And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

Caitlyn Montgomery carefully let herself in the side door with the key hidden under the flowerpot. Police tape fluttered along the back of the house, the side that faced the water, but here, under the small overhang, there was nothing, only a chilly October breeze and the more distant sound of the water lapping at the rocky shore.

The house was quiet, the silence of sadness. Her footsteps echoed across the polished wood flooring of the hallway as she crossed onto the marble tiles of the foyer. She knew it well, had almost grown up here, and had spent many nights here in the recent months, playing chess and sipping whisky with an old man.

The door to Maxwell Randall’s study swung silently open. Caitlyn crossed the floor quickly, her sneakered feet sinking into the plush carpet. She came around to Maxwell’s desk, an ornate, obnoxious thing meant to look like something a Gilded Age Robber Baron would have owned.

It was just as he’d left it. Empty. Maxwell hadn’t been one for bringing work home, she discovered. His desk was clear, a simple blotter aligned in the middle. A phone off to the right, a brass lamp off to the left. A pad of paper and a can of pens and pencils sat within reach. There was no computer, no planner or desk diary. She supposed if there had been one, the police would have taken it.

Slowly, methodically, she leaned over and began to open the desk drawers. Nothing in the two large ones flanking the right, nor the left. She turned her attention to the middle drawer, the thin one. It stuck a bit, and she felt her heart flutter in anticipation. She knelt down, to get a better view. Caitlyn pushed a strand of her brown-black hair behind her ear and squinted in concentration as she carefully slid her hands toward the back of the narrow drawer.

“What are you doing?”

Her head jerked up, hitting the side of the drawer as she rose to her feet.

“You?” Caitlyn said, surprise radiating through her.

There was a pause. Caitlyn drew herself up to her full height and looked at Noah Randall, all six-feet-one of him, standing in the doorway.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” she spoke the truth, saying the first thing that came to mind. At least not so soon.

Noah’s dark eyes were looking at her, traveling up and down her face and the length of her body. Caitlyn felt herself flushing. There was nothing like being caught red handed to lose the advantage.

“Maxwell was my father,” he finally answered. “Of course I’d be here.” He lifted a drink to his lips and swallowed. He was drinking whisky, Caitlyn saw.

“I’m sorry. I know.” Caitlyn came around from behind the ornate wooden desk and stood in a small patch of sunlight. Meager, but it warmed her still. Noah had not moved from the doorway, but stood looking at her, surveying her. Beyond him, Caitlyn could see the patch of the hard marble foyer where she’d last seen Maxwell alive. She swallowed. It gave her the creeps.

She moved closer to Noah, her natural instinct to reach out, to comfort him, but she held back. It had been a long time, and they hadn’t left on the best of terms.

“Want a drink?” he finally said.

Caitlyn nodded. She didn’t really, but she wasn’t ready to leave him alone. She hoped he would go out of Maxwell’s study, maybe to the living room, where Maxwell had kept more booze, but instead he pushed past, into the room, and went to a cabinet on the wall.

Opening it, he pulled out a glass and splashed some of the amber-colored liquid into it.

“You’ll have to drink it neat,” he said, shoving it into her hand. Their skin touched for an instant, and Caitlyn jumped back from the small jolt.

“Our eternal spark,” Noah said with a grim laugh, throwing himself on the couch.

Caitlyn stood, studying him. He looked the same, sort of. He’d been only twenty when she last saw him, lanky, with shaggy brown hair tipped with blond highlights from a summer spent sailing and swimming. His clothes had always seemed too big on him, as if he too had been swimming in them.

Now, though, he’d filled in. His biceps swelled tight against the fabric of his shirt, and his legs looked lean and muscled under his faded jeans. His hair was darker now, but still kissed by the sun. He was a California guy, a software developer, turned CEO, turned investor, not the East Coast prepster he’d been raised.

But now, with just a hint of stubble on his chin and the dark fitted t-shirt that moved with him, Caitlyn could see that, all in all, Noah Randall had filled out very nicely.

