LITMIR.BIZ

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about astronomy,” she offered helplessly. And then as if she needed to explain herself: “I’m here for the weekend.”

      She cringed immediately, realizing how stupid the remark sounded. Somewhere unseen an engine engaged. Constellations and stars reeled across the mock sky as one hemisphere retreated in favor of another.

      “I don’t know anything either,” the voice muttered. “It’s always been make-believe.”

      Reagan watched, awed by the mechanisms that brought a new sky to life. The constellations were familiar. The Big Dipper, Little Dipper, Orion the Hunter, and the W constellation she could never remember by name. Beautiful, recognizable lights she’d gazed on time and again, season after season. It didn’t matter that the sky was man-made, the lights artificial. “It’s so peaceful,” she whispered.

      She heard a door open and turned to see someone duck outside. A small wedge of light pierced the room and was quickly smothered by darkness as the door swung shut. Reagan looked back to the row of seats on her right, now empty.

      “Hello?” Puzzled by the abrupt disappearance of the stranger, she hurried through the same door. Rounding the corner at a clip, she collided with Brody.

      “Whoa.” He caught her shoulders when she would have stumbled. “What’s the hurry?”

      She blinked, confused. “Did you…did you just…” She craned her neck to see around him. The beach was empty, stretching in a sandy line to the rolling blue-gray hem of the Atlantic. In the opposite direction, a ridge of grassy dunes forded the rear of Sothern’s home. She stepped backward. “Did you come from the planetarium?”

      “You mean in there?” Brody looked surprised. “I was at the house. I came down to see if you wanted to go riding with me.”

      Reagan frowned, unconvinced. “Did you see anyone leaving? A few seconds ago?”

      “Just you.” He grinned. “So how about it? Would you like to go riding?”

      “Riding?” She hesitated, still disturbed by the odd encounter in the planetarium. Brody’s appearance was a little too coincidental, much too quick. Could he have been the person sitting in the dark, talking about star constellations and make-believe? Why not tell her if that was the case?

      “I’ve never been on a horse.” She tried to bow out gracefully.

      “I’ll teach you. Might as well do something to pass the afternoon. The alternative is listening to Pellar berate the house staff.”

      “I really don’t think–” She stopped abruptly. Elijah appeared on the sundeck overlooking the beach. Unaware of her presence, he strolled to the edge of the balcony, leaning forward to fold his arms on the railing. The wind caught his dark hair and raked it back from his face. He stood watching the graceful dance of wispy sea oats on the dunes below. When he turned his head, their eyes locked unexpectedly.

      Reagan felt her mouth go dry. He’d kissed her, boldly and without regret. Indignation and anger returned in a heated flash. “Yes,” she said to Brody. She hooked her arm through his, well aware Elijah was watching. “Riding sounds wonderful.”

      “Fantastic.” He steered her from the planetarium, back toward the house.

      As they walked and chatted, she smiled and tossed her hair, a performance far short of an Academy Award but enough to convince the man on the deck she was enjoying herself. Elijah waited until they were within a few feet of the house then disappeared inside. Once he was gone, Reagan found she could think rationally again without the distracting memory of his kiss. Something Brody had said earlier suddenly struck her as odd.

      “How did you know where to find me?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “You said you came to find me, to see if I wanted to go riding. How did you know I was in the planetarium?”

      “I–” For a split-second Brody’s face was blank. He recovered quickly, so quickly, Reagan couldn’t be certain the lapse even happened. “I didn’t know. I’d already checked a few other places and took a chance you might be there.”

      His logic made sense, but something rang false. He had to have been the person inside the planetarium, or he had to have seen them leave. Either way, he was lying.

      Reagan nodded and forced a smile. What did Brody possibly have to gain by deceiving her?

      “So…” She tried to sound cheery, but couldn’t shake the feeling he was hiding something. “Do you know where the stables are?”

      “This way, Milady.” With a charismatic smile, he waved an arm in the direction of a six-bay garage. “Your chariot awaits. Just a short drive down the road, I promise you a steed worthy of a queen.”

      She smiled sweetly. “I’ll try to live up to your expectations.”

      Maybe spending the afternoon with him wasn’t such a bad idea. She might actually learn something about what had happened at the planetarium, and it would keep her occupied, away from Elijah Cross. The marine archeologist might only be twenty-five, but he had the uncanny knack of turning her emotions upside-down with the skill of a seasoned pro.

      Reagan bit her lip. She began to suspect Dr. Cross was experienced in areas that had absolutely nothing to do with shipwrecks and recovered artifacts. The sooner the weekend was over, the better. Once she had Rook’s journal, she’d be able to put him out of her mind.

      Permanently.

       Chapter 3

      Brody was interesting company. He rode with admirable skill, as if he’d been doing it all of his life, and patiently instructed Reagan on the simpler points of horsemanship. They spent the afternoon riding on the beach, then took Brody’s sleek foreign sports car into Serenity Harbor, the nearest town. He was charming and companionable and had an inborn flair for putting her at ease. Late in the day, they stopped for lunch at a quaint waterside cafe with a bay view. Fishing boats dotted the water, gently rocking on currents still agitated from the earlier storm. A few yards down, a rickety pier extended into the bay, jutting from marshy ground thick with saw grass and sea oats. A snowy egret stepped to the water’s edge, delicately skimming the surface with a needle-thin beak.

      “You’re not interested in Rook’s journal for yourself?” Reagan asked Brody after they’d given their lunch order. She swirled a pack of sugar into her glass of iced tea, using a spoon to distribute it evenly.

      Brody shook his head and took a swallow of his lime spritzer. “I’m not a collector. I get paid to recover artifacts at my employer’s expense. It’s not a bad way to make a living, especially when someone else is picking up the tab.”

      “Your employer must be a wealthy man.”

      Brody shrugged. “Most collectors are.”

      That wasn’t entirely true. Her Uncle Gavin was comfortable, solvent enough to be considered well-to-do, but a far cry from wealthy.

      “I work for Gerald St. Croix,” Brody continued. “A French-Austrian collector based in Monte Carlo. My own background is a mix of street savvy, first-hand experience, and three glaringly incomplete years of college, back when I considered higher education a plus.” He grinned, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Here’s to parlaying nothingness into profit. It’s what I’m good at.” He took a swallow and set the glass down. “Do you know that if I bid high on a mediocre artifact, other collectors follow suit? They figure whatever interests St Croix has to have exceptional value. His reputation is that formidable.”

      “Are you telling me this because you plan on outbidding me for Rook’s journal, or because you think it’s mediocre?”

      Brody laughed. “Hardly mediocre. If you want verification of its value, ask Elijah.”

      Reagan stiffened. She didn’t want to think about Elijah Cross, much less ask his opinion of something. Any memory of him brought

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