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Smart, beautiful, and very rich, Kezia Saint Martin leads two lives: one as a glamorous socialite jetting between the poshest places in Europe and America; the other, under a false name, as a dicated journalist committed to justice and her profession.
But the two worlds are pulling her apart, leaving her conflicted about her identity and the lies she tells to every man she meets. Then she meets Lucas Johns, a bold, dynamic crusader for social change -- and an ex-con. Their attraction is immediate, but their love may be just one step from tragedy at any time.
we can go for a walk later today.” He hoped not. He hoped Luke would tell her to get her ass on a plane to New York. By the end of the week, Luke would be back in Quentin, and there was no point in her staying for that. She couldn’t visit him until she got clearance anyway, and that could take weeks. And sooner or later, she’d have to go home. Better sooner than later. The truck stop was full but not crowded, the room was warm, and the jukebox was already alive. The aroma of coffee mingled with
without telling you why I think you ought to do it, in any case. I think you’d be a fool not to.” “And a bigger fool yet if I did it. I can’t. I have too much at stake. How could I even interview him without causing a certain ‘furor’ myself, as you call it. From what you’re telling me, he’s not a man who passes unnoticed. And just how long do you think it would take for someone else to notice me? Or Johns himself, for that matter. He’d probably know who I am.” She shook her head with certainty
long, but the implication of the message was lost on Kezia. She was too drunk to hear, or to care. “Marina?” Kezia looked still more childlike as she stood watching her friend. “What, love?” “Do you really love Halpern?” “No, baby. I don’t. But I love the peace of mind he could give me. I’ve about had it with trying to make it on my own with the kids. And in another six months I’d have had to sell the co-op.” “But don’t you love him a little?” “No. But I like him a lot.” Marina looked
would muddy the waters. People would be requesting articles not because of K. S. Miller, but because of Kezia Saint Martin. I’d be back where I was eight years ago, as a gofer on the Times. And my aunt would have fits, and my trustee would be heartbroken, and I’d feel as though I had betrayed everyone who came before me.” “For chrissake, Kezia. All those people are dead, or as good as.” “The traditions aren’t. They live on.” “And all on your shoulders, is that it? You have the sole
I want to lose you, after it took me all these years to find you, do you?” She smiled in answer, and they lay side by side in the dark, silent, until at last they fell asleep. Even Luke slept peacefully this time, which was rarer than Kezia knew. Lately, since they had started following him again, he had nightmares every night. “Breakfast?” She was pulling on the white satin robe and smiled at him crookedly as she stretched. “Just coffee, thanks. Black. I hate to rush through breakfast and I