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  She turned her head slowly and met his gaze. She said nothing, just examined him as she had before. He was dressed in a lightweight gray suit that perfectly matched his eyes and nickname, but there was no gray in the golden brown hair combed back from his forehead. The honey-colored strands were sun-lightened at the tips, and he was tanned and fit. She imagined he spent much of his time living the good life on the Mississippi Gulf coast with his family. She wondered if there were other children, too. She would be surprised if Gray hadn’t tried for a son to carry on the Sheridan name.

  “You’ve hardly changed,” she said at last.

  “You have.”

  “I imagine you’d be surprised how greatly.”

  “Nothing much surprises me.”

  She nodded, waiting.

  “Shouldn’t one of us say it’s been a long time?” he asked.

  “It hasn’t been long enough.”

  Gray’s expression didn’t change. His stern mouth hadn’t once approached a smile. It didn’t tighten with anger now, either, but Julianna knew her words had affected him. She had seen the flicker in his tarnished silver eyes.

  “How long is long enough?” he asked.

  “A lifetime.”

  “That’s what you were hoping for.”

  The words were neither a question nor a statement, but rather an observation that could be disputed if she wished. Julianna felt no need to.

  “I’d like to talk to you,” Gray said after he’d given her time.

  “I can’t think of anything I’d like to talk about.”

  “Then I’ll be glad to do the talking.”

  “I can’t think of anything I’d like to listen to.”

  “You’re making this very difficult.”

  Her laughter was as low and husky as her voice. It was also humorless.

  “I’m not here to cause you trouble,” Gray told her, his lips tightening in a thin, straight line.

  “Then you have changed, Gray.”

  “The captain has turned on the seat belt sign,” a woman’s voice informed them over the public address system. Gray spread his feet wide and lightly rested a hand on the back of Julianna’s seatmate’s chair. His eyes left hers to flicker over the lounging man before he gave her his full attention once more.

  In the seconds after recognizing Julie Ann he’d had time for nothing more than fleeting impressions. Now he took several moments to study her more carefully. Only the dark blue eyes and the perfect oval of her face were familiar. Ten years was a long time. He wondered if ten years ago he had recognized the potential of the teenager with the pale skin and razor-sharp bone structure. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure if he had been mature enough to really think about her at all.

  Gray cleared his throat, realizing as he did how out of character the mannerism was. “Julie Ann, I know this is difficult for you. It’s just as difficult for me, but I need to talk to you. We need to talk,” he added.

  When she didn’t answer, he turned his attention to her seat-mate. “Excuse me. I’m sorry to disturb you, but would you mind taking another seat for a few minutes? I have to talk to this lady for a little while.”

  For a moment it seemed as if the man wasn’t going to answer; then he lifted one hand and readjusted the brim of his hat, pulling it down an extra inch. “It seems to me the lady doesn’t want to talk to you, mate.”

  Gray wished he could see the man’s face. “The lady and I are way overdue for a conversation. I’d appreciate your help.”

  “If the lady tells me she wants a conversation, I won’t mind a move.”

  “Julie Ann?”

  “My name is Julianna,” she said softly. “One word.”

  “It suits you.”

  Perhaps if his answer hadn’t been so conciliatory, Julianna would have agreed to the conversation. She could handle his anger, his arrogance, even his condescension. But she couldn’t handle his warmth. It brought back memories of a Gray whose existence she had stopped believing in a long time ago. She did not want that Gray in her life again. That Gray had almost destroyed her.

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” she said, turning back to the window. “Not here, not anywhere.”

  “You’re acting like a child.”

  Dillon pulled the brim of his hat up to expose his face. “The lady gave you her answer,” he said, a steel edge to his voice. “It was no.”

  Gray watched as the man brought his seat forward. He wondered what the husky Australian’s relationship was to Julie Ann. . . Julianna.

  “The lady doesn’t realize I’m not here to stir up trouble,” Gray said. “I’m not trying to hurt her.”

