LITMIR.BIZ

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take off this ring. Not for anything. It’s magic.” He grinned and his blue eyes sparkled. “It’ll bring me back to you.”

      He picked up his pack and left, closing her apartment door behind him.

      Paige stared at the door for a moment, bringing the ring up to her lips as he had.

      Magic. He’d said what she’d been thinking. It must be true.

      She ran to the window.

      Down on Urselines Street, he slung his pack over his shoulder and looked up. He waved, then walked away toward the levee, his loose-limbed, graceful stride as familiar to her as his face.

      Paige watched until he disappeared around the corner. As soon as he was out of sight, panic grabbed at her heart again. She pushed it away.

      “I’m going to be married,” she whispered in awe, sitting down on the bed. “Married.” She flung her arms wide and flopped down on her back.

      “Mrs. John Yarbrough.” Her thumb caressed the ring. Her life was never going to be the same again.

      Chapter One

      Today

      Edging a bit closer to the front door of Sally McGowan’s chic Garden District home, Paige smiled sadly at the irony. Seven years ago she’d been an orphaned, pregnant teenager, scared and alone, forced to accept the grudging, disapproving charity of her aunt.

      Now she was a well-respected social worker. The road had been hard, the hours of studying and working and taking care of her daughter brutal, but she had done what her mother had never been able to do. She’d put her heartbreak behind her and concentrated all her love and energy on her career and on Kate, her beloved child.

      Tonight she found herself in a roomful of over-dressed, snobbish people who were here to pay inflated prices for mediocre art to raise money for other sad young girls. And by the same token, make themselves feel generous and altruistic.

      Paige took another step and smiled at a young man who was watching her curiously. Several people had looked at her that way this evening. She touched her cheek. Was there something wrong with her hair or makeup?

      Someone bumped into her. It was a short, plump man dressed in white tie and tails with an honest to goodness monocle that popped off his eye and dangled by its silver chain.

      “Excuse me,” she said automatically, biting her lip to keep from laughing. He looked just like a penguin. He harumphed and waddled away.

      Was it just her or did everyone here tonight look like cartoon characters? Earlier she’d seen a sour-faced woman with a white streak in her coal-black hair and a white wrap with what looked suspiciously like Dalmatian spots on it.

      Chuckling to herself, Paige wished her daughter, Katie, was here. Paige had never been good at being pompous and chic, and she and Katie could have a blast matching these folks with their cartoon counterparts.

      She looked at her watch. Katie had been indignant when Sally had sprung the last-minute invitation on Paige. Tonight was supposed to be pizza night, plus tomorrow Katie started her second year of swimming lessons.

      Paige had promised herself she’d be home by eleven, and it was already eleven-thirty.

      Tossing her long blond braid over her shoulder, she threaded her way through the crowd to tell Sally she was leaving, and practically collided with the woman in the Dalmatian-spotted wrap.

      Paige hastily apologized. But the woman not only looked like the cartoon villainess, she behaved like her, too. She waved away Paige’s apology as if she were shooing a fly and sucked on the cigarette dangling from her long, shiny holder.

      The woman’s hostile gaze swept disdainfully over Paige’s black skirt and silver blouse before she turned her back.

      Something about her seemed vaguely familiar—not many women had such a prominent streak in their hair. Maybe Paige had seen her at another charity event.

      Just then Sally sailed into the room, her flowing red gown with sleeves that draped to the floor drawing every eye.

      “Well?” Stopping in front of Paige, Sally gestured theatrically, sloshing champagne from a crystal flute. “Did you see it?”

      “See what?” Paige asked.

      “My latest discovery. Haven’t you wondered why people keep staring at you? Remember, I promised you an evening you wouldn’t soon forget.”

      A tinge of unease tightened Paige’s belly as her friend ushered her toward the east wall of the room. Sally’s surprises were predictably obscure. “I saw the ice sculpture,” she ventured.

      “Not the ice sculpture.” Sally waved her arm. “My newest artist.”

      Everything Sally did was dramatic, from her famous charity soirees to the way she scoured the city dressed in her talent-hunting uniform of designer jeans and a shapeless, ancient men’s suit jacket that would do a homeless man proud, topped by an equally disreputable fedora.

      Paige smiled indulgently. “Have you been prowling through dusty junk shops again?”

      “Of course. It’s the best way in the world to discover new artists. I found this one in a musty little voodoo shop down near the docks. It’s the surprise I promised you.”

      A framed drawing hung by itself in the center of an alcove. As Sally stepped aside, the crowd of people seemed to melt back into the paneling.

      Paige stiffened as her vision telescoped in on the picture.

      “Oh my God,” she choked, shock stealing her breath and tightening like a vise around her throat.

      It was a small piece, sketched in charcoal. There wasn’t much to it, just a few perfectly executed lines. Only the eyes were fully drawn, but Paige recognized herself, much younger, looking over her naked shoulder with mischief in her glance.

      “Voilà!” She heard Sally’s throaty laugh. She felt all eyes on her.

      “Isn’t it stunning? And the resemblance is phenomenal.”

      Sally’s voice echoed in her head like music from the next room, heard but not recognized. Her thoughts were on another time. She remembered the very day. It was the day Johnny had asked her to marry him, the day he’d given her his mother’s ring and promised her he would love her forever.

      The last time she’d ever seen him.

      Paige squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth. It couldn’t be Johnny. That was another life. Johnny was dead.

      Consciously relaxing her arms, she forced herself to smile. “It’s not me,” she said tightly. “It’s just one of those amazing coincidences.”

      She stepped close to Sally, whose smile was fading a bit. “Where did you get that? You should have warned me,” she whispered.

      “I bought it for you. I just wanted to display it first. Do you know the artist?”

      Paige shook her head and started to turn away, but Sally pointed and her long red fingernail drew Paige’s eye back toward the sketch.

      As sudden as a punch in the stomach, Paige’s diaphragm seized as she focused on the signature. Three letters in a unique stylized script, followed by an anchor in the shape of a Y. It was a design Paige would never forget, one she’d have sworn was embossed on her heart.

      A shirt with that monogram on it was stuffed in a box, along with other mementos of a past that seemed like a long-forgotten dream.

      For an instant, she ached to touch the letters, trace them with her fingers like she’d done long ago when she’d still believed in dreams. Her hand lifted, her fingers reached and she had to struggle to stop them from caressing the glass over the signature.

      It couldn’t be. The dead didn’t come back to life.

      Paige clenched

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