“So?” he began again. “Why are you here?”

“I didn’t break in. The key was where it usually was.” Caitlyn took a swallow of the whisky, savoring the slow burn down her throat, thankful too that she had something to keep her hands occupied.

She hadn’t counted on anyone being there. Especially Noah. And not so soon.

“When did you get into town?’

“You can sit, you know. I won’t bite,” he tossed her a smile and waved his hand to one of the couches.

Caitlyn stepped across the rug and sat at the opposite end of the leather couch. Noah, lounging and looking perfectly at ease, gave a short laugh and looked her over.

“You haven’t changed. Much.” The last was said bitterly.

Caitlyn said nothing. She hadn’t wanted to change. That had been Noah.

“I was in New York already,” Noah continued. “The police found my cell phone number among my father’s things. I took a car service and got here as soon as I heard.”

That was why she hadn’t seen the car. She’d thought she’d have a small window of time after she’d found Maxwell and before everyone came swarming in. The funeral was already set for today. She knew Sam Harris, Maxwell’s second-in-command, had taken care of the arrangements, no one knowing if Noah would be up for the task.

“You were the one who found him?” Noah’s eyes dropped, to stare at his drink.

Caitlyn nodded. “He took me to dinner at the club that night. I drove him home, and… well, when he didn’t come to work the next morning, I came to the house. I knocked and knocked and looked in the windows. His car was here. I didn’t figure he’d be taking a walk.” Maxwell wasn’t big on exercise unless it involved a golf club and some cigars.

“And he was just there, at the bottom of the bluff?”

Caitlyn nodded, swallowing against the memory of seeing him, stiff, blue. “I checked him to be sure, and then called 9-1-1.” After her initial shock, she’d thought about coming to look in Maxwell’s study, but there hadn’t been enough time before the police came.

“So, you were the last person to see my father alive?”

The police had asked her the same question. That and others. What did you two discuss? What was Maxwell’s frame of mind? Did he often smoke cigars and drink while standing so close to the edge of a rocky incline?

None of your business. He was angry. Actually, yes. A nightcap and a whisky, on one of the big Adirondack chairs overlooking the Sound, the lights of Long Island twinkling in the distance, had been Maxwell’s favorite way to end the day, short of a hurricane blowing in. Caitlyn had answered all but the first question truthfully. They would go to the club and find out that she and Maxwell had been having a heated argument. And that he had a lot to drink – like he’d been doing lately. And that the club manager wouldn’t give the car keys to Maxwell, only to her.

“You weren’t…” Noah looked down at his drink.

Caitlyn glanced up, not comprehending. And then it came to her. “You think Maxwell and I were having a relationship?”

She dissolved into a heap of laughter, shaking so hard that tears were coming out of her eyes. It was the first solid laugh she’d had in days.

“I’m glad you think that’s funny. That’s another one of the questions the police asked me,” Noah said.

Caitlyn stopped laughing and tried to wipe her tears away, surprised to find that they were real tears now. “Maxwell was like a father to me, Noah. We would have dinner together. He was lonely.” And so was she. But not lonely enough to have considered Maxwell anything more than a kindly old man.

“You let him get drunk,” Noah said, his eyes accusing. He was facing her, the space between them on the couch narrowing, so she could feel the heat from him, smell his soap – something fresh, clean.

“I didn’t let him do anything. You know that.” They both did. Maxwell got what Maxwell wanted. “He’d been drinking a lot,” she added.

“Why?” Noah asked, leaning forward, so that she couldn’t avoid the nearness of him. She felt her stomach clench, her heart skip a beat. A totally normal reaction, she told herself, a remnant of their old attraction.

Caitlyn frowned. “I’m not sure. He seemed upset, depressed about something.”

“But I’m sure you knew how to make it all better. You always had all of the answers, didn’t you?” Again, there was that trace of bitterness in Noah’s voice.

Caitlyn shook her head, feeling anger rise in her throat. There had been a time when Noah Randall wouldn’t have thought the worst of her.

