LITMIR.BIZ

      Leslie J. Wainger

      Executive Editor

      Shadows of the Past

      Frances Housden

      FRANCES HOUSDEN

      has always been a voracious reader, but she never thought of being a writer until a teacher gave her the encouragement she needed to put pen to paper. As a result, Frances was a finalist in the 1998 Clendon Award and won the award in 1999, which led to the sale of her first book for Silhouette, The Man for Maggie.

      Frances’s marriage to a navy man took her from her birthplace in Scotland all the way to the ends of the earth in New Zealand. Now that he’s a landlubber, they try to do most of their traveling together. They live on a ten-acre bush block in the heart of Auckland’s Wine District. She has two large sons, two small grandsons and a tiny granddaughter who can twist her around her finger, as well as a wheaten terrier who thinks she’s boss. Thanks to one teacher’s dedication, Frances now gets to write about the kind of heroes a woman would travel to the ends of the earth for. Frances loves to hear from readers. Write to her at P.O. Box 18-240, Glenn Innes, Auckland 1130, New Zealand.

      I’d like to dedicate this book with love to my mother, Annie Gibb, as well as the late Frank Gibb, my father, and to his father, John Gibb, who used to make up stories just for me. And to thank Barbara and Peter Clendon, who sponsor The Clendon Award, aka Finish the Damn Book. The win sent my work to the right place to get published.

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 1

      “Vanity, thy name is woman,” Maria Costello told herself, even as she snapped the clasp of her evening purse closed over her glasses and ditched the last particle of her normal librarian look. If there was one thing she didn’t need tonight it was anything that smacked of timidity.

      No, if she was to face up to her bête noire, then she had to look as if all the power was in her hands, whether it was true or not. She took a deep breath, tilting her chin, and stared after the lights of her departing cab. Without her glasses they were just two fuzzy red balls zooming into the deep blue of a New Zealand summer twilight.

      On any other day, the soles of her feet would have itched to dance to the music pouring out of the early New Zealand colonial edifice that housed the Point restaurant, but tonight nothing could distract her. Not even the song rocking off the overhanging verandas that sheltered sidewalk diners. Tonight the tables were empty. All the action was taking place inside at the party she intended gate-crashing.

      Of course, if Mamma knew what she was about to do, she would think Maria’s sense of proportion had gone haywire. An opinion that would be voiced in a mixture of English and Italian, the exact mix dependent on the level of her excitement.

      Somehow, Maria was positive tonight it would be Italian all the way. One look and Mamma would know she’d gone over the top with her plum-colored dress. Its nunlike high neckline and long sleeves fooled everyone until she turned around.

      She’d needed a confidence boost and this was the first time since buying the dress she’d hauled it out of the wardrobe and worn it outside her bedroom.

      All her best glamour products, and for what? For the sake of turning the tables on the man she believed was stalking her.

      Some people might think she was taking a gamble denouncing him with no more proof than he’d been the only person she’d recognized when the sensation prickled up her neck. But it hadn’t started until just after she’d been called to reception at Tech-Re-Search and Randy Searle had handed her some documents from Stanhope Electronics. Nearly every time she turned around quickly, she’d caught him dodging out of sight.

      She shuddered, switching her thoughts back to her mother before fear could sneak in a low blow and turn her away from her goal.

      The way Maria looked at it, in this life you either had to laugh or cry and she was done crying and ready to do battle.

      Clenching her back teeth so hard it hurt she walked into the pool of light spilling from the restaurant door. The happening inside was the Christmas party of Stanhope Electronics, the firm that employed Randy Searle. She’d convinced herself that by confronting him face-to-face, even if he tried to bluster his way out of it, people would know, and in future he’d leave her alone.

      Her shoulder-length hair, caught up in butterfly clips, tugged as her scalp prickled, the way it did

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