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Once Elena had left, I’d ignored Hannibal, and embarked on the first step in my plan—learning more about my sister. Her bedroom was large and airy with two large floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto small balconies. In decor the room was feminine—Cameron favored pastels—but it wasn’t frilly. The walls were ivory; the rug was an Oriental in muted shades of rose which were picked up in the bedspread and in the upholstered furniture.
In a small alcove, there was a couch—not a love seat, but a full-length couch, one I could imagine stretching out on and reading—or perhaps taking a nap. I tested it, and to my surprise, Hannibal jumped off the bed, ambled over and aimed a glare at me.
In spite of Elena’s assurances that cats had short memories and he just needed a little time to get to know his owner again, I couldn’t help thinking that Hannibal knew more than he was letting on. “Okay,” I said. “Maybe you can sense I’m not Cameron. But I’m trying to find out what happened to her. So we’re really on the same side here.”
He didn’t look convinced.
I didn’t have much experience with cats, but I’d handled horses who’d been initially skeptical of my abilities as a rider. The key was never to let them sense your weakness.
I turned to examine the bookcase next to the couch. There, I discovered a variety of books from Shakespeare’s Sonnets and well-thumbed copies of classics like Pride and Prejudice and To Kill a Mockingbird to a thriller about a diamond heist that had recently made the bestseller lists. I’d just read it myself, and I wondered in how many other things my sister’s taste and mine might coincide.
From the Queen Anne desk and a delicately hand-carved chair, I assumed she liked antiques. I’d never had the time to hunt for them, but I could appreciate their beauty. On the other side of the couch, I discovered a silly-looking red fox perched on top of an embroidered footstool.
When I picked it up to take a closer look, Hannibal made a growling sound deep in his throat.
I was intimidated enough to put the fox back on the stool, and I turned my attention to the small cabinet. Inside I found a bottle of brandy, a cache of chocolate and a bag of cat tidbits. Had I uncovered the secret to how Cameron and Hannibal had become “thick as thieves?” Selecting one of them, I turned back to the cat.
“Is this what you’re hounding me for?”
He moved closer and I gave him the treat. He hadn’t been on my list of the players at the hacienda, but if Cameron had kept treats for him right beside her chocolate…
“Look. I’m going to be here for a while, so you’d better get used to me. And I’m not going to steal anything from your mistress. She’s my sister.”
Hannibal blinked just as if he’d understood what I’d just said.
“We’re not enemies. Really. I’m beginning to like her. She has good taste—even in chocolate.”
Her cache was made in Switzerland.
Hannibal had no comment. I opened the cabinet, and this time I took out a treat for both of us. As he ate his, I took a bite of chocolate and turned my attention back to the room. Truth told, I not only liked Cameron’s taste, I envied it. Since moving to Los Angeles, I’d pretty much buried myself in work, and I hadn’t yet taken the time to make my apartment my own.
I investigated Cameron’s closet next while Hannibal stood in the doorway to keep watch. What I found was that any possible similarities between my sister and me came to an end when it came to clothes. First off, her closet wasn’t a closet. It was a whole room that opened off the larger bed-sitting-room area. My bedroom in my apartment wasn’t any larger. One wall housed drawers, cupboards, shoe racks and shelves. Along the other hung Cameron’s clothes, neatly arranged and sorted into pants, shirts, jackets, suits and dresses.
If you are what you wear, Cameron McKenzie was a fashion queen. I like clothes, too, but I bought mine off the racks, and Cameron’s all came from designer showrooms. No bargains from Wal-Mart here. So far Jimmy Choo shoes were something that I’d only seen on TV shows. My twin owned four pairs. Way to go, Cameron.
Insatiably curious, I’d searched through drawers and found she had a taste for gold, expensive lingerie and short nightgowns. I’d even tested her scent—something exotic and French that probably cost more than what I spent on a month’s rent.
But it was the bathroom that gave me the biggest surprise about my sister. The best description I could come up with was that it was like a little slice of paradise. There was a skylight situated so that sun, rain or starlight would be visible from the tub. There were gleaming marble tiles, a shower with frosted glass doors, brass faucets, and enough plants hanging and bursting out of pots to make one think of Eden.