“Coincidence. There happened to be an opening, and I needed a job.” She said nothing of the promises Maxwell had made

Noah glanced at her left hand. Caitlyn slid it away, “I broke off the engagement,” she said, embarrassed suddenly, though she owed Noah no explanation. She owed him nothing after ten years of silence, of hearing about him only through tidbits on the news, on the Internet. How many times had she wanted to call, to congratulate him, but had stopped, broken off the desire to hear his voice, to know him again? Every time, because she knew he didn’t want to hear from her. He had made that perfectly clear the day he’d left Queensbay.

She said no more. She didn’t need to go into the gory details of why Michael St. John was a bastard. Especially not to Noah. Why had he known about the engagement in the first place? He couldn’t possibly be keeping tabs on her, could he?

Noah nodded. “I see,” was all he said, taking another swallow of his drink. She could feel his eyes on her, feel the way they burned through her, the way he looked at her, with… what, desire? Caitlyn looked up. Perhaps it wasn’t desire at all but something else entirely – a hard, searing appraisal.

Caitlyn shifted in her seat. She wanted to get back to that desk. Maxwell had told her he’d made his intentions clear, but she wasn’t sure he’d made them legal. That was a bit like Maxwell. Dangle a carrot in front of you, but yank it just out of reach when you were getting close.

“So,” Noah said, sliding closer to her. He smelled good, a mix of aftershave, just a hint of the whisky they were drinking. She breathed it in, trying not to let it go to her head. An image of summer flashed back to her, tangy salt air, a faint taste of sweat and that same aftershave. Caitlyn felt a slight shiver crawl up her spine. Fear, desire? A taste of both, she decided, as he leaned in closer.

His brown eyes held her blue ones. And then he smiled, just a few inches from her. His thigh pressed against hers, and she could see every inch of his face, from the strong line of his chin, to the way his nose turned up a bit at the tip, to the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.

Noah turned so that he was almost on top of her, one arm against the back of the couch, the other on the arm of it. She was trapped, and she felt her cheeks flush. Please, she thought, she was a grown woman, not a horny seventeen-year-old, but Noah Randall was having the exact same effect on her now as he had then.

“What does little Caitlyn Montgomery want now? What’s your angle, Caitlyn? Why’d you leave your big life in London to come back to Queensbay? What did Maxwell promise you? He was always making promises he didn’t keep. Especially to us. He was always trying to manipulate us.”

Caitlyn reared back in shock at the ugly words. “Noah, you don’t understand. He really was like a father to me. All these years while you’ve been off, not talking to him, I was there from him. He helped me with everything. With college, with internships, my first job. I owed him everything.”

“So, you just took what he was willing to give?” Caitlyn knew what Noah meant. Maxwell would have wanted to give it all to his son, but Noah had thrown it away. So it had all come to her, because she’d stayed close, because she’d been there.

“We understood each other,” Caitlyn, whispered, holding Noah’s dark gaze. He moved in a fraction closer, so their faces were just inches apart.

“Well, I guess I’m glad he had somebody.” Noah leaned back, their connection, their heat broken. “You should go now. It’s going to be a long day. You never know what surprises my father will have in store.”

Caitlyn let out a breath. Noah was looking at her, his face closed. She wouldn’t be able to keep searching now.

“Yes, I’d better go,” she said, putting her glass down. She pushed herself up, and Noah was up with her, facing her again.

“C’mon, aren’t you interested? Even just a kiss for old time’s sake?’ He moved in closer, and Caitlyn pushed him back.

“Noah, you don’t mean that. You’re upset. Why don’t you rest?”

“With you around? I don’t think so, Caitlyn. Like I said, you’re working an angle – and I intend to find out what it is.”

“Go to hell, Noah.” Caitlyn turned and walked out of the room. She slammed the door behind her with more satisfaction than she felt.

Noah watched Caitlyn as she walked out of the room. The door slammed, a muted sound, considering how solid it was. He listened again and heard another door slam, this one towards the back of the house. She would be walking now across the broad lawn with the view of the water, the expanse of Queensbay Harbor stretched out in front of her.

