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“Where’s Chance?” A funny little feeling had settled in the pit of her stomach the moment she’d seen that the airplane door stood open.

Tracker handed her a mug of steaming coffee. “I was under orders to let you sleep.”

“Where’s Chance?” Natalie repeated.

Tracker shot her a smile. “Promise not to kill the messenger?”

At any other time, she might have been charmed. Hell, she might even have been amused.

But the funny little feeling was making her stomach roll and her throat tighten. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

Tracker sighed. “Yeah. I told him he should wake you, but he had to get the diamond back to the London office. He tried to get out of it, but there’s some red tape he has to take care of in person.”

In some part of her mind, Natalie listened to Tracker’s explanation. It was logical, perfectly understandable. Chance’s part of the job wasn’t over. So he’d had to fly off to London to tie up loose ends. A sickening sense of déjà vu filled her.

“Chance has to move quickly,” Tracker said. “He hoped you’d understand.”

Natalie thought she understood very well. The adventure was over, and a man like Chance—a man so like her father—would want to be on to the next one as soon as possible.

“Yes,” she said. She did understand. She’d signed on for the job, and now it was over. She felt the prick of tears behind her eyes, and she blinked—but it was too late. The first drop slid down her cheek.

“Shit,” Tracker said as he pushed the laptop away and rose. “Natalie, don’t.” He drew her against him and held her. “I told him to wake you and explain it himself. But he—”

Natalie held herself stiff. She had to stop crying. There was no sense to it. She never cried.

She hadn’t, not once, since her father had left.

“He’s coming back, Natalie. He told me to tell you—”

Tracker broke off when suddenly she used all of her strength to push away.

“What is it?” he asked.

She scrubbed tears away with the heel of her hand. “You called me Natalie.”

For a second a puzzled expression crossed his face. “Yes…oh, shit. Shit. Shit.”

“If you know I’m not Rachel Cade, then—” As Tracker continued to swear, Natalie remembered the moment when she’d been trying to hear the last part of the combination to Carlo’s safe. Chance had used her father’s exact words. “You can do it, Nat.”

He’d called her Nat. The sharp band of pain tightening around her heart had her rubbing her chest with her fist.

“He’s known all along, hasn’t he? That I’m Natalie, not Rachel Cade?”

“He…I….” It was pure panic that she saw on Tracker’s face now. Later, much later, she was going to remember that with some amusement. She promised herself that. But right now, there were too many other emotions spiking through her. One of them was anger, the cold, icy kind. That was the one she latched on to.

He’d known who she was from the beginning. And he’d played along with her because he liked the game. It had all been a game.

“He wanted to stay and explain—”

Holding up a hand, she said, “Enough. You don’t have to explain. I get it.” Then she held out her hand palm up. “Since I had to leave the Brancotti estate without packing, I’ll require cab fare to my apartment.”

16

“OOH, DETECTIVE NATALIE!
Your hair! What have you done?”

The moment Rad had caught sight of her, he’d clapped two palms to his cheeks and stared. Now the majority of the people waiting for a table at the Blue Pepper was staring at her too.

“You’ve cut it.” Rad pressed the back of one hand against his forehead and the palm of the other over his heart. “You’ve
cut
your lovely hair!”

“Yes, I’ve cut my hair.” Natalie fluffed the ends with one hand. The color was back to normal. And so was she. That’s what she’d kept telling herself during the week she’d been back.

“It will grow in.” Rad spoke in the hushed tone of voice one might use to express sympathy at a wake.

Because she was pretty sure he was comforting himself and not her, Natalie found herself biting back a grin. “Hair has a tendency to do that.” Maybe her sisters had been right to insist that they get together for dinner. “Are my sisters here?”

“Sure thing.” Rad’s face brightened. “I gave them a table on the patio. They’re already enjoying the appetizer sampler.”

Natalie drew in a steadying breath as she followed Rad through the crowd and down the three steps. Being on the patio was a good thing. Better to face all your ghosts. Better to—

Her heart nearly stopped as she stepped onto the dance floor. The salsa band was playing the same tune that she and Chance had danced to on the night that she’d taken him up on his first proposition.