I was aware of all that as I stood in the doorway, but my eyes never left the tub. Surrounding it on a wide ledge were glass bottles in various hues, filled no doubt with scents and oils and creams. And I counted twelve candles. The tub itself sank into the floor and it was big enough for two. I couldn’t help wondering if it had ever been used that way. Cameron and Sloan? My sister definitely had a sensuous side.
That shouldn’t surprise me. So did I. At least I was pretty sure I did. I just hadn’t had much time to indulge it—or perhaps, I hadn’t had much of a reason to indulge it. Cameron had her very attractive fiancé.
Turning, I moved back into the bedroom and began to pace. Bottom line, after an hour in my sister’s bedroom, I’d learned she had excellent taste in decor, expensive taste in clothes and the money to indulge it, and a passionate side to her nature—all of which I admired and envied her for.
To top it off, she was going to be heir to half of her father’s kingdom—worth millions of dollars.
Compared to hers, my life seemed rather mundane.
But my purpose here wasn’t about me, I reminded myself. I was here to learn all I could about Cameron and just why she might have disappeared on that day five weeks ago.
Moving to the window, I focused on what my next move should be. I’d fully expected to spend my first day on the ranch meeting all the major players that I would have to convince that I was Cameron without a memory. With Sloan and James away, I was out of plot line. The view from Cameron’s bedroom was the same as the one Beatrice, Cole and I had had on the patio, and my eyes were drawn to the stables. If Sloan had been here, I would have asked him for a tour and perhaps gone for a ride. It had been so long since I’d been on a horse.
But that might not be my best move. I was suffering from memory loss. So it might look strange if I walked down to the stables and asked someone to saddle up a horse. My gaze moved to the hills that bordered the valley the ranch sat in on the east and the west.
But I could ask for a car. After all, I was Cameron McKenzie, home after an absence of five weeks. Memory loss or not, I might be interested in driving around to see if something, anything stirred a memory.
It certainly beat sitting here in Cameron’s room with a cat who seemed to value me only for my ability to provide food. Elena would know whom I’d have to speak to. I hurried to the door, opened it, and then glanced back at Hannibal. He was back on the bed, sitting on his throne. “Coming?”
He made no move.
“See you later,” I said as I let myself out and shut the door.
ELENA HAD GIVEN ME the keys to an SUV that was parked right outside the kitchen. It had a McKenzie Ranch logo on the side, and anybody who needed to run an errand could use it. On impulse and out of curiosity, I’d driven up onto the bluff that formed a natural boundary on one side of the valley the ranch lay snuggled in. The road was unpaved and rough in spots. When I’d gone as far as I could with the SUV, I’d parked it and walked another half mile along a path that wove in and out of boulders until I’d reached the top.
All around me as far as I could see, lay the vast stretch of land that the McKenzies could lay claim to. I knew from the maps that Cole and Pepper had shown me that the shores of the Pacific were blocked by more hills behind me, but the estate extended all the way to the sea. Below me the ground sloped gently before it dropped off sharply into the valley below. Since I have a problem with heights, I was careful not to go near the edge. My view of the hacienda itself was still blocked by some of the boulders that dotted the bluff, so I walked farther along the narrow path to get a better look.
The wind had picked up, and to the west I could see huge dark clouds racing in from the Pacific. Thunder growled in the distance, and lightning split the sky.
Shades of Wuthering Heights, I thought. Not a good omen. Then I resolutely turned my back on the approaching storm and walked onward until I had a good view of the flat stretch of land in the little valley below.
From this vantage point, I could see everything that I hadn’t been able to see from the patio or Cameron’s window. Behind the hacienda there was an Olympicsized pool and a pool house surrounded by trees and terraced gardens. Fanning off from that I could see orange groves, tennis courts and what must be Beatrice’s greenhouses.
If Beatrice was responsible for all of that, my hat was off to her. The stables, along with the training and riding rings and what was probably once the original carriage house, were a short distance away. Here and there, I caught glimpses of a stream twisting like a silver snake in and out among trees which grew thicker in some places than in others.
And this was only the ranch land. The entire McKenzie estate, I reminded myself, included that prime undeveloped real estate along the Pacific Coast. All I could think was Wow!