It was a windy day, blasting straight off the water, and she would be hunched against the wind and the cold until she made it around a slight bend and then, sheltered, she would step onto the wide porch of her own house, a charming solid, early Victorian.

He put his whisky down. On one level, he’d known she’d be around. After all, he’d known that she’d come back and joined the Randall Group. But seeing her. He’d thought that it wouldn’t have any effect on him, just like seeing Josh, his former party buddy, behind the counter at the Queensbay deli. Just another person from his old hometown. Familiar, friendly…brief.

But no, from the minute he had walked in on her, startled her from her search of his father’s desk, he’d realized that it wasn’t going to be easy. He’d gotten her a drink even though it was far too early, hoping it would calm him, give him some time.

He’d felt her gaze on him, assessing him, taking the measure of him. Had he grown? Once he’d very much wanted to be all that he could be for her. He’d been a boy, but she made him want to be a man, the best one he could be, just so he would be worthy of the beautiful, confident and capable Caitlyn Montgomery.

She had filled out some, growing another inch or two, her body, clearly visible in her tight- fitting running clothes, lithe. Long legs, dark, almost black, wavy hair, blue eyes and that fair skin. There was still just a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and on her checks. He’d seen that much when he’d been close to her on the couch.

There had been that moment, an instant when he’d felt more intensely everything he’d felt that summer long ago when she’d waltzed into the pool at the club, in nothing but a red bikini. True, she’d barely had any curves then, but she’d still been arresting, every adolescent boys’ eyes glued to her and the way she strolled. She’d just come off a semester in France, and she had blossomed, every ounce of awkwardness gone. Caitlyn had been funny, confident and completely sure of herself. It had been over ten years, he thought, and no matter how hard he’d worked to make himself who he was, Caitlyn Montgomery could still ignite that flame of desire.

Not that she’d have felt it. Ice queen. Focused, intent and driven. That was the Caitlyn he knew. And the real question was, just what she was doing back in Queensbay? He hadn’t bought that story for an instant, the one where she said Maxwell had been like a father to her.

Maxwell Randall had many skills, chief among them making money. But fatherly instincts were not one of them. Nope, Caitlyn was here for something else entirely.

Noah looked at the desk. She had thought to find something there. Snuck into the house, sure no one would be here. And why not? Apparently his father hadn’t told anyone that Noah was planning a move back to the East coast, or even that they had started to talk again, tentative steps to repairing their relationship.

His father had even gone so far as to say he was proud of him, a week ago at dinner. Noah had noted it down because it was the first time he’d heard his dad say that to him since he had won a swimming trophy in fifth grade. Okay, so maybe he was exaggerating, but not by much.

They’d run out of time. Noah had thought he would have more with his father, but Maxwell’s accident had taken that from them. And now what was Caitlyn Montgomery up to?

She dressed in her old bedroom. Even though she had been home for almost nine months, something kept her from moving into the master suite. Silly, but not even her mother, after all this time, had wanted to take over that room. It stayed there, vacant, little changed.

The house itself, at least its outer shell, hadn’t changed much either. Surprisingly, there hadn’t been much money left after her grandfather’s death. The lawyer couldn’t explain it, how a man who was supposed to be making money for his clients had been so spectacularly bad at keeping it for himself.

All that had been left was the house, which had been in the family for generations, and modest trust funds, one for Caitlyn and one for her mother. Caitlyn had used most of hers to fund her education, first at Wellesley, then at the London School of Economics, while her mother had managed to spend down hers trying to maintain a ‘lifestyle.’

Now, rising home prices and over development had made waterfront property of any kind incredibly desirable – and valuable. Her mother had hinted at this often, the desire to sell, since they were equal owners, but Caitlyn had simply said no. She needed to know that this house, with its quirky floor plan, odd-shaped rooms and the truly fabulous wraparound porch would always be there for her.

Caitlyn shut her window, which looked out over the back lawn and the trees to the flat expanse of the water. The sun was up and bright, the sky blue, but a strong wind chopped the surface of the harbor into a shade of bottle green. Seagulls floated against the sky, holding steady, drifting and then tail diving to the surface.

