It was time to admit that, she decided, because you could never face anything until it was admitted. You could never solve anything until it was faced. She’d lived by that rule years before during the biggest crisis of her life. It still held true.

So she loved him, or very nearly loved him. She was no longer naive enough to believe that love was the beginning of any answer. He would hurt her. There were no ifs about that. He’d steal from her the one thing she’d managed to hold fast to for ten years. And once he’d taken her heart, what would it mean to him? She shook her head. No more than such things ever mean to those who take them.

Jonas Sharpe was a man on a mission, and she was no more to him than a map. He was ruthless in his own patient way. When he had finished what he’d come to do, he would turn away from her, go back to his life in Philadelphia and never think of her again.

Some women, Liz thought, were doomed to pick the men who could hurt them the most. Making her mind a blank, Liz stripped and changed to her bathing suit. But Jonas, thoughts of Jonas, kept slipping through the barriers.

Maybe if she talked to Faith—if she could touch her greatest link with normality, things would snap back into focus. On impulse, Liz picked up the phone beside her bed and began the process of placing the call. Faith would just be home from school, Liz calculated, growing more excited as she heard the clinks and buzzes on the receiver. When the phone began to ring, she sat on the bed. She was already smiling.

“Hello?”

“Mom?” Liz felt the twin surges of pleasure and guilt as she heard her mother’s voice. “It’s Liz.”

“Liz!” Rose Palmer felt identical surges. “We didn’t expect to hear from you. Your last letter just came this morning. Nothing’s wrong, is it?”

“No, no, nothing’s wrong.” Everything’s wrong. “I just wanted to talk to Faith.”

“Oh, Liz, I’m so sorry. Faith’s not here. She has her piano lesson today.”

The letdown came, but she braced herself against it. “I forgot.” Tears threatened, but she forced them back. “She likes the lessons, doesn’t she?”

“She loves them. You should hear her play. Remember when you were taking them?”

“I had ten thumbs.” She managed to smile. “I wanted to thank you for sending the pictures. She looks so grown up. Momma, is she…looking forward to coming back?”

Rose heard the need, felt the ache. She wished, not for the first time, that her daughter was close enough to hold. “She’s marking off the days on her calendar. She bought you a present.”

Liz had to swallow. “She did?”