A week had passed since my little migraine episode, and although it wasn't as rough as I thought it would be, I was out of commission for an entire day. Just long enough for Aunt Barbara to talk me out of my intention to leave.

The others hadn't been around much, and she put effort into doing what I wanted her to do, no matter what I asked. Then why did I feel I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop?

I sat upright, having had enough sun for one day. The others will be back soon, and I didn't want to be in my bathing suit when they returned. Not that there was any problem with that, I was just overly aware of myself in a certain dark and brooding man's presence.

Anika hadn't returned from wherever she went since the night in my room. Connor had been distantly polite to me to the point where having a conversation with him made me grit my teeth, while Bradley had been my compatriot every step of the way.

I pulled on my shorts and crop top, making my way to Barbara's suite. She'd be about ready to show me what she did, and she'd been a little hesitant about my assignment. A smirk pulled at my lips; my client was easily disconcerted by anything outside her comfort zone, but she wasn't intractable.

***

The coolness of the house after the heat outside made goosebumps prickle on my skin. I turned and froze, my smile fading as I spotted Anika.

I had not missed her and waited for her to make some rude remark about me lying by the pool in the middle of the day instead of working or something, but she nodded in my direction with her gaze hooded and continued toward the rear of the house.

I just stood there for a second, a frown tugging at my brow. Why was this so anticlimactic? Had I wanted a confrontation with her, and why did she seem so... different? Almost like something had changed while she was gone. I shrugged and continued on my way.

***

I expected to find Barbara outside by the patio for lunch, but she wasn't there, so I checked her office. She should have finished her assignment by now. I knocked quietly and got no answer; concerned, I opened the door to discover her sitting in front of her computer, so wholly engrossed she didn't see me, and the earphones prevented her from hearing me.

Her perky reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose, her usually pristine upswept hairdo was slightly messy, a tiny frown pulled at her brows, and despite her having been at it so long, I didn't want to disturb her. She was so in the zone it would be a sacrilege, so I quietly closed the door. I'd tell Angela to bring her lunch a bit later.

***

"Is she busy?" Anika startled me so badly that a swear word nearly escaped my lips.

She'd clearly seen me knock, check in on Barbara and back out.

"Yes, she's writing," I said, keeping my words carefully concise to avoid causing any offense; I wasn't in the mood for an argument or one of her double-edged remarks.

"She doesn't usually mind being interrupted," she offered, almost helpfully and totally disconcerted me.

"She's inspired, and I don't want to do anything to alter her mood." It wasn't something I expected her to understand.

"I don't like interruptions when I am in the zone."

She shrugged, and I frowned. What was this? And what would she know about "the zone?" She avoided my eyes, and I almost wanted to check if she slid the knife between my ribs when I wasn't looking.

"I'm a sculptor. Or I used to be one before I started working for Barbara. After... my husband died, I couldn't do it—my inspiration was gone. Now I only do it every now and again as a hobby."

That sentence told me more about Anika than she knew and left me with an uncomfortable pity and compassion I didn't want to feel. But without a stone heart, having empathy wasn't a choice.

I also realized something that never even occurred to me—I knew Anika Maureen Shetland. Not personally, but her work. Because I dismissed her as someone who didn't have a creative bone in their body.

"I saw some of your work at the Boston Museum of Modern Art." The words left my mouth without intervention from my brain, and she seemed surprised. "My grandmother and I attended a gala event where Mother and child were on display."

Did I imagine her flinching when I said the name of her sculpture? This was our first civilized conversation, even though we were as wary as cats circling each other.

***

"Miss Ronan? There's a phone call for you. Do you want to take it in Conner's office? It's your grandmother's publisher; she seems upset." Angela said from the connecting hallway.

"Won't he mind?" I asked warily.

"I think it has something to do with your grandmother," Angela urged.

"He won't mind if it is urgent," Anika said unexpectedly, and even Anika glanced at her oddly.

I nodded, following Angela to Connor's office, and I had never been in this part of the house. She closed the door behind me, but I didn't look around as I picked up the phone and stayed in front of the desk.

"This is Avery," I said.

"This is Evangelina. Don't panic, but your grandmother's doctor just called me because I was listed as one of her emergency contacts. They tried to get a hold of you but had the wrong number. Marguerite has been in hospital since you left. She had lied to us and received treatment for something the doctor could not discuss with me over the phone. She was supposed to come in for a check-in but canceled." Her concern was evident in the thickness of her Spanish accent.

My legs almost folded under me. Why did Marguerite hide this from me, and was this behind her efforts to unite me with my family? I sank down on the chair.

"What did you find out?"

"Nothing. She was released two days ago and was supposed to go for a checkup before leaving but didn't and seems to have disappeared."

"Maybe she told Barbara. I'll call you." I put the phone down, getting to my feet gingerly and readying myself mentally to confront my employer when I turned to find Connor staring at me with a frown.