  “Maybe the lady has reason to think otherwise.”

  Gray nodded, although he could feel his own irritation building into anger. “Julianna,” he said, without stumbling over the name, “you’ve had ten years to hate me. Give me just a few minutes to try and change your mind.”

  As soon as he saw the fury in the eyes that had turned to challenge his, he knew that he had said exactly the wrong thing. “A few minutes? God, you are arrogant! Do you think that’s all it will take, Gray? Just a minute or two of your patient explanations and I can forget everything that happened?”

  “That’s not what I meant...”

  “I think it’s time for you to leave.” Dillon stood and faced Gray. “The lady is getting upset.”

  “Stay out of this. It’s none of your business,” Gray told him.

  “The lady made it my business before you got here.”

  Julianna’s anger receded as she watched the two men. She hadn’t believed it would come to this. Their raised voices had drawn the attention of the passengers across the aisle. She wondered how many others were witnessing the confrontation. “Just go, Gray,” she said, reaching out to put a restraining hand on Dillon’s arm.

  Gray shook his head. “I’m going to talk to you, and I’m not leaving until I do.”

  The two men were well matched in height. Gray assessed the Australian. Whatever advantage the other man had in weight, Gray knew he could probably make up for in speed. He never settled his problems with his fists, but he knew he could if the occasion arose. And the occasion would arise if the Australian took a swing at him.

  “Gentlemen, please.”

  The two men broke eye contact at the sound of a woman’s voice.

  “Everyone is supposed to be seated. The seat belt sign is on.” If the young flight attendant knew exactly what she had interrupted, she didn’t let it show in her voice. “Sir, will you please take your seat? And you, sir, will you sit down and buckle up? We’re heading into worse turbulence, and we don’t want anyone to get hurt.’’ She emphasized the last part of her sentence.

  For a moment Gray considered ignoring her. But he knew he had lost this round. He gave the young woman a curt nod, then addressed his next words to Julianna. “I know where I can find you, both at work and at home. So we’ll talk, whether you think it’s a good idea or not. Maybe by the time we do, you’ll realize how childish you’ve been today.”

  “This isn’t Mississippi. The Sheridans don’t own Hawaii. If we talk it will be because I want to. And that won’t be until hell freezes over!”

  “We’ll talk.” Gray turned and strode down the aisle, disappearing into the next cabin.

  Dillon made sure Gray was out of sight before he sat down again. He buckled his seat belt before he spoke. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m so sorry.” Now that Gray was gone Julianna blinked back tears. “I never use people the way I used you.”

  It was obvious that Dillon would have been more comfortable throwing a punch than he was with Julianna’s tears. “Nothing happened,” he reminded her. “And he’s gone now.”

  “For a while.”

  “Will you be all right?”

  “He won’t touch me.”

  “Maybe you should have talked to him. Now you’ve got to worry about meeting him again.”

  Dillon’s words were only an ec
ho of Julianna’s own thoughts. She listened to the sounds he made settling back in his seat as she cursed her own behavior. She’d been childish and spiteful and so full of fear and anger there hadn’t been room for anything else.

  There had been a time when things were different. Once there had been room inside her for much more. Those days were gone, but as the plane hurtled through the storm-filled skies, she remembered them. She was powerless to do otherwise.

  FROM GLOWING EMBERS

  Smoke Screen

  She shouldn't have come. Not to New Zealand, not to Waimauri, and most especially not to this place.

  Paige Duvall leaned against the sleek, straight trunk of a tree—a tree like none she'd ever leaned on before—and asked herself once more just what she was doing hiking in a country where her only companion was fear—fear and sucking, spitting mud pools that threatened to strip the very flesh off her bones.

  She took a deep, calming breath and was rewarded by the acrid, nostril-taunting smell of sulphur. So much for the sweet rewards of fresh air, so much for the benefits of exploring Godzone. Godzone? No, somehow she had ventured into Hell, and the damnedest part of it was that she had been warned.

