Kenzie Sloane. Those eyes…daring Kate to kill her.

She shivered.

Enid’s bright blue gaze had narrowed. “You see? A warm Italian sun will do wonders for you.” She patted Kate’s hand

“But what about you, Enid? You haven’t been well. I don’t want to leave you.” In case anything happens, she mentally added. She didn’t think she could bear to lose Enid. Not yet.

Not ever.

“I’m feeling better.” She gave Kate a reassuring smile. She did look a bit better. She had some color in her cheeks. “And I’ve got Corazon to help me. You, on the other hand, look like you need to get away from Halifax. Italy will be good for your soul.”

Goodness knows that her soul had needed a little help. It had been thrown into darkness. Over and over again. She didn’t know why her life had become so closely entwined with death. But when she had pointed that revolver at Kenzie Sloane and gloried in the urge to pull the trigger…

“It takes guts to do this, Kate. Not everyone can be a killer.”

That memory sickened her. Terrified her.

And knowing that Alaska would be more than happy to have Finn look after him, she had decided to extend her initial two weeks’ vacation to four, and go for broke. It was Italy or bust—for her soul. Especially after Nina Woods, the Managing Partner of McGrath Woods, had told her that the firm was concerned about all the salacious media attention that Kate had been receiving as a result of her teenage history with Kenzie Sloane.

Kate had flown from Halifax on a drizzly June day, her head pounding from the concussion she’d suffered at Kenzie Sloane’s merciless, masterful hands. She had turned off her phone and her computer, allowing her concussed brain a chance to recover from the trauma it had suffered. Italy was a perfect distraction. Gorgeous architecture, a delight around every corner. She allowed herself to be caught entirely in the present, with no thought of the past, and no cares about the future.

And now, four weeks later, she was back. The question was whether the healing from the warm Italian sun had penetrated deeply enough. Or whether being back in the bedroom where her dead sister’s box of mementoes sat in the closet would make her Italian sojourn a gelato-flavored dream.

“Finn? Are you home?” she called.

Foo Dog licked her hand. She had to admit, he was a cute yin to Alaska’s majestic yang.

“Hey, you’re back!” Finn’s sun-streaked head appeared around the doorway to the kitchen. “I’m cleaning up the dishes. Just a sec.” He hurried from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishcloth, which he tossed onto his shoulder to free his arms for a hug. “How was your flight?”