It had been four days since she found Maxwell’s body, the initial shock turning into an efficient numbness. A nice uniformed officer had walked her back up the beach to her own stairs and into her home, telling her gently that she really should keep the door locked. She had sat then in the study, chilled to the bone and trying to get warm, trying not to think.

Then there had been phone calls from Sam Harris, and she could sense his chilly disapproval over the phone, as if this were somehow her fault. But ever dutiful, he had told her he would take care of things, and she was spared the ordeal of speaking directly to Noah, telling him that his father was dead.

Caitlyn pulled on her dress, a dark, charcoal gray sheath in silk. She struggled with the zipper in the back, remembering that, the last time she’d worn it, she’d had someone to help her. Fingers shaking slightly, she knew she didn’t want to go to the funeral, but her mother, safely distant in New Mexico, newly detoxed and in love, insisted.

“You must represent the family, Caitlyn,” Serena Montgomery had said. She was still smoking; Caitlyn could hear her sucking on her cigarette over the phone. There was the bark of a dog in the background, and Caitlyn tried to imagine her mother, tall, very thin, pale-skinned and dark-haired, out there in the desert, baking in the sun like one of her own clay pots. Caitlyn neglected to remind her to wear a hat.

It had been on the tip of Caitlyn’s tongue to ask her mother when she had ever cared about representing the family. But that was one of the topics they avoided, one of the many.

“I’ll send flowers,” her mother had said.

“But it’s Maxwell,” Caitlyn answered, as if that said everything.

“And he doesn’t deserve flowers? After all, he’s given you a job. After everything.” Serena still couldn’t think of him as dead.

Her mother had refused to fly back. “Caitlyn, you know I want to sell the house, cut ties to Queensbay. It was your decision to come back. I won’t be pulled there.”

Not for Maxwell, not for any of you. Her mother didn’t say it, but it was there between them, the truth of their relationship. Her mother was moving on. Why couldn’t Caitlyn?

“Yes, mother.”

Caitlyn pulled on her jacket, which matched the dress. She smoothed her skirt and went to her dresser, running a brush through her hair. Her fingers hovered over the jewelry box, passing lightly, as they always did, over the sapphire and diamond ring she no longer wore, but that Michael, in a perverse twist of pride, refused to take back. Caitlyn selected pearls, for both her ears and her neck. Thus armed, she went out the door and to her first funeral since her grandfather’s.

Caitlyn took a seat in a pew about halfway up the church. It was already close to full, and several rows ahead of her, towards the front, she could see the other mourners from the office. Tommy Anderson, another associate of the firm, was there with his wife. And then there was Deborah, the office manager, and Caitlyn’s own assistant, Heather Malloy. There was not enough room for Caitlyn to squeeze in, and in any case, she preferred to be on her own, away from them, the better able to keep her emotions in check.

She had known Maxwell Randall all of her life. He had been her grandfather’s business partner and, after her grandfather’s death, the sole steward of the firm that now bore only the Randall name. Through the years he had stayed in touch with her, swooping into town when on business to take her to dinner. Remembering her birthday, giving her career advice, perhaps even making sure she got her first job. Then finally there had been that phone call, offering her a fresh start.

But in truth, though he’d always been kind to her, not many had truly loved Maxwell Randall, thought Caitlyn, looking over the somber suits and blank faces. Most were here because it was the right thing to do.

It was hard for her to put into words what she felt towards him. Not quite love, something short of that – a fondness perhaps, gratefulness. Maxwell was too difficult to love and, lately, he’d been just plain crazy. Try as she might to remember him as she had known him, younger, hearty, sane, all she could think about was their unfortunate dinner at the club.

There was a murmur in the church, and Caitlyn looked up. The name moved like a ripple through the crowd, and though she wanted to squeeze to the side, to run and hide, she was right there, in the open, visible. She watched as he walked, eyes straight ahead, Sam Harris trailing behind him.

