He swirled whiskey, swallowed. “They're perfectly aware that I'm their father, but you've seen to it that they have no respect for that relationship.”

“No, you've seen to it.”

Deliberately he set the whiskey aside. “Do you think I don't know what you tell them? Sweet, harmless little Suzanna.” She stepped back automatically, pleasing him.

“I don't tell them anything about you,” she said, furious with herself for retreating.

“Oh, no? Then you didn't mention the fact that they had a bastard brother out in Oklahoma?”

So that was it, she realized, struggling to settle. “Megan O'Riley's brother married my sister. There was no way to keep the situation a secret, even if I had wanted to.”

“And you just couldn't wait to sling my name around.” He gave her another shove that sent her stumbling back.

“The boy's their half brother. They accept that, and they're too young to understand what a despicable thing you did.”

“My affairs are mine. Don't you forget it.” Gripping her shoulders, he pushed her up against the wall. “I have no intention of letting you get away with your pitiful plots for revenge.”

“Take your hands off me.” She twisted, but he forced her back again.

“When I'm damn good and ready. Let me warn you, Suzanna. I won't have you spreading my private business around. If even a hint of this gets out, I’ll know where it started, and you know who'll pay for it.”

She kept herself rigid, kept her eyes steady. “You can't hurt me anymore.”

“Don't count on it. You make sure your children keep this business of half brothers to themselves. If it's mentioned again –” he tightened his grip and jerked her up on her toes “ – ever, you'll be very sorry.”

“Take your threats and get out of my house.”

“Yours?” He closed a hand around her throat. “Remember, it's only yours because I didn't want this crumbling anachronism. Push me, and I'll have you back in court in a heartbeat. And I'll have it all this time. Those children might benefit from a nice, Swiss boarding school, which is exactly where they'll be if you don't watch your step.”

He saw her eyes change, but it wasn't the fear he'd expected. It was fury. She lifted a hand, but before she could strike out, he was jerked away and tumbling to the floor. She watched Holt drag him up again by the collar then send him crashing into a Louis Quinze table.

She'd never seen murder in a man's eyes before, but she recognized it in Holt's as he pounded a fist into Baxter's face.

“Holt, don't –”

She started forward only to have her arm gripped with surprising strength. “Let him alone,” Colleen said, her mouth grim, her eyes bright.

He wanted to kill him, and might have, if the man had fought back. But Bax slumped in his hold, nose and mouth seeping blood. “You listen to me, you bastard.” Holt slammed him against the wall. “Put your hands on her again, and you're dead.”

Shaken, hurting, Bax fumbled for a handkerchief. “I can have you arrested for assault.” Holding the cloth to his nose, he looked around and saw his wife standing inside the terrace doors. “I have a witness. You assaulted me and threatened my life.” It was his first taste of humiliation, and he detested it. His glance veered toward Suzanna. “You'll regret this.”

“No, she won't,” Colleen put in before Holt could give in to the satisfaction of smashing his fist into the sneering mouth. “But you will, you miserable, quivering, spineless swine.” She leaned heavily on her cane as she walked toward him. “You'll regret it for what's left of your worthless life if you ever lay hands on any member of my family again. Whatever you think you can do to us, I can do only more viciously to you. If you're unclear about my abilities, my name is Colleen Theresa Calhoun, and I can buy and sell you twice over.”

She studied him, a pitiful man in a rumpled suit, bleeding into a silk handkerchief. “I wonder what the governor of your state – who happens to be my godchild – will have to say if I mention this scene to him.” She gave a slow, satisfied nod when she saw she was understood. “Now get your miserable hide out of my house. Young man –” she inclined her head to Holt “ – you'll be so kind as to show our guest to the door.”

“My pleasure.” Holt dragged him into the hall. The last thing Suzanna saw when she ran from the house was Yvette's fluttering hands.

“Where did she go?” Holt demanded when he found Colleen alone in the parlor.

