LITMIR.BIZ

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the baby to the club with her every evening until the manager put an end to it…and to Camryn’s job.

      She wasn’t about to let Mitch know she needed help, though.

      Give me full custody of her, Cam. Arianne would be better off.

      Her hand clenched the steering wheel and she fumbled to light a cigarette. Flicking her gold lighter with a vengeance, she tossed her heavy blond hair over one shoulder and leaned toward the flame. Her professionally manicured nails shimmered crimson in the flickering light; her jeweled rings and bracelets flashed. She drew in a biting lungful of smoke.

      She’d be damned if she’d give up her rights in their joint-custody arrangement. In fact, when she had more money, she’d take him to court for full custody. Arianne was her ticket to stardom. But she couldn’t let Mitch know about her plans, of course, until contracts were signed with the television producers. Otherwise, he’d try to stop her.

      Mitch was touchy when it came to Arianne. He’d made a big deal out of every mistake. Like when Camryn had taken the baby to New Orleans one night. If she’d known the crowd in the French Quarter would grow wild, she wouldn’t have had all those margaritas. Even so, she’d been perfectly capable of handling the situation…except for the bail money, which, admittedly, Mitch had to bring. The public drunkenness charge had been so unfair.

      And then there was the time she’d left Arianne in the car while she placed a few quick bets at a casino. The security guard had called the phone number listed on the car’s registration. Mitch had answered…then blew the whole incident way out of proportion. He told her that he would start proceedings to take her custody rights away from her.

      She changed the phone number and address on the car’s registration information the very next day. Mitch and she were divorced, damn it. What she did or where she went was none of his business. Later, after she’d left town in the dead of night with Arianne, she’d traded that car—her beloved ’Vette—for the Mustang in Birmingham. She hoped the switch would stop Mitch from tracking her down.

      He might not appreciate her style of parenting, but she was still Arianne’s mother. She had sacrificed her flawless figure and several months of her singing career to bring her into this world. For a few of those months, she’d even given up drinking and smoking. Or most of it, anyway. The baby was hers, and she’d take her wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted.

      She wondered how Mitch had reacted to finding them gone. He was probably furious.

      Served him right. He’d changed drastically from the first few weeks she’d known him. They’d had great times together at the start. But then she got pregnant, and he insisted she marry him. And all the fun stopped. He no longer tried to please her. All he cared about was the baby. Oh, and his precious shrimp boats.

      Well, that was where he’d made his mistake. If he didn’t care about pleasing her, he wasn’t going to have his daughter.

      Besides, she had plans for Arianne. Big plans. She and Arianne were going to be television stars. Then she’d have money to hire a full-time nanny, as well as a powerful attorney to represent her in a custody hearing.

      Feeling empowered, she took the next curve faster, leaning with the wheel to keep the car on the road. The effort won her a dark thrill. Things were definitely looking up.

      She hoped Kate wouldn’t be too angry that she’d left the baby with her. Kate had already been upset that Camryn hadn’t contacted her about her marriage or the birth of her daughter. In a way, Kate herself was to blame for Camryn’s failure to call her. She was always telling Camryn what to do. Even when they were growing up in the Tallahassee Methodist Children’s Home, Kate had tried to run the show. She had such strong views on “what’s best.” Few people had the strength to swim against that particular tide. She’d wear a person down before he knew the fight had even begun.

      Like when she persuaded Camryn’s first husband to turn himself in and serve out his sentence for insurance fraud. Or when she talked her second husband into admitting he was sleeping around. Could anyone blame her for hesitating to tell Kate about her third marriage?

      She hadn’t even mentioned to Mitch that she had a sister, let alone an identical twin, for fear that if they met, Kate would complicate matters. Camryn had been careful not to tell Kate much about Mitch, either…especially that he’d been granted joint custody. She might feel obligated to contact him.

      Disturbed at the thought, Camryn pressed harder on the gas and took the curve in the slick, two-lane highway a little faster than she’d intended. The tires hydroplaned, and she fought to keep the BMW from fishtailing into the woods. Fear heated her insides. Her mouth filled with an acrid taste. Exhilaration gunned through her. Aah, what a rush!

      She was feeling alive again! She wanted to celebrate. Maybe she’d stop at a convenience store for a wine cooler.

      The next curve in the road came quicker than she expected, though, and she veered across the center line. She barely had time to focus on the oncoming headlights before her world spun…and screeched…and rolled…

      And ended in thunderous conflagration.

      CHAPTER ONE

      Terrebonne Parish, Louisiana

       July 4

      THE CALL CAME during the Fourth of July crawfish boil in his parents’ front yard on the bayou. The cell phone in his shirt pocket rang, and Mitch’s heart paused.

      No one but the detective would call him on this phone. The captains and crew members of his shrimp boats didn’t know the number; they always contacted him by the radio he wore on his belt. So did his neighbors on the swamp. It had to be Chuck Arceneaux, the investigator he’d hired. And if the call wasn’t urgent, Chuck would have left a message on his home answering machine.

      The adults at the long picnic table fell silent, their gazes shifting to Mitch. They knew the significance of that ringing cell phone. His brawny, apron-clad father turned from the simmering crawfish kettle to watch him in sober expectation. His mother froze in the act of ladling jambalaya from a huge serving bowl, her eyes widening with hope and fear. The children seemed to sense the sudden tension, and all but the youngest of his nieces, nephews and cousins quieted. Even the hot Louisiana breeze seemed to halt its sighing through the willows and moss-draped cypress trees.

      Mitch drew the phone from his pocket and answered it.

      The investigator’s flat, nasal voice greeted him. “All the dough you’ve been shelling out for those mailers finally paid off, Mitch. We got a possible lead.”

      A possible lead. Mitch shut his eyes and clenched his jaw, overcome with relief that the news hadn’t been bad. Immediately following that relief came disappointment that the news hadn’t been better. He’d been praying so damn long for the words I’ve found your daughter. She’s okay. “What kind of lead, Chuck?”

      “A man in Florida said he recognized a neighbor from the photos on a mailer. Said she goes by the name Kate Jones. He doesn’t know much more than that about her. I’ve been staked out in front of the house, and a few minutes ago, a blonde stepped out onto the porch. She looks a lot like your wife.”

      Mitch grimaced at the term. He’d have preferred “ex-wife,” although it wasn’t technically correct. Camryn had taken off before they’d corrected major glitches in their divorce proceedings. Legally, they were still married—a situation he would remedy the moment he got his daughter back from her and knew that he’d be awarded custody. Full custody, this time. “Does she have a baby with her?”

      “Haven’t seen one yet, but I noticed a stroller in the garage.”

      Mitch’s blood roared in his ears with a fierce surge of hope. Please, God, let it be Camryn. And let Arianne be with her, safe and sound. “Watch her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

      “This gal ain’t going nowhere without me on her tail.”

      “Where are you in Florida?” Mitch demanded,

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