have dropped out—most of the kids in the system had. No one gave a shit. Oh, they acted like they did, said all the right things, but in the end it boiled down to too many unwanted kids and too few social workers. Looking back, he often wondered why he hadn’t just given up like so many of the others. But even back then, he’d wanted more. A different life. A better life. Where the only person you relied on was yourself, not some damn handout from the state.

With a curse, he turned away from the pictures.

Who was he kidding? He couldn’t stay in this house. Once, when he’d been a kid, he would have done anything for a place like this. A family that had roots that went deep and held firm even through the tough times. But not now. Now, all he wanted was to get his money and get out.

Draining the last of his beer, he headed into the kitchen, intent on throwing the bottle away when he saw Jenny’s wallet on the floor, along with a plastic container full of food. He picked them both up, putting the food in the fridge. For no reason he could think of, he held on to the wallet.

In the military, he’d been called everything from brilliant to bastard. Brilliant because he’d outmaneuvered, outflown, and plain outperformed any other pilot. Bastard because he didn’t give a damn about what other people thought of him—not even his COs. He stared at the wallet in his hands, remembering the look of sheer agony that had come over Jenny’s face when he’d shown her the letter from Steven.

Jared cursed again. He shouldn’t be here. He should be in the cockpit of an F-18 thousands of miles up in the sky; it was the only place he belonged. But a few months back he’d broken his cardinal rule to remain detached, and that error cost him everything. He’d believed in a just world, where the strong protected the weak. The bureaucrats in Washington had other ideas. And because of that, Jared had tendered his resignation. He refused to let some politician thousands of miles away decide who lived and who died.

He set the wallet on the counter and threw his beer bottle away. He told himself the only reason Jenny was still trying to keep the business going was out of some misguided loyalty to Steven. Jared knew Steven wouldn’t want Jenny struggling to hold on to something that was impossible for her to grasp. Soon—very soon, if Jared’s guess was correct (and it always was)—Jenny was going to fold up shop. It was obvious she’d just about reached her caving point. And when she did, Jared would be right here.

Grabbing his duffel bag, he turned and headed up the stairs, deliberately ignoring the pinch of conscience every time he remembered the look in her eyes.