LITMIR.BIZ

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was bleaching the sea of colour. It was time to walk down to the Long House near the beach for dinner. Although the paths were adequately lit, she preferred to go before darkness fell, to savour the ambience of the forest around her in its softer evening mood.

      Her cabin was situated high on the hill, perched on stilts to counter the steep gradient. When she had arrived yesterday, the porter had commented on its isolation, wondering if it worried her. Annabel smiled over his concern as she locked the door behind her and started down the steps from the porch. Being left alone was precisely what she wanted.

      The path that served her cabin also wound around the next, which was seven or eight metres distant and at a slightly lower level. Yesterday it had been vacant. The door opened as she was about to pass by, drawing her curiosity. New guests or one of the staff?

      The man who emerged blasted her light-heartedness. Recognition was instant, rocking her with shock. Her feet faltered to a halt. The smile lingering on her lips sagged into a gasp of dismay. Her mind reeled against accepting the reality of his physical presence here.

      “Good evening,” he said, offering the casual grace of a fellow guest, lending substance to the form, chasing away any chance he was a mirage.

      Daniel Wolfe!

      Barry Wolfe’s brother!

      In the cabin next to hers!

      Annabel couldn’t believe in coincidence. A convulsive shiver ran down her spine as she remembered him sitting in the motel room while her statement was taken down by the police, watching her recount how and when his brother had died and what she’d done about it. He hadn’t said a word, but his eyes had drilled into her with riveting concentration, raising the eerie sense that she was the accused in a witness box.

      The fire in her belly to see real justice done had surged into a blaze of challenge that seared a silent but highly electric path between them. Not me, my friend. Her eyes had spoken in fierce rebuttal of anything he could do to her. You won’t get to me any more than your brother did.

      He hadn’t then.

      She hadn’t let him.

      But now?

      “Good evening,” she returned, struggling to mount defences and establish a calm stand-off in this surprise encounter.

      His mouth curved into a whimsical smile. “We have been introduced.”

      She summoned up an ironic response. “I remember it well.”

      His eyes didn’t smile. Neither did hers. They appraised each other in a silence that sizzled with undercurrents.

      In the days after his brother’s death, Annabel had been highly conscious of Daniel Wolfe, reading his reported comments with considerable apprehension and watching him interviewed on television. He didn’t raise questions. He posed no problem to her. Yet still she had felt a threat, as she did now.

      The camera had reflected the austere elegance of the man, the strong, classically-boned face, the touch of grey at the temples lending a distinguished air to conventionally cut coal-black hair, the tall, broad-shouldered physique clothed in tailored perfection, the aura of control that came with sharply honed intelligence. It had not captured the cold blast of his power to dominate.

      Warm charm had been Barry Wolfe’s personal trademark.

      His brother exuded icy, unshakable command.

      A wolf in sheep’s clothing tonight, Annabel thought, dismissing the casual image of blue jeans and a dark red sports shirt. The pretence of being on vacation did not wear with her. The laserlike grey eyes were at work trying to strip her of control and strike at any vulnerability he could find.

      Her white pants-suit felt flimsy. She needed a steel-plated coat of armour against this man. The soft balminess of the evening suddenly developed a chill. Her arms prickled with goose bumps, despite the long-sleeved overblouse she’d worn in case it was cooler on the walk to her cabin after dinner.

      “I much prefer the circumstances of this meeting,” he said, as though offering her a truce.

      “I was thinking what a small world it is,” she replied, the suspicion growing that he had followed her here. Which meant he’d had her under surveillance. For what purpose? was the million-dollar question.

      “Growing smaller all the time,” he agreed. “Do you mind if I walk with you?”

      She shrugged. “Why not?” Better to have him beside her than behind her.

      She got her feet working again, and he caught up with her in a few strides. They settled into an easy stroll. The path zigzagged down the hill and was wide enough for there to be no difficulty in avoiding contact. Annabel kept well apart from her unwelcome companion, too intensely aware of him for her comfort. He emanated a more aggressive maleness than she’d met in any other man. It was unnerving, giving the feeling she was threatened on more than one level.

      Why did he, of all men, make her feel overly conscious of being a woman? No one could ever have described her as a fragile flower. She was well above average height, with a frame that held generous curves in pleasing proportion and long legs that were strong and athletic from regular gym workouts. His legs, she couldn’t help noticing, were longer and stronger, and he was a head taller than she was. Everything about him seemed to put her at a disadvantage.

      “Is your sister here, too?”

      He asked the question lightly, a seemingly innocuous inquiry. Annabel’s inner tension leapt to red alert. Why would he ask about Isabel? To all intents and purposes she and her twin led very separate lives. How did he even know about Isabel?

      A bit of probing might be profitable, Annabel decided. She gave him a puzzled look. “Why would you imagine I’d have my sister with me?”

      He shrugged. “Twins—identical twins—are very close, aren’t they? Perfectly natural to stick together.”

      There was something very ominous about that knowing little speech. To her perhaps oversensitive mind it suggested he suspected the sister swap. Yet why should he?

      “My sister has a husband and three children,” Annabel dryly informed him. “We gave up sharing a bed before we went to school.”

      His mouth twitched in amusement. “I take it you’re alone on this trip.”

      “I happen to like my own company,” she said with pointed emphasis.

      “Yes,” he agreed affably, letting the hint to leave her alone slide right past him. “You come over as unusually self-sufficient. It’s quite intriguing, given you’re a twin. Are you the older or the younger?”

      The harping on twins needled her. “Does age prove anything?”

      “I wondered if the stronger was born first.”

      Annabel had no compunction in tossing the quiz back at him. “Did you find that in your family?” She knew he was the younger brother. Barry Wolfe had been forty-two when he’d died. She remembered reading that the brilliant barrister was six years his junior.

      His eyes flashed mocking appreciation for the neat bit of fencing. “If you’re comparing me to Barry, it doesn’t really apply. We were both firstborns. To different mothers.”

      Only half-brothers! “Your father was widowed?” she asked, curious about his family situation.

      “No. Divorced.”

      That answered a lot of questions. Barry Wolfe had probably played his divorced parents against each other, learning to double-deal at a very early age and using his considerable charm to get away with it. Whereas Daniel Wolfe undoubtedly grew up enjoying the united focus of both parents. It did make for differences, she decided, apart from those arising from separate genetic pools.

      “Were you very close to your half-brother?” she asked, wanting to know his motive for this supposedly accidental encounter with her. Affection? Loyalty? Pride? A wish to clear his family name? Tarnishing

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