Far below me, a truck pulling a horse trailer drew up in front of the largest of the stable buildings. A second later, two men climbed out and the larger of the two, the driver, went immediately to open the trailer door. Even at this distance, I could tell that the horse he led out by a tether was magnificent. Huge and black, the animal reared up as if he just had to stretch after being cooped up. I grinned, thinking that I’d felt the same way myself just a short time ago.
Then, instead of leading the horse into the stables, I watched the man leap up onto the horse’s back and ride him bareback across the nearest field. Admiration and envy streamed through me as rider and horse took the first fence and began to make their way toward the very hills I was perched on.
I let my gaze sweep the estate again as I struggled to identify the other emotions tumbling through me. Excitement and pride that all of this belonged to my twin sister. Reading Pepper’s report and studying the photos had whetted my curiosity. Now, seeing the hacienda, the land, from this vantage point was making Cameron even more real to me. But I wanted to know more. I needed to know everything. Obviously, we shared a love of horses, and hers had been easily nurtured here.
Although it had always been a dream of mine, I’d yet to own a horse of my own. My parents had pointed out the difficulties involved with trying to stable and care for one in Chicago. Aside from the expense, would it be fair to the horse? They’d been right, of course. They usually were. And they hadn’t stood in the way of riding lessons. Although they hadn’t been enthused when I’d wanted to try steeplechasing, they’d come to see me do it. In college I’d been a member of the riding club.
I’d often thought that it must have been hard for them to have a daughter who was so different from them. Oh, they loved me. But there’d always been that sort of bemused expression on their faces when I’d excelled in a field that was so outside of their own areas of interest. They were left brained, and I was right. I found myself wondering if they’d ever regretted not having a child of their own. I also wondered if Cameron had fit in better with her adopted family.
Thunder cracked and lightning split the sky, but I ignored both. Instead, I continued to think about my twin. Would a love of horses, of riding, be genetic? Wardrobes aside, in what other ways was I like Cameron—or not like her? Would she be able to understand me in a way my parents never had? More than ever, I felt the need to find out.
And soon. The more I saw of the ranch and the kind of life that Cameron had, the more I wondered why she would disappear.
Thunder boomed overhead this time, and the lightning flashed to my left almost simultaneously. I thought I smelled it. Below me, a line of pitch-black shadows raced across the valley reminding me of a shade being drawn down for the night. In the murkier light, the hacienda made me think of Thornfield, Manderley, the Château de Valmy and every other mysterious mansion gracing the pages of those Gothic novels I’d read as a girl. I thought again of the fact that the mistresses of this mansion had seemed to succumb to untimely ends, and a chill skittered its way up my spine.
Ridiculous, I told myself. If I was ever going to pull this impersonation off, I would have to keep a tight rein on my imagination. This was a working horse ranch, not some Gothic mansion plagued by secrets and long-covered-up murders.
On the other hand, my twin sister who stood to inherit at least half of all of this was missing. People had been killed for much less than this. Another chill moved through me.
Then the sky opened, and rain poured down so thick and fast that I could barely make out the path as I turned and began to wind my way back to the car.
The good news was I was still wearing the jeans, plain T-shirt and sneakers that I’d worn for my ride out to the McKenzie estate. The bad news was that I was soaked to the bone by the time I’d taken three steps and my new “Cameron” hairdo was destroyed. Pushing the sodden mess out of my eyes, I stretched my hands out in front of me like a sleepwalker. The car was too far away to seek shelter there, so I stumbled toward the darker shape of what had to be one of the boulders I’d skirted earlier. Once I reached it, I moved around to the far side and let it block the wind and at least some of the rain. Then I hunkered down to wait out the storm.
I wasn’t sure how long I squatted at the side of the boulder—probably not longer than five or ten minutes. The storm ended as quickly as it had begun. The rain stopped first, and gradually the sun began to peek through clouds that were quickly blowing away. As I rose to my feet, I could still hear thunder grumbling in the distance. I’d made my way around the boulder and back onto the path before it finally registered in my mind that the rhythmic pounding I was listening to wasn’t just thunder. It was also hoofbeats.
