Clearly Andrew Balaton was having his daughter watched. To protect her, she wondered, or to stop her?

And she thought, from what?

It was almost noon when Jeremy drove back out to the Wakefield farm. He stood next to an old rag mop at the side entrance and knocked at the door, but no one answered. The maroon Jaguar was still in the driveway. From the article in You, he knew Ashley Wakefield drove one. She was here.

He followed a thwacking sound around behind the red shed to a woodpile, where a tall dark-haired man was swinging an ax. Sweat poured down his face, turning the dirt and dust there to mud. His swing was slow and uneven—painful, it seemed.

David Wakefield. The twin brother and cobeneficiary of the Liechtenstein trust.

As Jeremy moved closer, he noticed the purples and yellows of fresh bruises, the places that had swelled, the places that were scabbed over. “Jeremy, there’s no danger...” For whom, Mac?

He put out a hand as he introduced himself, and they shook. “I met your sister yesterday afternoon,” Jeremy said pleasantly.

“Right.” David winced in pain, holding his abdomen. “She told me.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, just trying to chase away some ghosts and goblins with a little physical labor.”

Jeremy could see David Wakefield was used to physical work, probably relished it. “You look as if you’re in pain.”

He grimaced, stretching a bit. “Yeah.”

“What happened?” Jeremy asked casually.

“I smart-assed the wrong guy. Come on inside, I’ll fix some iced tea—”

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Something up?”

Jeremy hesitated as he quickly reexamined his decision to leave Massachusetts. Seeing David Wakefield added a new element—or did it? They were wealthy people—extraordinarily, mysteriously wealthy—and they’d just had their names plastered across the entire country. Mac didn’t have to be the only one pestering them.

“I’m leaving this afternoon,” Jeremy said. “I stopped by to tell your sister I’ve talked to Mac Stevens. He’s fine. He’s planning to conclude some business in New York, then fly back to San Diego.” The lie slipped out of his mouth, but whatever Mac was doing didn’t need to involve the Wakefield twins. “It was a case of mistaken identity. Your uncle reminded Mac of an old friend. The picture in the magazine wasn’t that clear.”

David leaned against the ax, letting it support his weight. “You sure?”

“I’m convinced. David, I’ve known Mac a long time, and I don’t see how he could know a Massachusetts farmer.”

“Ashley checked you out, you know.”

He smiled. “I’m not surprised. I imagine all this publicity has brought the crazies out of the woodwork.”

“She doesn’t believe you and Stevens are lawyers,” David said gravely, studying Jeremy.

“Tell her I’ll send her a copy of my diploma—or I’ll tell her myself. Is she around?”

“Up wandering the fields.”

“I see.” He felt an odd disappointment. “Tell her I missed her. It’s been nice meeting you both. If you’re ever in San Diego, look me up.”