He looked around. “Don’t see why not-there’s plenty of room.” It was true; at that hour on a weeknight the place was nearly empty. He slid off the end of the bench, braced his hands on the table and leaned close to her. His voice, when he spoke, was low and held a current of urgency. “Come on, Mrs. Robey, dance with me.” And he tilted his head and smiled with heart-melting charm. “You know, I was gonna take you out on the town, after that ordeal this afternoon, but… well, that seemed a little impractical under the circumstances. So this looks like the only opportunity I’m gonna have. Dance with me.”

Why do you want me to? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him that. But she was too afraid of the answer. And it was on the tip of her tongue to say yes. She wanted to-oh, how she wanted to. But her tongue, her whole body felt heavy, weighed down by the wash of memories of all the times and ways he’d touched her, heart, soul and body…of Cinderella’s Prince, Rhett in a blue silk dressing gown, and a wounded hero with her child in his arms…of his hands enclosing hers around a perfect sand dollar, the feel of his mouth on hers. Her lips had felt swollen, hot, on fire, that day. Now she felt like that all over.

“Could I dance?” It was Helen, who had come without either of them noticing. She was standing at Riley’s elbow, smiling up at him and squirming with unwonted shyness, winsome as a kitten, and as irresistible.

For a moment longer his eyes clung to Summer’s, burning with a strange, wild light. Then he dragged them from her and in one graceful motion, straightened, turned and swept Helen’s small hands into his. “Can you…? Sure you can.” He bowed low over their clasped hands, making her giggle. “Miss Helen, may I please have this dance?”

Helen wriggled, almost overcome with shyness, pushed her tongue into the side of her cheek and finally mumbled, blushing rose-pink, “But…I don’t know how.”

“Ah,” said Riley. He thought about it. “Okay, I think I have it.” He winked at Summer as he led his diminutive partner to the open space next to the jukebox. “I think I saw this on a television commercial once…okay, missy, stand on my feet-that’s right, put your feet right…there.”

And he carefully guided Helen’s Marvin the Martian sneakers onto the tops of his polished leather dress shoes, wincing only slightly as her weight settled onto his injured instep. Then, with a grace and ceremony worthy of a palace ballroom, he danced the utterly dazzled little girl around and around while Olivia Newton-John sang sweetly of hopeless devotion, and Summer, watching, pressed her hand over her mouth and struggled with all her strength to hold back tears.

Oh, God, what have I done? They’ve fallen in love with him. And so have I.

The song ended, the music stopped. Helen immediately cried, “More! I want to do it again! Please, Mr. Riley, can we?”

But he shook his head and said firmly, “Nope-now it’s your mother’s turn. Here, tell you what-” he fished a coin out of his pocket and gave it to her “-you put this in the jukebox. Yeah, right there, like that. We’ll find that song again…okay, here it is. Now.” And then he was beside Summer, and her hand was warm in his grasp. She felt herself rising, standing up on legs that felt hollow, fragile as blown glass.

“You’re trembling, Mrs. Robey,” he said softly as his arms came around her and his hand pressed warm and strong against her back. “Why is that?”

She tried to laugh. “It’s been a long time since I’ve danced.”

“I was sure it had been.”

There was a strange timbre in his voice that made her shiver even more, and her voice was bumpy as she said, “What if I’ve forgotten how?” In her high-heeled sandals she was almost as tall as he was; his finely chiseled lips were on a level with her eyes.

He smiled, and the movement drew her hungry gaze. “Would you like to stand on my feet?”

“I’m wearing heels,” she said with a husky chortle. “You’d be crippled for life.”

He laughed and said, “I doubt that” But she thought, No, it is I who will be crippled. After this, when we leave here, how will I-how will we ever forget you? After you, Riley Grogan, what man can there ever be…for me?

When he checked suddenly in the middle of the song, she gave a small, almost guilty start, as if he’d walked in on her private thoughts. But his hand had gone to his side and was pushing back his jacket to unhook a beeper from the waistband of his slacks.

“Oops,” he said, glancing at it, “I’m going to have to see about this. Do you mind?” It was a formality, of course; she shook her head. Riley was looking around for a pay phone.

“Back there, I think,” she murmured, pointing. “Behind the video games.” He nodded, muttered his thanks and went off to find it, weaving his way among long wooden tables, while Summer went back to their table and Helen, who awaited her with smiles and eyes that sparkled with delicious feminine conspiracy.