Realization came at the same instant that horse and rider shot around a curve in the path less than fifty yards from where I was standing. My heart lodged in my throat, my body froze, and my imagination took flight. Burned into my mind was the image of horse and man, all muscle and speed, moving in perfect unity—the mythic centaur in the flesh. In that instant, I wasn’t sure which animal was more magnificent—man or beast.
Luckily, the man had quick reflexes. He reined the horse in sharply. The animal reared, protesting loudly. It might have been the sound of the horse’s distress or perhaps it was the sight of those powerful hooves that jolted me free of the trance I’d been in, but I finally leaped toward the side of the path. I landed hard on the uneven ground, felt my ankle twist and give out just before I crashed into the boulder.
Behind me I heard the struggle between horse and rider, the horse neighing, a deep male voice talking in a soothing tone. Turning, I saw the horse rear again, but the man’s hands remained steady on the rope, and he continued to talk in a firm tone.
“Easy, Saturn. Easy, boy.”
I suddenly realized that this must be the same man I’d seen take the horse out of the trailer and ride him bareback across the fields. Not only had he kept control of the stallion and saved me from injury, he’d also remained seated. Admiration streamed through me. I had some idea of the skill it was taking to calm the frightened horse.
I was sitting in the shade of the boulder, but the horse and the man were bathed now in sunlight and I was able to take in more details. The man had slid from the horse and stood with his back toward me, talking to the horse and keeping a firm grip on the tether. He and the animal had a lot in common. Both were large and dark and strong—perfectly matched in the struggle that was going on. The man’s hair curled around the nape of his neck. He was broad in the shoulders, lean in the hips, and long in the legs. With his jeans and chambray shirt plastered to him like a second skin, I could see the movement of each sculpted muscle as he quieted the horse with patient skill. The horse, still frightened, reared again and pawed the air. The stallion was larger, stronger. But the battle wouldn’t be decided on size alone. It would come down to who had the stronger will.
The man let out the rope, then drew it in again, each time getting closer to the horse. The closer he drew, the calmer the horse became. It was like watching a slow, steady dance of seduction. Admiration and something else I was much less familiar with moved through me and settled in a hot little pool in my center. I had the strangest sensation that I was melting. Then his hands were on the horse, moving gently and firmly over those muscles, while he continued to talk, to croon almost. I had no idea how long I sat there in the shadow of the boulder watching man and horse.
And imagining what it would feel like to have those hands on me.
“Are you all right?” His focus was still on the horse, and since he asked the question in the same tone he’d been using to quiet the animal, it took me a moment to realize that he was speaking to me.
“Yes.” My voice was so breathless I didn’t recognize it. “I’m fine.” To prove it, I dug my fingers into a crevice in the boulder and pulled myself to my feet. I’d totally forgotten about my ankle, and when I put my full weight on it, I sat right back down with a little squeal.
He turned toward me then. “You’re hurt. Did one of his hooves…” His voice trailed off and his eyes narrowed. “Cameron? I didn’t recognize you at first.”
Of course he hadn’t. I could understand that. I hadn’t recognized him, either. He’d been intent on calming the horse, and I’d been equally intent on him. It was only now as he quickly tethered the horse and strode toward me that I realized this was Sloan Campbell, my sister Cameron’s fiancé.
“You could have been killed.”
The anger in his voice was clear—even though it was tightly leashed. And the simple truth of his statement had a chill moving up my spine. He was no less intimidating than when he’d been thundering toward me on the top of the horse. There he’d looked mythical. Now he looked tough, arrogant and furious. He’d evidently spent all of his patience on Saturn.
Why had it taken me so long to realize who he was? I’d certainly spent enough time studying his photos. Perhaps it was because the magnetism I’d sensed in the pictures was even more potent in real life.
“How badly are you hurt?” His tone was sharp with accusation.
“I’m not hurt. The horse didn’t touch me. I just twisted my ankle. I—”
He dropped to his knees and focused his attention on my ankle.
“It’s swollen,” he said. His fingers were as gentle as they’d been on the horse as they moved the wet jeans up my legs. While he probed my ankle, I found myself staring at his hands—the long fingers, the wide palms—and I tried to ignore the warmth that was unfurling in little ribbons up my leg. Other men had touched me, some casually, others intimately, but I’d never felt this kind of intensity before.
Adrenaline. I’d nearly been run down by the horse. That’s why I was reacting this way.
