Ashley Wakefield was dripping wet and staring straight into the camera with that dazzling smile. Her batik top was slightly askew, revealing the edge of her light tan. The effect was far more enticing, far sexier, than if she had been standing there naked—at least in Mac’s opinion. He wasn’t sure about Jeremy. But there was something about the way she held herself—perhaps it was in the devil-may-care look in those bright eyes—that suggested to Mac that the young woman would be very annoyed indeed if she knew she were being scrutinized like a Playboy centerfold.

The other photographs suggested the unpredictability of the woman and the wildly eclectic life-style she seemed to have. She was regal in the Berkshires. Competent and businesslike at her Boston offices. Free spirited in Manhattan, with all her bags and boxes. Muddy and drenched and exhausted on Cape Cod, rescuing dolphins and inspecting her plane.

And very beautiful and strangely haunted at the gala opening at the New England Oceanographic Institute.

Mac could understand why Jeremy had been so engrossed in what was ordinarily a very shallow and uninteresting little magazine. “Dolphin rescuer and mystery heiress,” the headline said. Ashley Wakefield was clearly much more complicated than that

Then, in the lower corner of the third page, he saw the picture of the farmer. He was sitting on a red tractor in front of a sheep pen. The caption read, “Ashley credits her uncle, a farmer in Amherst, Massachusetts, with instilling in her a commitment to hard work.”

Mac felt the blood pouring out of his face. His hands shook violently. He gasped for air, but managed to let the magazine fall back onto the desk.

Jeremy was on his feet. “Mac?”

“My God.” The words came out in a choked whisper. He ran one hand through his hair and looked around the office, for what he didn’t know. An escape? No. There wasn’t one. There never had been. The face of the farmer was etched in his mind for all time. “I can’t...”

“The trust, you mean?” Jeremy sounded worried. “Come on, Mac, you’ve been a lawyer for thirty years. You know as well as I do people do some strange things with their money. Mac...Mac, do you know this woman?”

Mac shook his head, grabbing his hair, fighting to regain his composure. Don’t say anything! It was none of Jeremy’s affair—not a part of Mac’s life in San Diego, or the past thirty years.

“You want me to call someone?”

“No...no. I’m all right.” He attempted a smile but knew it fell short. Jeremy didn’t look encouraged. “I’m sorry. I must...not be feeling well. I suppose I’m seeing things.”

“You sure? Anything I can do?”

“No. Thank you.”

Leaving Jeremy looking concerned and unsatisfied with his explanation, Mac stumbled back to his office. For a long time he stood staring out his window, remembering. He saw the faces he’d banished from his thoughts years and years ago. He heard the old cries and felt the anguish and the desperation and the pain. And the hatred. And the horror.