Memories of that night and others streamed into her mind—the way he’d touched her, held her, filled her. The memories and the sensations hadn’t dimmed any more than the ache in her heart had.

But they would, she told herself firmly. And maybe she wouldn’t let her hair grow in.

Maybe she could never be the same Natalie Gibbs she’d been before Chance Mitchell. So what?

Lifting her chin, she followed Rad off the dance floor.

“Here she is,” Rad announced as they reached the table.

Any confidence Natalie might have built up faded the moment she looked at her sisters.

She could tell by the expression on their faces that she wasn’t quite back to the old Natalie Gibbs yet. In fact, what she saw in their eyes was what she’d been denying every time she let herself look in the mirror.

Rory had frozen in place with a stuffed mushroom halfway to her mouth. Rory never let anything interfere with her appetite.

Sierra had her hands clasped tightly together in front of her, the way she always did when she was really nervous or worried.

Hell. Natalie knew she looked like shit.

“Her lovely hair will grow back,” Rad said.

When silence continued to stretch at the table, Rad cleared his throat and said, “Well. How about I bring the drink of the week—a frozen pineapple margarita?”

Rory cut him off by raising her free hand. “Three very dry martinis with olives. And keep them coming.”

“Excellent choice,” Rad said as he hurried away.

Sierra took Natalie’s hand. “What happened to you?”

Natalie found she had to speak around a lump in her throat. “I’m fine.”

Rory set her stuffed mushroom down. “You have black circles the size of Wyoming around your eyes.”

“I’ve been working.”

“And not sleeping,” Sierra said. “Or eating. Tell us.”

Natalie sighed. A triplet could never have secrets. Finally, she said, “Sometimes when you risk everything for something, you don’t get it.”

And then she told them the whole story.

“THIS ISN’T MY HOTEL,” Chance said as Tracker eased the car to the curb in front of the Blue Pepper.

“We thought we’d have a drink first,” Tracker said. “Lucas is buying.”

Searching his mind for an excuse to bow out, Chance stepped onto the curb. Above the traffic noises on the street came the faint sounds of laughter and music from the patio. He recognized the song the band was playing. It was the same one that he’d danced to with Natalie three months ago. That’s when everything had started between them. No, he corrected himself as nervousness twisted in his stomach. Everything had started between them the first moment he’d seen her. Had that been when he’d fallen in love with her?

Panic slithered in to join the nervousness. “You guys go ahead,” he said. “I’ve got some business to take care of.” Truth was he had a plan to make. And he was lousy at them. “I’ll just take a cab—”

Tracker gripped one arm and Lucas the other. “Sophie’s holding our table.”

“And Mac will be very annoyed if we don’t bring you,” Lucas added. “Besides you owe us. I provided my boat and my chief of security for this little Florida caper of yours.”

“Yeah,” Tracker put in. “And don’t forget the effort I put into saving your sorry ass. My arches are still sore from those high heels I had to wear. The very least you owe us is a drink and the rest of the story.”

Chance sighed and let himself be led into the Blue Pepper. It was the last place he wanted to be. Memories of Natalie were already flooding his mind. The past week had been hectic, tying up the Ferrante diamond case in London and seeing to it that “Carlo Brancotti” was finally behind bars. Now, he needed a cool head to think.

“Ah, Mr. Wainwright. Welcome, welcome, welcome.”

At first, Chance couldn’t see who was speaking, but on the last “welcome,” a short man with spikey red hair burst through the throng of people waiting for tables.

“Hi, Rad,” Lucas said. “Is my wife here?”

“She’s with Miss Sophie. This way,” the man said as he waved a hand and led them up the stairs and into the bar.

At least they weren’t going to have to sit on the patio, Chance thought. After greeting and being hugged by Sophie and Mac, he found himself wedged between the two women in the corner of a circular banquette.

Sophie poured a glass of beer from the pitcher in the center of the table and handed it to him. Then Tracker cleared his throat. “There’s something you ought to know.”

Something in the tone of his friend’s voice had his stomach muscles clenching. “What?”

