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PROLOGUE

Rain pattered softly against theof the hotel room as James Forrester pulled aside the curtain and looked out into the grey street New Orleans in winter, he thought, and a quick s the hard planes of his face He’d expected heat and humidity; what he’d found was chill and rain

The curtain fell back and he stretched lazily, his ainst the confines of his finely tailored cotton shirt He looked at the travel clock beside the bed, then at the photograph propped against it It was grainy, probably taken by a cheap ca

It was the picture of a young woman, taken outdoors at a distance The camera had captured her as she walked down a city street Her hair, long and dark, blew across her face, obscuring almost half of it Her hand was raised before her, as if she’d seen the lurking camera at the last moment and tried to protect herself from its obtrusive eye

Forrester looked at the clock again It was ti She was an early riser—he’d learned that watching her the last feeeks It had surprised his in that expensive little house of hers in the French Quarter

He took his suit jacket frorey as tailored expertly, eraph again, and his eyes narrowed until only the ht darkness that outlined the cool blue irises was visible against his tanned skin Slowly, almost reluctantly, he picked up the photo and stated at it

For adirectly into his

I know you, she see But she didn’t She had never seen hiht smile twisted across his face as he stared at the picture It was he who knew her: her habits, her likes, her dislikes—he knew everything about Gabrielle Chiari

His long fingers brushed lightly over the i on the full curve of her mouth

She was so beautiful She had the face of a madonna, with eyes that seemed to hint at untold mysteries There was an innocent sensuality in the lushness of her body that brought an ache to his throat

Forrester drew in his breath It was all illusion, trickery captured by the ca more The woman in the snapshot was beautiful, yes, but she was hardly innocent Gabrielle Chiari had made headlines back east only a few ster, working for Big Tony Vitale, the man some called the Don of all Dons He had control of every crooked operation in New York

Vitale had controlled her, as well—until she’d agreed to testify against him

He tossed the photo on the table She hadn’t agreed, he reminded himself, not really She’d been forced into it by the federal prosecutor,father fro subpoenaed But John Chiari had died before the case came to trial And when he did, when the prosecutor lost his hold on her, Gabrielle Chiari had fled the city and the protection the prosecutor’s office had afforded her

She hadTony, and her second in thinking she could escape him

And that, Forrester thought, as he opened the door to his hotel room and stepped into the hall, here he came in

CHAPTER ONE

Gabrielle Chiari paused in the doorway of the converted carriage house and stared into the flagstone courtyard Fog, thick as cotton, curled over the old brick walls that separated the house and its outbuildings from the street

She had lived here for two months, but sohed as she flexed first her right leg and then her left Would she ever think of New Orleans as ho to New York? Crazy as it seemed, she missed the crowded streets and the snarled traffic Soed to hear the irritated bark of automobile horns and the brusque snarl of a Manhattan taxi-driver

Gabrielle’sabout the life she’d left behind It was over— all of it, the good as well as the bad Her father had been the good, no matter what the newspapers and the federal prosecutor said, and he was gone And when he’d died, she’d been able to turn her back on the prosecutor’s lies and the agents who’d turned her quiet life upside-down

She had begun a new life, and, if it didn’t quite fit yet, it was only ainto place: the carriage house was beginning to feel like ho well, and Al out to be a good friend—even though they were as different as night and day

Das, bare beneath her running shorts, and she shivered, just as she had everyin this city on the Mississippi River Well, she’d be warh by the time she reached the shop—not that Al just as she had the day they’d met Gabrielle smiled as she remembered

It had been her first day as the nener of the little shop just off Jackson Square She’d jogged to ith a change of clothes tucked into a light backpack, never expecting to be greeted at the locked door by a woman who stared at her outfit in disbelief

‘You must be freezin’,’ the woman had said in a sweet voice, and then she’d blushed ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that’

A custoerly, and then she’d looked down at her bare legs and sweat-soaked shorts, and she’d sed

‘Don’t apologise,’ she’d said quickly, fu for her keys ‘It’s my fault—I didn’t expect anyone to show up this early If you’d just wait until I change, I’ll be happy to help you, Miss… ?’

The woman’s blush had deepened ‘I’m Alma Harwood, ma’am I work here—well, I used to work here, when Mr Kastin owned the shop I ay visitin’ when he sold it, and I thought I’d stop by and offer… That is, if you need me I worked for Mr Kastin for more than ten years, and…’

Gabrielle had al the shop had seemed like a wonderful idea—until she’d actually done it, and then the enor a business had turned her knees to jelly

‘Thank goodness,’ she’d said, offering her damp hand to the woman ‘Mr Kastin told me about you, Miss Harwood I tried to reach you all last week—I wanted to ask you to stay on I’ht I did’

Alhted,’ she’d said as she put her soft hand into Gabrielle’s Her smile had faltered as their hands e,’ she’d said politely ‘You seem to be—ah—um— perspirin’ most freely’

Gabrielle had sood idea’ She’d started towards the little roo had made her pause and turn back ‘By the way,’ she’d said innocently, ‘the wo

rd you were looking for is sweat’

Alma Harwood’s look of innocence had matched hers ‘Ladies,’ she’d said primly, ‘never sweat’

That first encounter had set the tone for their relationship Separated by age and custoround in good-natured teasing

Not that Als With the blithe ignorance of a northerner, Gabrielle had expected the south to be warrey, with the ever-present fog that rolled in fro to the chill

Noas late February and the ht cold

‘Don’t complain,’ Alma had said in her soft drahen Gabrielle had done just that ‘Soon enough it’ll be summer You haven’t lived until you’ve experienced a New Orleans July’ A look of gentle triuive up your runnin’ come summertime’

Gabrielle had laughed ‘Sorry, but I’ to have to disappoint you I’ll just run earlier and sweat harder You’ll never make me into a southern belle, Alma It’s too late I’ve been a New Yorker too many years’

Too h the early ainst the sudden press of tears

What was the matter with her today? Me in It was impossible to think about her father’s death without a dull ache spreading through her, a dull ache that congealed into a bitter rage

She had never understood how the federal authorities had found out her father was dying His illness had corasp the awful truth herself One week, he’d felt ill, and the next he’d been lying in a hospital room, and somewhere in theto accept as happening, Townsend and hisblood in the water

Testify against Tony Vitale, they said And when she’d insisted she knew nothing, they’d smiled their predatory smiles and told her she was free to stick to that line, if she liked It didn’t matter to them, they could always subpoena her father and put him on the stand instead