“I don’t think it’s broken.” I heard relief in his tone. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” He glanced up at me then.
“No. You handled the horse beautifully. I’m—” Every other word I intended to say slipped out of my mind as I met his penetrating gaze. His eyes…they were dark gray, the color of the kind of fog that could swallow you up and make you lose all sense of direction. I suddenly felt as though I were losing mine.
Then as if he’d satisfied himself that I was all right, he grabbed my shoulders and gave me a quick shake. “Where the hell have you been for the past five weeks?”
SLOAN TOOK A DEEP BREATH and clamped down hard on the all-too-familiar emotions swirling through him. Anger, annoyance, relief. Those were the standard feelings that Cameron had been able to pull out of him ever since they’d been kids and his job had frequently been to get her out of scrapes.
But not this time. Five weeks ago when she’d first run off, he’d understood her need to get away and think. The truth was, he’d needed some time himself. But as the weeks had rolled by, understanding had turned into annoyance and finally into anger.
“Five weeks is a long time. Couldn’t you have at least called your father to let him know you were safe?”
“I couldn’t. I—”
“Couldn’t? Or maybe you expected me to come running after you and drag you back here so that you could save face?”
“Save face?”
He barely kept himself from shaking her again. In spite of the fact that James McKenzie had claimed he was confident that Cameron would return when she’d had time to think everything through, the old man had been worried. Hell, he’d begun to worry himself—and now she’d returned, looking so damned innocent. It had been years since Cameron had tried to use that innocent look on him.
That realization was what had him narrowing his eyes and studying her more carefully. There was something about her…something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Her eyes were that same brilliant shade of green, but they seemed different. Darker. And there was something in them right now. Something that he’d never seen before. Arousal?
The sudden response in his gut was also new. He tightened his grip on her arms. “What the hell kind of game are you playing?”
4
HE THOUGHT I was playing a game? I struggled to get my mind around what he’d just said. But as long as I was looking into Sloan Campbell’s eyes, my brain felt numb. My body, on the other hand, was far from numb. My senses were operating at full power. Sloan was only touching my shoulders, yet I could feel the pressure of each one of his fingers—hot like a brand on my skin. He was so close that I could catch the scent of rain and horse, so close that I could feel his breath on my lips. So close that if I leaned forward just a bit, I could taste him.
Don’t move, I told myself. Don’t move. But I was shocked at how hard it was not to.
“Well?” He prodded me with another little shake, and it helped.
“I’m sorry.” My voice and my mouth were finally working. Now it was up to my brain. And he was right. I was playing a game, so I’d better make my first move. “I don’t remember being Cameron. I am. I must be, but I just don’t remember.”
“Come again.” He dropped his hands then, but I could feel those eyes boring into me while I told him my story—the mugging, the fact that my purse had never been recovered so there’d been no way for the police to identify me. When I told him about waking up in the hospital and not having any idea who I was, I had the distinct impression that he could see right into me, that he knew what I was thinking. A little tendril of fear worked its way up my spine. Sloan Campbell might have a gentle side, but I sensed that this was a man who could be hard when he wanted to be.
“You’re saying that you don’t remember anything before you were mugged?”
His tone was skeptical, but I’d expected that. I could handle it. After all, how many people encountered a person who’d lost their memory in real life? Mostly, it occurred as a plot device in movies, romance novels, or soap operas. “My doctor assures me it’s temporary.”
“If you don’t remember who you are, how did you get here?”
That explanation I had down pat. I told him how I’d hired Rossi Investigations to find out who I was. “It took them a while because no one ever filed a missing persons report.”
“We assumed you’d come back after you’d sorted things out.” His tone was neutral. I couldn’t tell if he was buying the memory loss or not. I wasn’t an actress. I just wrote story lines for professionals who could bring them to life.
Then he was quiet for so long that nerves knotted in my stomach. To fill the void, I said, “I drove one of the SUV’s up here to see if getting a bird’s-eye view of the ranch would stir up some memories.”
“Did it?”
“No.”
“Do I look familiar to you?”
I shook my head. “I don’t remember you, but I recognize you from the newspaper clippings the P.I.’s gave me. You’re Sloan Campbell, Cameron’s—my fiancé.”
