“Not yet. He’s usually an early riser. He’s probably upstairs plotting ways to get me out of here so you two can pretend I don’t exist.”

“Still not one to sit on your emotions, are you?”

For that, she didn’t warn him before he tried Athena’s coffee, which was strong enough to peel paint. All he did was make a slight grimace. That proper Winston-Sloan blood of his had kicked in, she supposed.

He went on, “It wasn’t my idea to throw you out last night.”

“I didn’t notice you asking me to stick around.”

“God forbid I should come between you and your grandfather.”

Rebecca gave him a skeptical look. “Yeah, right.”

“Okay, I admit I was hoping you were thumbing your nose at my cousin and aunt and anyone else who thought the Blackburns would never amount to anything again and were living in the fanciest, most expensive condo you could find. I admit I didn’t want to have this conversation. But you’re making a mistake if you think Thomas has told me anything he hasn’t told you. If it makes you feel any better, he wants me to head back to San Francisco.”

“Sounds good to me.” Rebecca knew she was being petty and immature but couldn’t stop herself. The old hurt had gotten the better of her. “When’re you leaving?”

“I’m not.”

“Why not?”

Jared leaned over the table, and Rebecca saw that his teal eyes were as clear and luminous as she remembered in all her dreams of the first time she and Jared had made love. “You’ve seen our guy from Saigon, haven’t you? He’s in Boston.”

“Did Grandfather tell you that?”

“No. He’s no more going to blab your ‘affairs’ to me than he is mine to you. But it’s a fair guess from his reaction to me-and yours.”

Rebecca sipped her coffee, the mug poised in front of her in both hands. Her fingers weren’t trembling; she hadn’t gulped the coffee. As far as Jared Sloan could see, she was just fine. But she wasn’t. A time and a man she’d thought she’d put behind her had reared up again, and she didn’t know what she was supposed to do.

“R.J., don’t hold back on me,” Jared said, not as a plea or a demand, but a simple, honest request. His gaze remained intense, difficult to ignore. “My daughter’s life could be at stake.”

Rebecca took a sharp breath. “She’s been threatened?”

“No, but this guy tried to kill her when she was just a baby. For all I know, he might try again. He was at my house in San Francisco the day before yesterday and didn’t touch her, but that doesn’t mean he won’t. She’s with my father, so she’s safe for now.” Jared set down his coffee mug, his expression hard and serious and very determined. “Nothing happens to Mai. I don’t care what I have to do.”

Rebecca was taken aback by his vehemence-by how very much he loved his daughter. And suddenly she knew, as she’d only thought she’d known before, that fourteen years ago Jared Sloan had done exactly the right thing in taking unconditional responsibility for the tiny newborn girl. Mai was his daughter. And Tam’s. He had never offered any excuses or explanations. He had simply done what he’d had to do. It had meant losing Rebecca, but as painful as that had been at the time, it was now completely irrelevant.

“You’re right,” she told him. “I did see our man.”

Jared listened grimly, without interruption as she related yesterday’s encounter, leaving out the Frenchman’s comment about having known her father-and David Rubin’s report on Tam’s bag of colored stones. Rebecca still needed time to process both developments before she could determine if they were any of Jared Sloan’s business or if it were even her place to tell him. The stones might not have had anything to do with his relationship with Tam, and her violent death and Mai’s illegitimacy were already enough for Jared and Mai to deal with without Rebecca throwing a fortune in smuggled gems into their faces. But that had been her judgment in 1975, as it was now.

“I don’t know what he’s after,” she said finally. “What about you? Did he say anything-”

“No. I didn’t exactly give him a chance. Mai was there. I just got rid of him and came out here.”

“To see my grandfather.”

Jared didn’t comment.

“Why Grandfather?” Rebecca persisted. “He wasn’t in Saigon in 1975. He hasn’t been there since my father was killed. Look, Jared-”

“R.J., I’m not going to start a war between you and your grandfather.”

“A polite way of saying you’re not going to tell me a thing. Well, fine-don’t.” She set her mug down hard and swept to her feet. “I’ve got enough to do without beating my head against a wall trying to make you play fair. If you’ll excuse me, I have a business to run.”

As she came around the table he caught her by the arm-not hard, not long. But she drew back as if he’d given her an electric shock. His touch called up images of hot nights of lovemaking, reminded her of how much losing him had hurt, of how damned much she’d loved him. And warned her he was as sexy as ever. She could want him again. It wouldn’t take much.

If she were going to be stupid.

“Stay out of this, R.J.,” he said quietly, his voice even deeper, raspier than she remembered. She saw that touching her had an impact on him, as well. There’d never been any doubt in her mind he’d had a grand time for himself making love to her, no matter what had happened between him and Tam.

Rebecca narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not a kid, Jared. I won’t let you order me around anymore.”

Jared looked surprised. “I never did order you around.”

“Ha! You’ve been telling me what to do since I was two years old.”

“Not a chance. R.J., you were the bossiest kid on Beacon Hill. I never managed to get you to do one thing you didn’t want to do. And, in case you’ve forgotten, we didn’t see each other during the ten years after you moved from Boston to Florida, or the fourteen since you left me to rot in that hospital in Manila. You’ve been free of me about two-thirds of your life.” He held back a smile, his eyes giving off that pirate’s gleam that used to make her groan just with wanting him. “Hey, we’re practically strangers.”

“A stranger isn’t someone who knows-not just guesses, but knows-you were the one who lit the fire on Boston Common that time.”

Jared grinned at their shared childhood memory. “It wasn’t much of a fire, just a few twigs and leaves.”

“You and Quentin and Nate were playing Salem witch trial, and I was the witch. You were going to burn me at the stake. What was I, five?”

“We weren’t really going to burn you-”

“Yes, but the mounted policeman didn’t know that when he smelled smoke and you took off, leaving me tied to that tree.”

“R.J., you know you could have gotten free anytime, and anyway, the fire wasn’t that close to you.”

“The cop didn’t think so. He wanted to find you and stick your toes in it, but I kept my mouth shut.”

“Not out of any sense of virtue,” Jared countered, “but only because you’re a Blackburn and keeping your mouth shut comes naturally.”

“The point is, you’re no stranger and you never will be, no matter how little we see of each other.” She smiled wistfully, wondering if she and Jared, if never strangers, could ever be friends again. If they hadn’t fallen in love, then it might have been possible. Now-she didn’t know. “Good luck with Grandfather. And if I don’t see you before you leave town-well, give my best to your daughter.”

Jared looked at her. “I will, R.J. Thanks.”

Maddeningly, her eyes filled with tears, and she fled, running out the front door and into the cool spring air. It was damp and drizzly, a typical New England morning, and still early.

“I have no wish to discuss with you the matter of a Frenchman who might have known your father,” her grandfather had told her yesterday afternoon.

She’d see what she could find out on her own.

First she’d have a big, fattening breakfast on Charles Street, and then she’d head over to the Boston Public Library, which supposedly had an impressive amount of information on the man John F. Kennedy didn’t choose as his ambassador to Saigon, one Thomas Ezekiel Blackburn.