I guess it’s like that with lawyers, too, she thought, remembering that she’d summoned hers in the middle of a black-tie affair. Remembering, too, the times when she’d still had her own veterinary clinic and had so often been beeped in the middle of family outings to tend to some pet emergency or other. The children were used to hurried endings. Thinking of that, remembering that she’d once had a life, and a good one, long before Hal’s desertion, crime syndicates, the FBI and Riley Grogan, helped to restore her equilibrium, calm her panic, and quiet her soul. She would have a life again, someday. After all this. After Riley Grogan. For the children’s sake, I must.

She had just settled onto the bench and gathered her daughter against her side in a one-armed hug when Riley came back to the table, steering David along with a hand on the back of his neck. His face was grim, and his eyes held a hard, steely glitter.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to cut this short,” he said quietly. “We need to get home-now.”

Summer was already on her feet, her heart pounding. “What is it? It can’t be-” He shook his head, glancing at the children. “Okay, guys, clean-up time,” Summer said briskly, picking up his cue. “David, you take the trays. Helen, you gather up the trash. Hurry up-chop-chop.”

While they were thus occupied, Riley moved close to her and spoke in a low voice, for her ears alone. “That was the police. My security monitoring service called them. Somebody tried to break into the house this afternoon.”

Chapter 13

The phone rang while Mirabella was giving Amy Jo her bath. Since Jimmy Joe was out on a cross-country haul and J.J. was spending the night at his friend Rocky’s house, she had no choice but to let it ring until the machine picked it up. And then it was a hang-up after all. She really hated that.

It rang again while she was getting Amy Jo settled down, reading her her bedtime story and tucking her in for the night, and there was no way she was going to let a phone call interrupt that! Especially a phone call from somebody who didn’t even have the courtesy to leave a message.

Consequently, when it rang for the third time just as she was sitting down to the computer to work on the plans for Blue Star Lines new company offices, she was a wee bit short tempered and out of sorts.

“Yes!” she barked. And then, slowly, she said, “Yes, this is Mirabella Starr.” For some reason the voice on the other end of the line, though polite as could be, made a chill go down her spine.

“Mrs. Starr, this is Special Agent Jake Redfield, with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’d like to ask you-”

“The FBI?” Mirabella’s first impulse was to laugh. For some reason, instead, she asked very quietly, “Is this a joke?” And her heart had already begun to beat faster.

“No, ma’am, this isn’t a joke. This concerns-”

“It’s my sister, isn’t it? Which one? Oh, God, it’s Evie, isn’t it? I knew something was wrong-I knew it.”

“Ma’am-calm down, please. Ma’am, this does concern your sister, Summer Robey-”

“Oh, God-”

“Your sister’s fine, Mrs. Starr. However, we would like to ask you for your help in resolving a matter that concerns her.”

“A matter-hey, wait just a minute,” Mirabella cried, relief restoring her naturally bossy and forthright nature, “how do I know this isn’t some kind of joke? Just because you say you’re with the FBI-”

A sigh interrupted her. “Mrs. Starr, here’s what I want you to do, okay? I want you to hang up, and then dial long distance information for Savannah. Ask for the number for the FBI. When they answer, I want you to ask for Special Agent Redfield-would you do that for me, please?”

Mirabella gulped and gave a grudging “Okay.” There was a distant “click.”

She had to look up the area code for Savannah. But a few minutes later she was listening to a flat male voice droning, “Federal Bureau of Investigation,” while fear fluttered in her stomach and icy sweat beaded like dew on her forehead. She had to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth in order to ask for Special Agent Redfield, but a moment later heard the chillingly neutral voice saying, “Thank you for calling me back, Mrs. Starr. Are we okay now? All squared away?”

Well, you needn’t be quite so polite, Mirabella thought testily. After all, you can’t just trust people nowadays, can you? She cleared her throat and said crisply, “Yes, thank you. Now, you say this concerns my sister Summer? Is she in some kind of trouble?” Oh, Got, I knew it. I knew it.

“Not at all,” Agent Redfield said smoothly. “But what we’d like you to do, if you wouldn’t mind, if anyone should call you or contact you asking about where they can get ahold-”

“Hal! This is about him, isn’t it? That no-good ex-husband of hers-I knew it!”