Sally sat down at the table next to him and Adam knew she was through beating around the bush. “Adam, what happened to Trish?”

He tried several ways of skirting the subject but eventually she wore him down, as she always did.

When he was finished telling his side of the story, she sighed. “Sweetie, even as a child, you didn’t want to trust in love. But you’re not a child any longer. Are you going to let Trish walk away, knowing you’ll never be whole without her? Or will you find a way to convince her that you truly are the good man she once thought you were?”

“Let’s get it straight, we’re not talking about love.” He realized his knuckles were turning white and loosened his grip on the beer bottle. “Besides, she lied.”

“Maybe she had a good reason to lie. Did you ever ask?”

His jaw worked as he stared out at the wide expanse of grassy lawn that stretched all the way to the cliff. “No, I never asked. How could I trust her to tell me the truth?”

“Oh, Adam,” Sally said. “Of the three of you, you were always the one who had the hardest time giving your trust.”

“I trust you, Mom.”

She sniffed a little and her eyes glistened. “Thank you, darling. I hope you always will. But more than anything else, I want you to trust yourself.”

“I trust myself,” he muttered. “It’s the rest of humanity I have a problem with.”

She laughed. “You’re going to have to let that go.” Sitting forward, she grabbed his hand. “Honey, if you want Trish, you have to dig deep, find out what happened there. Maybe it won’t bring the two of you back together, but at least you’ll be able to go on, having found out the whole truth. Until you do, I don’t know if you can ever be happy. And if there’s one thing I want in this world, it’s for you to be happy. And you know I always get what I want.”

Adam chuckled as he squeezed her hand with both of his. “You scare me to death, Mom.”

“Oh, honey.” She jumped out of her chair and gave him a tight hug. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”


He didn’t go straight home but stopped at the office instead. It was a quiet Sunday so he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed. Sitting down at his desk, he picked up Trish’s disk and stared at it. “Vista del Lago” was written on it, probably by Trish, and he absently rubbed his finger over the script.

Swearing under his breath, he shoved the disk into his laptop and viewed the two pages of scanned documents.

When he was finished, Adam swiped his hand across his face. What the hell?

The letterhead was Duke Development’s but he didn’t recognize the name of the letter writer, Peter Abernathy. He logged in and used his special admin password to look up Abernathy’s employment background and his record with DDI. The man had been president of Abernathy Construction up until a few months ago when Duke bought him out.

While Adam was logged on, he decided to look up the same information on Stan Strathbaum. Turned out, Strathbaum had a background similar to Abernathy’s. He’d been head of his own small company, Strathbaum Ltd., until Duke bought him out eight months ago.

After reading both men’s employment histories, along with the DDI due diligence reports, Adam spent some quality Google time in order to get more information on both men and their business practices, as well as some details regarding certain historical landmarks in Dunsmuir Bay.

Finally, he sat back in his chair and thought about what he’d learned. For a long time, he stared out at the horizon where the pale blue sky met the cobalt blue of the ocean. He could now understand why Trish had been so upset by the thought that Adam would approve the plan to tear down Vista del Lago. She must’ve experienced a painful sense of déjà vu when she’d read that letter and notice, thinking Adam was out to destroy another small community of friends and neighbors, just like hers, all over again.

But what she didn’t know was that Adam had never approved the Vista del Lago teardown. He never would. He didn’t operate that way-not that she would ever believe him. And furthermore, he never would’ve approved the destruction of the Victorian Village if he’d known about it. That one had slipped through the cracks. Or rather, Strathbaum had shoved it through the cracks. The slimy little creep had rushed the demolition through before anyone at Duke could make a decision on the property one way or the other. And as furious as he was at the little toad, Adam had to admit that he was culpable, too. His company, his mistake. The mistake being that he hadn’t been paying close enough attention. He’d taken his eye off the ball and people had been hurt.

With ruthless calm, he made a note to fire Strathbaum on Monday. Adam and his brothers didn’t need someone like that working for Duke Development. But as satisfying as firing the man would be, it wouldn’t bring back Trish’s home or her grandmother. There was nothing he could do about the past. But there was plenty he could do about the future.


