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“Not a single person has mentioned the muddy hem on this fabulous dress.” As Wendy and Hugh danced across the hardwood floor in Maeve Lindholm’s magnificent great room, a soloist crooned the lyrics of “I’ll Be Seeing You” while a live big band played. Wendy looked into Hugh’s face and laughed with the sheer pleasure of being here, in his arms, and knowing Hazel was safe in her bed and they had saved her.

“Who would have the nerve? You rescued Maeve Lindholm’s daughter from her maniac cousin. You’re the woman of the hour.”

“Everyone knows it’s really you, hero man. In these days, no one believes the Amazon myth.” She mocked the times. “No one believes a girl could have done saved that child.”

“Not true, stuntwoman. I’ve told every guy here you ripped Bill’s balls up over his ears.”

“You do like that line.” It gave her a warm feeling to know he thought she expressed herself well.

“Yes, especially since now they’re all afraid to ask you to dance.”

“Oh.” She looked around, realized no man in this magnificent ballroom dared look her in the eye. “You sneaky bastard!”

Hugh looked smug. “Thank you. One way or the other, I do like to hold the trophy—even if I have to cheat to get it.”

She was torn between indignation and laughter.

Laughter won.

He laughed, too, then danced them out of the bustling ballroom and onto the starlit veranda. “Do you believe in soul mates?”

“No. Never have.”

“Neither do I. Never have.”

A pause.

“How about now?” Hugh asked.

“Maybe now.”

He was teasing, she knew . . . but not really. Together, the two of them had begun to change their minds.

“Yes, I believe in soul mates, now.”

“Good. I didn’t want to go down the road alone.”

“We’re better when we work together to do the stunt, rescue the child . . .”

“Live a life?” he asked.

She put her head on his chest. “Yes.”

They danced slower, away from the lights of the ballroom, into a shadowy corner. She knew what was coming, and all of herself leaped toward the moment, the passion, the union. Hugh put his fingers under her chin, lifted her face toward his—corny move! Corny move! She loved it!—and feathered his lips onto hers. Lightly, gently, brushing their mouths together until . . . she didn’t know what happened . . . the trapdoor opened, they fell into each other and some kind of electrical surge fused them together, mouths, bodies, souls.

When at last they separated, mostly to breathe, he murmured, “We just made a warm, secret, lifetime promise, didn’t we?”

“Oh, yes.” Wendy didn’t hesitate, which was so unlike her. It’s only a dream, she reminded herself. Such a shame.

Hugh’s mouth crooked up on a half smile. “So.” With his hand, he stroked the silk wrap off her head, then returned to caress her hair, her neck, her spine. “You were going to tell me the truth about yourself.”

Startled—it was such a change of pace—she said, “I told you the truth. I’ve never told anyone before. My father died and I—”

“I know. And I appreciate your confidence.” His arms tightened on her. “It’s not that I want to know. Your attitude, the words you use, the way you swear, the way you seem to know things you couldn’t know. You talk about ‘these days’ as if they aren’t your days. You seem to be . . .” He groped for words.

“Out of place and time?”

“Exactly.”

She swirled out of his arms and made her way to the railing. He had guessed. She didn’t fit, and somehow he’d put it all together to come to . . . the truth. Or at least a version of the truth. Placing her palms on the cool marble, she leaned forward and looked toward the dark horizon. There was nothing out there except twinkling stars and a salty scent on the sea breeze. She tried to think how to explain who she was, where she was from, what had happened to bring her here . . . when she didn’t understand it herself, or even if it was real. Yet how could she continue to believe she was hallucinating when he was so vital, so alive? When he made her feel emotions she had only ever read about?

She collected fragments of truth, about the theater, about Minnie and Mabel, about the blow to her head. She turned back to Hugh and—

Hugh stood calmly in the light, his hands up in the surrender stance—as he stared at the muzzle of the pistol clasped in Bill’s shaking hand.

Oh, God. No!

“You’ve ruined me.” Dirt and something from the barnyard smeared Bill’s dark suit. Hugh’s fists had left their mark on Bill’s bruised face, and he spoke as if his lips were too swollen to form coherent words. “I’m in too deep.”

Silently, Wendy slipped out of her heels.

“You could have loaned me the money. The ransom for that kid would have saved me. You got in the way.” Bill’s voice rose. “It’s your fault. All your fault. The gambling bosses are going to kill me. If I’m going to die, you’re going to die.”

Wendy started running at him.

Hugh’s tone was soothing. “Don’t be a fool, Bill. You’re not going to die. You’re Maeve’s cousin—”

Wendy was almost there. Almost . . .

“Maeve knows I took her daughter and she won’t give me a thing!” Bill screamed.

Now! Wendy launched herself in the air, a flying roundhouse kick aimed at Bill’s outstretched arm and a follow-through to his head.

Bill caught sight of Wendy. He swung toward her and then back at Hugh—and pulled the trigger.

The blast was louder than any sound she’d ever heard.

Wendy didn’t waver. Her foot struck Bill’s arm, his head and sent him flying backward across the granite floor. She twisted in midair but didn’t recover in time and hit the ground hard. Quickly she picked herself up and ran toward Hugh.

He was down and bleeding, blood pumping from a chest wound.

“No!” Wendy knelt beside him, took his hand, leaned close. “Hugh, stay with me.”

I’ll be seeing you . . .

“I will.” He looked into her eyes, his gaze clinging to hers. “I won’t lose you now.”

People ran out of the ballroom. Lights blazed, illuminating the wound, the blood, Hugh’s wide, shocked eyes.

Wendy covered the gunshot wound with her hands, desperate to hold the blood inside him. “Hugh, stay.”

“I will . . .” His words were barely a whisper.

Shocked voices rose around them.

His fingers grew cold in her grasp. “Hugh, I’ve searched my entire life for you. We’re one mind, one soul, one heart.”

“Yes.” His blood pumped slower and slower.

“Nothing can separate us.”

He coughed. “Not even death.” His gaze shifted and looked beyond her. “Not even the fog . . .”

“No!” She put her arms around him and rocked him.

And just like that, he was gone. Dead in her arms.

Someone took Wendy by the elbows and lifted her away.

“No!” This couldn’t be happening. Not to them. Not to him. Not to Hugh.

People swarmed around her, shouting, but that sound faded.

They faded.

Hugh’s figure was vanishing in the mist.

Wendy couldn’t hear. Or see. She tried to call out, but she could barely breathe.

The fog closed in . . .