God, she thought, she couldn’t wait to get away from this.

“So you run.”

The voice of her dreams…

She whirled around, expecting nothing. It had happened before—a vision, a vengeful act of the imagination. But this time he was there. As always, he wore black. He was older, stouter, more weather-beaten. The eyes were the same. Intense, knowing. When she’d first seen them, she’d known she’d never forget them.

“My God, it is you.” Her voice was a strangled whisper; her heart thumped wildly. “How did you get in here?”

“There is always a way.”

“For you,” she said.

He shrugged, almost imperceptibly. “Where are you going, Lillian? Tell me. Where does a woman run to escape what she cannot escape?”

She threw a lace camisole into the suitcase. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m due a vacation. Now’s as good a time as any.”

“Thirty years ago, we were both forced to run,” the man in black said quietly. “To protect ourselves, perhaps to protect others, we ran from the truth. From finishing this.”

“No.” She slammed the suitcase shut. “No, dammit. I’m already being manipulated by Crockett and Balaton. I won’t be manipulated by you. I don’t owe you a thing. If anything, you owe me. Now get out.”

His gaze was level and enigmatic, unforgettable. She noticed the deep lines in his face, the toughened skin, the calluses on his browned, blunt hands. “I am not here to force you to do anything,” he said. “You are right: you owe me nothing. But what do you owe yourself, Lillian? What do you owe the memory of your friendship with Judith Land?”

“I don’t deserve anything—and Judith was stubborn and reckless. She was my friend, and I loved her. But I know what she was. And she’s dead.”

“Sometimes we cannot choose what we must do.”

“Don’t get self-righteous with me. I know the lies you’ve told.”

He nodded solemnly, his eyes never leaving her face. “You must do as your conscience dictates.”

He started to leave.

Lillian put out a hand, but didn’t touch him. “Wait—what about you?”

He refused to answer.

“Ashley and David—they call you Barky. It’s difficult to imagine you with them. Raising them from infancy. Did you bounce them on your knee? Change their diapers? Play the tooth fairy and Santa Claus? I almost envy you, Bartholomew Wakefield.” She dropped her hand. “I don’t want anything to happen to them. Please. Save them.”

He turned. “Then you must help me.”

A pain started inside her, low, deep. She was having trouble breathing, but the man in black made no move toward her. She found the strength to stand up straight. “I could be ruined, you know.”

“You could be killed.”

She felt the blood draining from her face. “What can I do?”

“You can stop MacGregor Stevens. He will be on Badger Rock Island tomorrow.”

22

The bath was Jeremy’s idea. He had said, blandly enough, that he was tired and stiff and, frankly, smelled. And, innocently enough, she had shown him to the bathroom adjoining her room. It was the one with the big tub, she’d said, and she pointed out her shelf of bath salts and potpourri and oils.