  She remembered the words of the old man at the Waimauri dairy yesterday. "So you're from the States. And you've come to see about the thermals." He had been understandably curious. "I should think the house there's a bit of a shambles."

  Paige had appreciated his talent for understatement. "A bit," she'd acknowledged, tongue in cheek. "But I'm managing." And she was, if you could count eating meals out of cans and huddling under four quilts because she couldn't figure out how to turn on the heat.

  Her answer hadn't dimmed the old man's curiosity. "Done any bushwalking?"

  "Not much. I've been too busy trying to keep warm and dry."

  The old man had laughed. "Ah yeah. It'll warm up in a month or two. You Yanks, your seasons are turned around." He had filled a bag with odds and ends, then set a bottle of cream-rich milk on top of the rest of her groceries. "You've been warned about wandering around in the thermals by yourself?"

  She hadn't been, but the dairyman's next words made up for the lack. "If all the people who died in the Waimauri thermals stood up at the same time and cheered, it'd look like a rugby match in Eden Park." He had pushed the bag across the narrow wooden counter. "Don't go in alone, miss."

  But today she had done exactly that.

  It wasn't that she hadn't believed the man. She knew little about the strange country she was now exploring, but she did know enough not to underestimate boiling geysers and steaming mud pools. She just hadn't intended to come this far. She had planned to skirt the edges, scan the scenery, then decide if she wanted to hire a guide to explore farther. Instead she had become caught up in her discoveries, promising herself that she would turn around at the next bend, the next ridge. Now she wasn't sure how to get back.

  Through a haze of drifting vapors, Paige could see the haloed sun overhead. She shaded her eyes and checked her watch. The watch was a recent gift from an unlikely source, the wife of the man she had planned to marry. Now the delicate gold band sparkled against her creamy olive skin, reminding her of promises kept and broken. On a more mundane level it also reminded her that if she didn't find her way out soon, she might be one of the dairyman's cheering skeletons.

  Just when had she strayed off the path—if she could call the misbegotten tangle of scorched grass garnished by the sharp, low branches of manuka shrub a path? For all she knew, she was still on it, and alive or dead the path was leading her inevitably to the netherworld.

  Lost in the Waimauri thermals, and these thermals weren't extravagant wool underwear from a yuppie mail-order catalog. They were an area of such bizarre geological formations that if someone discovered her in the midst of this foul-smelling mist and undulating, steaming earth, he would probably be brandishing a pitchfork. And at this point, she might be glad to see Lucifer himself.

  "Welcome to the scenic wonders of New Zealand," Paige said out loud, a grimace stretching her generous bottom lip.

  "Welcome? You must be the rare visitor who appreciates our local attractions."

  Startled, Paige looked up to see the outline of a man obscured by the steam rising from the shore of a rust-tinted pond to her right. For just a moment she wondered if she had called up the devil himself.

  She took a step forward, but as she watched, he walked toward her, materializing out of the mist, a disembodied wraith solidifying slowly into flesh and bones and man.

  "Would you like me to leave you alone?" he asked with the politely clipped New Zealand accent that she was just beginning to decipher with ease.

  Caught exactly at the convergence of relief, curiosity and fascination, Paige scrutinized him before she answered.

  He was dark—dark hair, dark eyes, skin a rich hue that proclaimed his Maori blood. His eyebrows were a thick slash of black across a wide forehead broken by a shiny thatch of midnight hair that just skimmed his collar. His features were hawklike, lines and angles and sweeping planes, and his taut, lean body was composed of lines and angles, too. Lines and angles clothed in khaki chinos and a black pullover sweater distributed over a frame that towered inches over her own.

  "No, I don't want to be left alone," she said, shuddering at the thought. "What I want is a good, stiff drink."

