His Mysterious Ways

Our daughter will be twenty-eight in August. A grown woman. Old enough, surely, to make her own decision about this.

If you decide to let her come—and I pray that you will—I should probably have you warn her that she won’t recognize me. Neither would you. I had my appearance altered a long time ago, but even more than the surgery, the years away from you and Melanie have taken a toll.

I can’t tell you what it would mean to me to see her again, to have one last chance to tell her how much I love her, how much I’ve always loved her. And how very sorry I am for my part in what happened to her. My guilt is a hell I live with every day of my life. Please give me this one last chance for redemption.

I want to see her, Janet. I want to see Melanie on her birthday. Tell her I’ll be waiting for her in the clouds.

Melanie rose from the bed and put the letters back in the suitcase. Shutting and locking the lid, she shoved the case back into the closet, then walked over to the window to stare out at the twilight.

It was stuffy inside the room. She opened the door for a moment, letting in a fragrant breeze, but she didn’t step out on the balcony. She was careful to remain in the shadows as she gazed down at the street.

Gooseflesh prickled along her arms, although the evening was mild. Perhaps it was the tears drying on her face that made her cold. Or the loneliness that suddenly engulfed her.

I can’t tell you what it would mean to me to see her again, to have one last chance to tell her how much I love her, how much I’ve always loved her. And how very sorry I am for my part in what happened to her.

His part in what had happened to her. His part.

What had he meant by that? Did his guilt stem from a father’s inability to protect his daughter? From the fact that if he’d stayed outside with her as she’d begged, she wouldn’t have been taken?

Or was his remorse the result of something far more sinister?

Had he been a party to her abduction? Did he know who had taken her and why? Had he known for those four years where she was and what was happening to her?

Did he know what they’d done to her?

Melanie had no idea of the answer to any of those questions, but she knew she had to find her father and confront him. She had to ask him point-blank why he felt so guilty. She had to make him look her in the eye when he told her the truth.

Then she would know.

And all those years of running and hiding and trying to block out the screams would finally be over.

Chapter Four

She wasn’t a natural blonde.

That little detail was oddly telling to Lassiter, because it was yet one more piece of evidence that Melanie Stark had secrets. Dark ones. And her real hair color was the least of them.

He stood at the foot of the bed gazing down at her. Light streaming in through the balcony window glimmered off the gold streaks in her hair and made her skin look soft and pale.

And he could see a great deal of skin. She’d kicked off the covers in her sleep, and she lay on the sheet in nothing but a light-blue tank top and white silk panties.

Even in her sleep, she looked like trouble.

There was an air of recklessness about her. A hint of hedonism.

Lassiter had nothing against hedonism, particularly in a woman who looked like Melanie Stark. Not that she was especially beautiful. Her features were too imperfect—even apart from the telltale dark roots—for that. Eyes that were a little too widely set, a nose that was slightly off center.

But her lips, easily her best feature, were lush and tempting, and her body…

He drew a sharp breath as his gaze moved over her. The body, he had to admit, came pretty damn close to perfection. Either she had great genes or she’d been giving her gym membership one hell of a workout. She looked entirely capable of handling herself both in bed and out. Not exactly the type of girl you took home to Mother, but Lassiter’s plans for Melanie Stark didn’t include a trip back home to Mississippi, anyway.

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