The Secret She Keeps. Cassie Miles
etched crow’s feet touched those eyes.
“Peter,” she whispered.
He looked older. His high cheekbones and jawline were more sharply chiseled. A touch of gray streaked his thick black hair.
She must be dreaming. He couldn’t be here. Peter Maggio was dead. He’d been dead for twelve years, the entire life span of their son.
“Candace,” he said.
“Eden,” she corrected automatically. Her heart beat fast, speeded by the pressure of a thousand emotions. It felt like her rib cage would explode. “Candace is dead. Like you. You’re dead.”
“I didn’t want to meet like this. I would have given you time to—”
“Stop!” The music of his voice was overwhelmed by a roaring in her ears. She’d lost her mind. Gone insane. “You’re dead.”
“Touch me.”
When his hand reached toward her, she shied away in horror. This handsome spectre might pull her into the grave beside him where they would rest together for all eternity. Too often she’d dreamed of such peace, being in Peter’s arms one more time. Forever. But she couldn’t leave her son to fend for himself. She had to protect Josh. For his sake, she had to stay alive.
The ghost stepped toward her, leaving the shadows.
“Keep away from me,” she gasped.
“Eden, it’s all right. I won’t hurt you.”
The glow of the forty-watt bulb glistened in his hair. She stared, incapable of absorbing the miracle that stood before her. He was here. Alive! Peter Maggio had returned from the grave. A miracle or a curse, she didn’t know which.
Eden closed her eyes. Her head whirled. Her knees went limp and she felt herself falling, falling into a bottomless abyss.
KNEELING BESIDE HER, Payne cradled her head against his arm. Though he hadn’t intended to shock her into a dead faint, he should have expected her reaction at coming face-to-face with a living, breathing ghost.
He should have asked Sister Max to prepare Candace, but there wasn’t time to gently ease her into acceptance. Too soon, his enemies would arrive for the funeral. Payne was investigating on his own, looking for proof to charge the corrupt agents who had killed Eddy and sabotaged Payne’s career. At the same time, he was on the run. His identity had been revealed to the Verones—the criminals he had secretly prosecuted so long ago. They wanted his blood.
Every minute Payne stayed in this church increased the odds against his survival, but he had desperately needed this time alone with the woman who had haunted his heart for twelve years. Candace Verone was the ghost, the vanished lover, the only woman he had ever truly cared for.
He stared into her face—a perfect oval, framed by the white headpiece of a novice nun. Her black eyebrows arched delicately over thick, sooty lashes. A stubborn jaw and a straight Roman nose lent character to her features. In her teens, she’d been adorable. Now, in the prime of her life, she was a breathtaking beauty.
Her lashes fluttered, her eyelids opened and she gazed dreamily, not yet fully conscious. Her full lips parted as if she were about to smile. He wanted to kiss those lips, to embrace her and pretend the last twelve years had never happened.
Her expression transformed. All gentleness left her face as she snapped, “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Sorry,” he said.
“Twelve years ago, you died.”
“I was shot and in the hospital for a week, but—”
“Basta!” Her hazel eyes flashed. Her beautiful lips compressed in a tight, angry line. “I should kill you myself. With these hands.”
“Candace, I tried—”
“Don’t call me that.” She shoved away from him with a wild flailing of arms and legs. “I’m Eden Miller now.”
“Fair enough.” He had a confession of his own. “And I’m not Peter Maggio. I never was. My real name is Payne Magnuson.”
“Pain?” she said, her voice rising on the single syllable. “Pain! How appropriate!”
She bolted to her feet. For a moment, she wobbled. Her hand rubbed against her forehead and she yanked off the wimple. Her fingers raked through her shoulder-length chestnut hair, streaked with blond highlights. Very sophisticated, Payne thought.
She glared at him. “Why are you smiling?”
“A nun?” That sure as hell wasn’t the way he remembered her.
“A schoolgirl disguise didn’t cut it. The plaid uniform skirt I wore when I was fourteen didn’t fit.”
“You’re the first nun I’ve seen wearing a silk blouse and cashmere sweater.”
She stiffened. “The outfit worked well enough to get me inside the school without being noticed.”
“You look good, Eden.”
“So do you,” she said grudgingly. She hated the way he looked. His body was hard and strong. His face had grown even more attractive with age. Damn him! In a righteous world, he would’ve been physically punished for deserting her while she was pregnant, even though he hadn’t known about her condition. He should’ve guessed. He should’ve gotten word to her. Instead, he abandoned her! Even worse, he lied about his name…and what else? What other lies? Peter, or Payne, should be forced to wear his deceptions and cruelty on his face. He should be hideous.
After all she’d been through, she would never forgive him. She’d given birth alone, a frightened nineteen-year-old in a strange city. And she’d raised their son. Alone.
Rage sluiced hotly through her veins as she paced back and forth in the small vestment room, slapping at the plastic garment bags, seething. “You let me think you were dead! You deserted me!”
“I couldn’t find you.” He stood and casually brushed the dust from his Levi’s. He looked classy, even in jeans and a beat-up bomber jacket. “I searched every damn computer file, every record. I followed slim leads all around the country. I even went to Sicily.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Give me a break, Eden. Nobody could find you. Not even your grandfather. You pulled off the disappearing act of the century.”
She’d done too good a job. When Candace fled, she withdrew all the money from her accounts. With insurance pay-outs for both her mother and father and college funds, it had been a considerable amount. Not knowing where to go, she turned to her grandmother who referred her to friends in Denver. However, after the initial contact, Candace buried herself more deeply. She changed her name, her vital records, her identity. No one could find her. She was completely alone. “I had to do it. I had to break away from them.”
“I understand,” he said.
She stalked away from him and stood, staring at the corner of the room where the walls met the ceiling in mathematical ninety degree angles. She yearned for logic. Seeing Payne had turned her world upside-down. Nothing made sense.
She didn’t dare to turn and confront him directly, not while she could still feel his intense magnetism. If she gazed full into his eyes, she’d be helplessly drawn to him, unable to resist.
Eden tossed her head. “If you really wanted to find me, you could have. All you had to do was talk to Grandmother Sophia. I had a post office box where she could contact me.”
“You’re right. I should have paid more attention to Sophia.” Twelve years ago, he’d concentrated his search on associates of Gus Verone, but he hadn’t ignored Grandmother Sophia. Undercover, in disguise, he kept her under surveillance as she puttered in the marketplace or sat in the front pew at Mass. He wire-tapped her private telephone. He’d intercepted much of her correspondence to no avail.