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her head jerking up, her heart thundering.
    He’d come back.
    She wanted to run, to hide, to scream for Andrew, to curl herself into a ball behind a locked door. And with her teeth gritted, she eased closer to the window, looked out.
    It was Andrew, she saw with a dizzying wave of relief. He was wearing the plaid lumberman’s jacket he used when he split wood or hiked on the cliffs. He’d turned the floodlights on, and she could see something glinting in his hand, something he swung as he strode along over the yard.
    Puzzled, she pressed her face against the window.
    A golf club? What in the world was he doing outside marching across the snowy lawn with a golf club?
    Then she knew, and love flooded into her, soothing her more than any painkiller.
    He was guarding her. The tears came back. One spilled over. Then she saw him stop, pull something from his pocket, lift it.
    And she watched him take a long swig from a bottle.
    Oh, Andrew, she thought, as her eyes closed and her heart sank. What a mess we are.

    • • •
    It was the pain that woke her, bright pops of it that banged out of her knee. Miranda fumbled on the light, shook out pills from the bottle she’d put on her bedside table. Even as she swallowed them she realized she should have taken Andrew’s advice and gone to the hospital, where some sympathetic doctor would have written her a prescription for some good, potent drugs.
    She glanced at the luminous dial of her clock, saw it was after three. At least the cocktail of ibuprofen and aspirin she’d taken at midnight had given her three hours of relief. But she was awake now, and chasing the pain. Might as well finish it off, she decided, and face the music.
    With the time difference, Elizabeth would be at her desk. Miranda picked up the phone and put the call through. Moaning a bit, she shifted her pillows against the curvy wrought-iron headboard and eased back against them.
    “Miranda, I was about to call to leave a message at your hotel for your arrival tomorrow.”
    “I’m going to be delayed. I—”
    “Delayed?” The word was like a single ice chip, frigid and sharp.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “I thought I made it clear this project is priority. I’ve guaranteed the government that we would begin tests today.”
    “I’m going to send John Carter. I—”
    “I didn’t send for John Carter, I sent for you. Whatever other work you have can be delegated. I believe I made that clear as well.”
    “Yes, you did.” No, she thought, the pills weren’t going to help this time. But the cold anger beginning to stir inside her was bound to outdistance a little pain. “I had every intention of being there, as instructed.”
    “Then why aren’t you?”
    “My passport and other identification were stolen yesterday. I’ll arrange to have them replaced as soon as possible and rebook my flight. This being Friday, I doubt I can have new documents before sometime next week.”

    She knew how bureaucracies worked, Miranda thought grimly. She’d been raised in one.
    “Even in a relatively quiet place like Jones Point, it’s foolishly careless not to lock your car.”
    “The documents weren’t in my car, they were on me. I’ll let you know as soon as they’re replaced and I’ve rescheduled. I apologize for the delay. The project will have my full time and attention as soon as I arrive. Goodbye, Mother.”
    It gave her perverse satisfaction to hang up before Elizabeth could say another word.
     
    In her elegant and spacious office three thousand miles away, Elizabeth stared at the phone with a mixture of annoyance and confusion.
    “Is there a problem?”
    Distracted, Elizabeth glanced over at her former daughter-in-law. Elise Warfield sat, a clipboard resting on her knee, her big green eyes puzzled, her soft, lush mouth curved slightly in an attentive smile.
    The marriage between Elise and Andrew hadn’t worked, which was a disappointment to Elizabeth. But her professional and personal relationship with Elise hadn’t been damaged by the divorce.
    “Yes. Miranda’s been delayed.”
    “Delayed?” Elise lifted her brows so that they disappeared under the fringe of bangs that skimmed over her brow. “That’s not like Miranda.”
    “Her passport and other identification were stolen.”
    “Oh, that’s dreadful.” Elise got to her feet. She stood just over five-two. Her body had lush feminine curves that managed to look delicate. With her sleek cap of ebony hair, her large, heavily lashed