CHAPTER 4

Adrienne de Simone shivered, although it was an unusually warm May evening in Seattle. She pulled a sweater over her head and tugged the French doors closed. She stared out through the glass and watched night descend over the gar-dens that tumbled in wild disarray beyond the walk.

In the fading light she surveyed the stone wall that protected her house at 93 Coattail Lane, then turned her methodical scrutiny to the shadows beneath the stately oaks, seeking any irregular movement. She took a deep breath and ordered herself to relax. The guard dogs that patrolled the grounds were quiet-things must be safe, she assured herself firmly.

Inexplicably tense, she entered the code on the alarm pad that would activate the motion detectors strategically mounted throughout the one-acre lawn. Any nonrandom motion over one hundred pounds in mass and three feet in height would trigger the detectors, although the shrill warn-ing would not summon the police or any law enforcement agency.

Adrienne would run for her gun before she'd run for a phone. She'd summon the devil himself before she'd dream of calling the police. Although six months had passed, Adri-enne still felt as if she couldn't get far enough from New Orleans, not even if she moved across an ocean or two, which she couldn't do anyway; the percentage of fugitives apprehended while trying to leave the country was shock-ingly high.

Was that what she really was? she marveled. It never failed to astonish her, even after all these months. How could she-Adrienne de Simone-be a fugitive? She'd always been an honest, law-abiding citizen. All she'd ever asked of life was a home and a place to belong; someone to love and someone who loved her; children someday-children she would never abandon to an orphanage.

She'd found all of that in Eberhard Darrow Garrett, the toast of New Orleans society, or so she'd thought.

Adrienne snorted as she surveyed the lawn a final time then dropped the drapes across the doors. A few years ago the world had seemed like such a different place; a wonderful place, full of promise, excitement, and endless possibility.

Armed only with her irrepressible spirit and three hun-dred dollars cash, Adrienne Doe had invented a last name for herself and fled the orphanage on the day she'd turned eighteen. She'd been thrilled to discover student loans for which practically anyone could qualify, even an unsecured risk like an orphan. She'd taken a job as a waitress, enrolled in college, and embarked on her quest to make something of herself. Just what, she wasn't sure, but she'd always had a feeling that something special was waiting around the next corner for her.

She'd been twenty, a sophomore at the university, when that special thing had happened. Working at the Blind Lemon, an elegant restaurant and bar, Adrienne had caught the eye, the heart, and the engagement ring of the darkly handsome, wealthy Eberhard Darrow Garrett, the bachelor of the decade. It had been the perfect fairy tale. She'd walked around for months on clouds of happiness.

When the clouds had started to melt beneath her feet, she'd refused to look too closely, refused to acknowledge that the fairy-tale prince might be a prince of darker things.

Adrienne squeezed her eyes shut wishing she could blink some of her bad memories out of existence. How gullible she'd been! How many excuses she'd made for him, for herself-until she'd finally had to run.

A tiny meow coaxed her back to the present and she smiled down at the one good thing that had come of it all; her kitten, Moonshadow, a precocious stray she'd found outside a gas station on her way north. Moonie rubbed her

ankles and purred enthusiastically. Adrienne scooped up the furry little creature, hugging her close. Unconditional love, such was the gift Moonie gave. Love without reserva-tion or subterfuge-pure affection with no darker sides.

Adrienne hummed lightly as she rubbed Moonie's ears, then broke off abruptly as a faint scratching sound drew her attention to the windows again.

Perfectly still, she clutched Moonie and waited, holding her breath.

But there was only silence.

It must have been a twig scratching at the roof, she de-cided. But, hadn't she cut all the trees back from the house when she'd moved in?

Adrienne sighed, shook her head, and ordered her mus-cles to relax. She had nearly succeeded when overhead a floorboard creaked. Tension reclaimed her instantly. She dropped Moonie on a stuffed chair and eyed the ceiling in-tently as the creaking sound repeated.

Perhaps it was just the house settling.

She really had to get over this skittishness.

How much time had to pass until she stopped being afraid that she would turn around and see Eberhard stand-ing there with his faintly mocking smile and gleaming gun?

Eberhard was dead. She was safe, she knew she was.

So why did she feel so horridly vulnerable? For the past few days she'd had the suffocating sensation that someone was spying on her. No matter how hard she tried to reassure herself that anyone who might wish her harm was either dead-or didn't know she was alive-she was still con-sumed by a morbid unease. Every instinct she possessed warned her that something was wrong or about to go terribly wrong. Having grown up in the City of Spooks-the sultry, superstitious, magical New Orleans-Adrienne

had learned to listen to her instincts. They were almost al-ways right on target.

Her instincts had even been right about Eberhard. She'd had a bad feeling about him from the beginning, but she'd convinced herself it was her own insecurity. Eberhard was the catch of New Orleans; naturally, a woman might feel a little unsettled by such a man.

Only much later did she understand that she'd been lonely for so long, and had wanted the fairy tale so badly, that she'd tried to force reality to reflect her desires, instead of the other way around. She'd told herself so many white lies before finally facing the truth that Eberhard wasn't the man she'd thought he was. She'd been such a fool.

Adrienne breathed deeply of the spring air that breezed gently in the window behind her, then flinched and spun abruptly. She eyed the fluttering drapes warily. Hadn't she closed that window? She was sure of it. She'd closed all of them, just before closing the French doors. Adrienne edged cautiously to the window, shut it quickly, and locked it.

It was nerves, nothing more. No face peered in the win-dow at her, no dogs barked, no alarms sounded. What was the use of taking so many precautions if she couldn't relax? There couldn't possibly be anyone out there.

Adrienne forced herself to turn away from the window.

As she padded across the room her foot encountered a small object and sent it skidding across the faded Oushak rug. where it clunked to a rest against the wall.

Adrienne glanced at it and flinched. It was a piece from Eberhard's chess set, the one she'd swiped from his house in New Orleans the night she'd fled. She'd forgotten all about it after she'd moved in. She'd tossed it in a box-one of those piled in the corner that she'd never gotten around to unpacking. Perhaps Moonie had dragged the pieces out, she mused, there were several of them scattered across the rug.

She retrieved the piece she'd kicked and rolled it gin-gerly between her fingers. Waves of emotion flooded her; a sea of shame and anger and humiliation, capped with a re-lentless fear that she still wasn't safe.