Noah Randall, fresh off of selling his software company. He’d left college with a couple of buddies, some software code and a business plan sketched out on a napkin. In ten years, they’d taken it from their shared apartment to ever-growing offices, customers and value. Noah, though he knew how to code, had showed himself adept at leading people, so he’d become the CEO.

And just nine months ago, he’d sold the company to one of the industry’s big players. He and his buddies had walked away with a small fortune in cash and an even greater payout in stocks. Noah claimed he was taking an early retirement, but the tech and business blogs were frantic with speculation about what venture he’d turn to next. The gossip pages, though, were having a field day, detailing every party, purchase and happening newly minted billionaire Noah Randall attended.

His eye caught hers as he walked to the front of the church. He was dressed in a dark gray suit, nicely fitted, a muted blue tie and a crisp white shirt. He looked somber, but not as if he had continued to hit the whisky after she had left.

Noah was alone, except for Sam Harris, who was eagerly guiding him up the aisle. What, Caitlyn thought, he’d had no one to bring with him? He was always being paired with someone, usually a model or actress. Caitlyn ground her teeth. She had promised herself that she would tune Noah out, but that had been harder and harder the more he showed up in print and online.

The funeral was appropriately grand. Not many tears were shed, but everyone extolled Maxwell’s virtue as a businessman, a philanthropist and a foundation of the community. No one spoke about family. No one mentioned his recent erratic behavior on the golf course, at the yacht club or at the historical society’s auction.

Caitlyn waited until most of the people had left and then, trailing behind the crowd, she walked down the aisle, her feet echoing quietly. It was cowardly, but she wished to avoid another face-to-face meeting with Noah, especially under these circumstances. No doubt they would have something to say to one another, especially after this morning, and she could see the strain was getting to him, the awful truth. He looked stretched and tense, ready to snap, she thought.

Sam Harris was waiting for her at the end of the aisle.

“Caitlyn.”

“Sam,” she said, looking at her boss with wary eyes.

“I’m glad you’re here. Are you going back to the house?” he asked, the meaning clear.

Caitlyn shook her head. She had paid her respects to Maxwell, and that was enough, but Sam took her arm and pulled her off to the side so they were standing in patch of light, made scarlet by a stained glass window.

“I wish you would,” his voice was low and urgent, and he still held her arm. “As a representative of the Randall Group, if for no other reason. Family is very important to this firm, and you’re a Montgomery.”

“I would think that you’d rather not remind these people of that fact.”

Sam smiled thinly, “That’s old history, Caitlyn, and people like to see the new generation in action.” His gaze turned towards Noah, and Caitlyn could guess the gist of his thinking. Side by side, the members of the next generation of the firm. Given the suddenness of Maxwell’s death, it was just about the best thing Sam could get to calm clients nervous about their money.

“You know how good you are with the clients. I am sure Maxwell would have wanted it.”

It was hard for Caitlyn to take offense at his words. As always, Sam Harris was putting the firm above all else, something Maxwell would have appreciated. They had all taken advantage of her last name. In more than one meeting, Maxwell had said, with all seriousness, “This is Caitlyn Montgomery, Lucas Montgomery’s granddaughter, but she’s like a daughter to me.”

He said it without any self-consciousness, avoiding the fact that he had a son of his own whom he refused to speak to, and who refused to speak to him.

In reality, though she was only an employee, there by Maxwell’s invitation and his good graces. She’d never been able to get him to commit to the future. Maxwell had known what she wanted. But all bets were off now.

Sam ran the firm, at least until Maxwell’s will could be sorted out, and the clients that were here today – and there were plenty of them – were looking for assurances, assurances that everything would continue as before, that Maxwell had left behind him a legacy intact. They couldn’t know that he hadn’t made any plans for the future. If the clients saw that, then they would run, pulling out their money and leaving the firm without a leg to stand on.

All of this went through Caitlyn’s mind as Sam looked at her.

She nodded, acknowledging all that he had left unspoken.

“I’ll go.”

Continued….

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