Trish drove to the hospital and handed the vase filled with two dozen perfect red roses to the clerk at the front desk. “Please give them to someone who needs them.”

“They’re so beautiful,” the admissions clerk exclaimed. “But that’s the third bouquet this week. Is it your birthday?”

“Not exactly,” she hedged, then smiled. “Enjoy.”

Actually, the bouquet of red roses was the fifth arrangement she’d received this week. Day one was daisies. They were so cheerful, she hadn’t had the heart to give them away. Day two, pink roses. Day three, a beautiful spring bouquet. Trish had spent half the day mooning over that one before deciding it would be perfect for cheering up a sick hospital patient. Day four, shiny balloons and homemade chocolate-chip cookies. One balloon said, “I Miss You.” She couldn’t bear to give that one to the hospital so it was still bobbing around her tiny living room. How many more gifts and flowers would Adam send before he gave up and left her alone?

He’d called, too. Two, three times a day. She’d refused to answer or call him back. It was torturous enough just hearing his voice on her answering machine. If she actually spoke with him, how would she ever be able to block him from her mind and heart?

She should’ve been happy she’d proved him to be the bad guy she always knew he was. But she wasn’t happy. She was miserable.

She pulled the car over and parked across the street from the pier. There weren’t many tourists because it was winter, but the sun was still warm enough that she pulled a hat over her hair before walking across to the pier.

After buying a small box of caramel corn, she took the old wooden stairs down to the beach. The waves were forceful and the air was crisp and cold. She could smell the salt, feel the slight spray on her skin. She tried to think of happier times. Before Adam. She couldn’t think about him because it hurt too much to wonder what might have been.

Was she being maudlin by coming down here? It was so close, only a block away from where the Victorian Village had stood. Now there was an ugly gray parking structure standing in its place, but Trish refused to look at it.

As she skipped through the waves that washed onto the shore, she thought of Grandma Anna, the only family she’d ever had. She barely remembered her father-killed in Operation Desert Storm when she was a little girl. Her mother died when Trish was nine and she and Grandma Anna mourned the loss together and grew to depend on each other.

Her grandmother had been her closest friend, her advisor, her teacher, her parent. Now she had no one, and it hurt so deeply to know that she was alone in the world. No family, no loved ones. Well, there was one man she loved, still. Even though he’d hurt her badly. She’d thought there was no greater pain than when Grandma Anna died, but she was wrong.

Losing Adam hurt even more.

She wasn’t sure why it hurt so much. He’d never really been hers, after all. And she’d known his true nature all along. So why did it hurt so much now that she was alone again?

It had been three weeks since that fateful night at the Fantasy Mountain gala when that hideous man had spoken to Adam. If only she’d been able to stop him. If only Adam hadn’t believed him. If only. Trish was sick and tired of moaning and groaning about things she couldn’t change, things that could never be.

Such as the fact that she’d actually told Adam that she loved him. And he’d returned the favor by staring daggers at her as she walked out the door.

Oh, it was too humiliating to think about.

“So don’t think about it,” she grumbled, kicking up sand. “Do something. You need a job. You need to get on with your life. You need to do something about Grandma Anna’s things.”

She’d wondered what Grandma Anna would say about Trish falling in love with Adam, and now some words came to her mind. “Don’t be ashamed for loving well.”

Tears prickled her eyes. No, she wouldn’t be ashamed. But it was definitely time to stop wallowing. She’d given love her best shot and she’d grieved over it. Now it was time to pick herself up, dust herself off and all that other stuff. What she needed was closure.


“That’s a one-of-a-kind item,” Trish said, wrestling the small treasure back from the woman who’d picked it up and shaken it. “An eighteenth-century pillbox. French, hand-painted with real pearls lining the edges. The cameo is carved ivory, inlaid on amber.”

“Does it come in red?” the woman asked.

Trish wanted to smack her but resisted, much to her credit, she thought. Honestly, she’d wanted to smack so many of the people she’d dealt with today.

She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She wasn’t usually so short-tempered. She could understand people wanting a bargain, but didn’t anyone in the world want something of quality that would last a lifetime or even longer?