  Without a smile he pulled a silver flask from the side of his belt and held it out to her. Paige swept her eyes up to his, cocking her head as if to ask permission. "Do I have to sell my soul for this?"

  He smiled a little, just a faint twist of his lips, but she took the flask, unscrewing the top with a graceful twirl. Two swigs later she realized it was tea. Hot and strong and laced with nothing more potent than sugar.

  "A good start," she said wryly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before she handed the flask back.

  "You're shivering."

  "I started shivering when I got off the plane in Auckland."

  He stretched out his hand and lifted the hem of her sweater, rubbing his fingers across the knit. "Cotton," he said, and the word sounded like the vilest profanity. "Cotton and silk. Small wonder you're freezing."

  "Worse than freezing, I'm lost."

  "Suppose you tell me what you're doing here in the first place. Didn't you see the signs?"

  She had seen the signs. Danger. No Trespassing. Proceed At Your Own Risk. She had ignored them. She had ignored subtler versions of signs like them all her life. This wasn't the first time she had found herself in Hell because of it.

  "This place belongs to me," she said.

  "Pardon?"

  "It's mine, or rather, my mother's." She gestured to the weird landscape surrounding them. "As far as you can see, and farther still. I knew Duvall Development owned a chunk of the world, but until this week, I didn't know we owned Hades, too."

  He frowned. "You're American."

  "Guilty as charged."

  "This is New Zealand."

  And she knew exactly what he meant. So why, if she was an American, had she wrapped her greedy little fingers around a chunk of Godzone? She imagined her deliverer was experiencing what she did every time she realized just exactly how much of the good old U.S. was owned by Arab sheiks.

  "My mother is a Kiwi," she said. "The land came to her recently at the death of a relative."

  "Jane Abbott."

  "That's right. And I'm here to evaluate it."

  "Gold in the mud pools? Uranium in the geysers?"

  "Land, Mr..." Her voice trailed off when she realized she didn't know his name. "I'm Paige Duvall," she said, holding out her hand.

  His hesitation was so slight that a less observant person might not have noticed it. "Adam Tomoana." He took her hand, wrapping it in his own.

  In the second before he withdrew she felt the rough texture of calluses and the strength that could crush her delicate bones to dust.

  "Were you bushwalking, Mr. Tomoana?" she asked, using the dairyman's phrase
. It conjured images of a grown man leaping from shrub to shrub.

  "Trespassing."

  She was surprised at the bitterness in the word. "True, but it was lucky for me you were. Now you can point me out of here."

  "I'll take you back."

  She heard no pleasure in his voice, just a bitter resignation. It spoiled her pleasure at his rescue. "Thank you, but I got this far by myself, so if you'll show me which direction to go, I'll get myself out of here."

  One expressive eyebrow rose. "Oh? And you're certain your luck will hold again?"

  She was beginning to dislike him. "Luck had little to do with it, Mr. Tomoana. I was very careful."

  "Not careful enough to keep from getting lost."

  She shrugged.

  He turned and started through the mists. "Perhaps it wasn't luck. Perhaps your footsteps were guided," he said cynically.

  "Guided?" she called after him, interested despite herself.

  He stopped at precisely the point where he would have disappeared from her view and motioned her toward him. "Our dead ancestors," he said darkly.

  She frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  He said something in a language so fluid it seemed to slip through the pores of her skin and infuse warmth into her chilled body. He paused, and then with a short, frustrated exhalation of air, he repeated his words in English. "Yours and mine, Miss Duvall," he said shortly. "We're cousins."

  ~ ~ ~

  Not exactly cousins. Adam allowed himself a small smile. At least, not cousins in the Pakeha way. Still, his words had produced the desired effect. Miss Paige Duvall had said nothing more. She trudged along behind him, keeping up the pace he set without so much as stumbling on the rock-strewn path.

  Adam didn't even need to glance behind him to know exactly how close she was, how determined to match his stride, and how irritated. He didn't have to glance at her to know that none of those things would show on her face.