“To lick her wounds, I suppose. Get me a brandy. Damn it, she'll keep a minute,” she muttered when he hesitated. Colleen eased herself into a chair and waited for her heart rate to settle. “I knew she'd had a difficult time, but I wasn't fully aware of the extent of it. I've had this Dumont looked into since the divorce.” She took the brandy and drank deeply. “Pitiful excuse for a man. I still wasn't aware he had abused her. I should have been, the first time I saw that look in her eyes. My mother had the same look.” She closed her own and leaned back. “Well, if he doesn't want to see his political ambitions go up in smoke, he'll leave her be.” Slowly she opened her eyes and gave Holt a steely look. “You did well for yourself – I admire a man who uses his fists. I only regret I didn't use my cane on him.”

“I think you did better. I just broke his nose, you scared the –”

“I certainly did.” She smiled and drank again. “Damn good feeling, too.” She noted that Holt was staring at the open terrace doors, his hands still fisted. Suzanna could do worse, she thought and swirled the remaining brandy. “My mother used to go to the cliffs. You might find Suzanna there. Tell her the children are having cookies and spoiling their dinner.”

She had gone to the cliffs. She didn't know why when she'd needed to run, that she had run there. Only for a moment, she promised herself. She would only need a moment alone.

She sat on a rock, covered her face and wept out the bitterness and shame.

He found her like that, alone and sobbing, the wind carrying off the sounds of her grief, the sea pounding restlessly below. He didn't know where to begin. His mother had always been a sturdy woman, and whatever tears she had shed, had been shed in private.

Worse, he could still see Suzanna pushed against the wall, Dumont's hand on her throat. She'd looked so fragile, and so brave.

He stepped closer, laid a hesitant hand on her hair. “Suzanna.”

She was up like a shot, choking back tears, wiping them from her damp face. ”I have to get back in. The children –”

“Are in the kitchen stuffing themselves with cookies. Sit down.” “No, I –”

“Please.” He sat, easing her down beside him. “I haven't been here in a long time. My grandfather used to bring me. He used to sit right here and look out to sea. Once he told me a story about a princess in the castle up on the ridge. He must have been talking about Bianca, but later, when I remembered it, I always thought of you.”

“Holt, I'm so sorry.”

“If you apologize, you're only going to make me mad.”

She swallowed another hot ball of tears. “I can't stand that you saw, that anyone saw.”

“What I saw was you standing up to a bully.” He turned her face to his. When he saw the fading red marks on her throat, he had to force back an oath. “He's never going to hurt you again.”

“It was his reputation. The children must have talked about Kevin.” “Are you going to tell me?”

She did, as clearly as she was able. “When Sloan told me,” she finished, “I knew it was important that the children understand they had a brother. What Bax doesn't realize is that I never thought about him, never cared. It was the children who mattered, all of them. The family.”

“No, he wouldn't understand that. Or you.” He brought her hand to his lips to kiss it gently. The stunned look on her face had him scowling out to sea. “I haven't been Mr. Sensitivity myself.”

“You've been wonderful.”

“If I had you wouldn't look like I hit you with a rock when I kiss your hand.”

“It just isn't your style.”

“No.” He shrugged and dug out a cigarette. “I guess it's not.” Then he changed his mind and slipped an arm around her shoulders instead. “Nice view.”

“It's wonderful. I've always come here, to this spot. Sometimes...” “Go ahead.”

“You'll just laugh at me, but sometimes it's as if I can almost see her. Bianca. I can feel her, and I know she's here, waiting.” She rested her head on his shoulder and shut her eyes. “Like right now. It's so warm and real. Up in the tower, her tower, it's bittersweet, more of a longing. But here, it's anticipation. Hope. I know you think I'm crazy.”

“No.” When she started to shift, he pulled her closer so that her head nestled back on his shoulder. “No, I can't. Not when I feel it, too.”

From the west tower, the man who called himself Marshall watched them through field glasses. He didn't worry about being disturbed. The family no longer came above the second floor in the west wing, and the crew had knocked off thirty minutes before. He'd hoped to take advantage of the time that Sloan O'Riley was away with his new bride on his honeymoon to move more freely around the house. The Calhouns were so accustomed to seeing men in tool belts that they rarely gave him a second glance.

And he was interested, very interested in Holt Bradford, finding it fascinating that he was being drawn into this generation of Calhouns. It pleased him that he could continue his work right under the nose of an excop. Such irony added to his vanity.

He would continue to keep tabs, he thought, while the cop completed his search. And he would be there to take what was his the moment the treasure was found. Whoever was in the way would simply be eliminated.