He glanced around the table, noted the solemn expressions and fear streamed through him. “Has something happened to Natalie?”

“No.” Mac spoke as Sophie laid a hand on Chance’s arm. “She’s fine. She’s on the patio right now with her sisters.”

Chance felt his throat go dry. “She’s here.” He wasn’t ready to see her, and for the first time in his life he didn’t trust himself to improvise. “I—”

Suddenly, he didn’t care whether or not he had a plan. He had to see her. Hold her. Maybe the plan would come to him then.

“Let me out.” He nudged Mac. “I need to see her.”

“There’s something you should know before you see her,” Tracker said. “I—she knows you were aware all along that she was Natalie—that you were never fooled by the Rachel Cade disguise.”

“You told her?” Chance asked.

“Hell, I didn’t mean to. I slipped and called her Natalie.”

Chance took a long swallow of the beer. “I take it she wasn’t pleased.”

“She wouldn’t even let me drive her to her apartment,” Tracker said.

“You don’t have to lecture him,” Sophie said before Chance could speak. “I already have.

But you should have told her yourself.”

“Before you took her to Florida with you,” Mac added, then shook her head. “Pretending to believe that she was this Rachel Cade when all the time you knew she was Natalie…what were you thinking?”

Chance raised a hand, warding off their criticism. “I wasn’t. But at the time, I—” At the time he’d been afraid she wouldn’t come, and he’d wanted her with him. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

The two women exchanged glances, then Sophie spoke. “Tracker says you’re nuts about her.”

Chance pinned his friend with a look.

“Hey,” Tracker said with a shrug. “I only calls ’em as I sees ’em.”

“Don’t look at me,” Lucas said. “My advice is to plead the Fifth.”

Chance glanced back at the two women. “Works for me.”

Then to his surprise Mac and Sophie smiled at him.

“Since you are clearly nuts about her, we’ve decided to help you dig yourself out of the hole you’re in,” Sophie said.

Mac slid out of the banquette. “Go. Talk to her.”

Chance felt his stomach plummet as he followed Mac out of the banquette. Natalie was here. His intention had been to spend the night working out a strategy for what he knew he wanted to do. Maybe he’d call her in the morning. Or send her flowers and then drop in on her at work. Or…

Hell, it was the one time in his life that he dearly needed a plan, and he had no choice but to play it by ear.

“WELL, WHAT ARE YOU going to do about it?” Rory asked as she swirled her olive around in her drink and then popped it into her mouth.

“Do?” Natalie asked.

“Yes.” Sierra reach over to pat her hand. “You always have a plan.”

Natalie took a sip of her martini, then studied her two sisters over the rim of the glass.

She’d just told them everything that had happened since she’d left Sophie’s party with Chance, and they were looking a lot less worried than they’d been when she first sat down at the table.

“Right,” Rory said around a mouthful of stuffed mushroom. “It sounds like you had a wonderful adventure down in Florida. But you’re going to have to do something about Chance.”

“No.” Natalie shook her head. “I’ve had my adventure and I’ve had my fling. My plan is to go back to being Natalie Gibbs. Period.”

“You’re crazy about him,” Sierra said in her quiet, certain voice.

“I’m…” The
not
stuck in her throat. Because Sierra was right. No one else in the world had ever made her feel the way Chance Mitchell had. She was very much afraid that she was in love with him. “I’m a mess,” she finally admitted.

“Have one of these shrimp.” Rory shoved the plate toward her.

Natalie shook her head, but she did take another sip of her drink. “He’s walked out on me twice now.”

“Yes, he has,” Sierra said.

“The jerk,” Rory said.

“I’ll drink to that,” Natalie murmured and did. For the first time since she’d walked off the plane a week ago, she didn’t feel quite so numb. Perhaps it was the martini. Or maybe it was the little flame of anger that had flickered to life inside of her.

“He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with,” Sierra said.

“No,” Natalie agreed. He didn’t.

“You’ve always been the one with courage. Harry was right when he called you his warrior. I’ve never once known you to walk away from anything,” Sierra added.

Natalie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re trying that psychology stuff on me.”