"This is a 1900 Double Eagle," Julian said. "Made from the gold discovered in the Southwest, including Nevada. The double eagle symbolizes the immense riches of the Old West mining period, of course."

Tanner ran a chubby thumb over the coin. "If this is authentic, it could be worth a few thousand dollars or more."

"I can a.s.sure you it is. This coin would be a great addition to your Nevada history exhibit."

Julian kept the other trinkets he'd found in the bootlegging tunnel for himself. There were several wheat pennies dating from 1911-1923, worth only a few dollars each, and an old soda bottle with remnants of ginger ale still inside.

He should have disposed of them. But they represented his labor of love, despite its ultimate failure. The double eagle was a true gem, however, and deserved to be seen.

"The museum would love to have the double eagle," Tanner said. His pasty skin flushed with excitement. "Let's talk price."

"Consider it a gift."

"Mr. Batier, this is worth-"

"I'm well aware of its value, Mr. Tanner. I've been doing this for a long time. As I said, this is a gift. I don't feel right taking money for it."

Tanner thanked him profusely, but Julian's mind had drifted far away from the museum. What was Emilie doing right now? Was she with Madigan, allowing him to touch her? Had she offered herself to him? Were their lips mashed together, tongues entwined?

"Mr. Batier, are you all right?"

He stood. "Of course." His stomach churned at the thought of his Emilie with another man.

"Let me walk you out."

"No need. I know the way."

He strolled through the halls, impeccable in his black suit and red tie. Several of the employees nodded in greeting. They had no idea of his inner torment. He couldn't allow Emilie to slip through his fingers. After years of searching, she was the one to fill the hole Josephine had left in his heart.

Near the exit, Julian halted in front of an exquisite print of John James Audubon's Mourning Doves. He stared at the birds. On that day so many years ago-a lifetime, it seemed-the mourning doves had been calling, their haunting coo resembling a strange lullaby. But when the wood cracked, the horrible splintering sound had startled the doves. Their high-pitched twittering echoed his own panic as he'd watched helplessly. He'd lost Josephine forever that day.

He wasn't about to lose Emilie, too.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

Emilie's head ached. She'd spent the last hour in Jeremy's office going over marketing plans. Across the hall, the vault door stood wide open while a technician installed a new alarm.

She hadn't been inside the vault since the Taker forced her to gather the money. He'd watched in silence as she threw the bundles of cash into Joe's duffle bag. She should have fought back then.

"Em?"

She started at the sound of Jeremy's voice. "Yeah?"

"Sorry about this. Timing of the vault repair stinks."

"I'll manage."

"Vault's the safest place in the bank." Jeremy rambled when he was in uncomfortable situations. "It's supposed to be strong enough to withstand a nuclear blast. With this new alarm, if..." His voice trailed off, and he looked sheepish. "Anyone gets stuck in there; they'll be able to get help."

"I'll remember that." Emilie checked her watch. "Let's finish this tomorrow, okay? I've got some paperwork to wrap up."

She headed for her office. The bank's door dinged as it opened. She didn't allow herself to look back. If she did, the fear that took hold every time that bell chimed would drive her insane.

Heels clicked into the lobby, most likely stiletto by their sharp staccato sound. The faint scent of cigarette smoke covered by a fruity perfume wafted past Emilie. The smell reminded her of juicy fruit and a high school girl's bathroom.

"May I help you?" Mollie asked.

"I'm looking for my daughter."

Emilie stopped walking so quickly she almost lost her balance. Her skin turned clammy even as rage and adrenaline and disgust whipped through her system. The voice hadn't lost any of its haughty, bored tone, as though she was physically pained to acknowledge Emilie.

"h.e.l.lo, Mother."

Claire turned, her expression coy. Emilie expected to see wrinkles, perhaps a spattering of age spots from too much sun. But she should have known better. Claire's face was a strange version of the face Emilie remembered, stretched and stiff from plastic surgery. Her normally ash-blond hair was a shade darker, most likely an effort to cover the gray. Stylish charcoal-colored gla.s.ses sat low on her beak-like nose, giving Claire the impression of an old-fashioned schoolmarm.

Her hourgla.s.s figure was still her best a.s.set and the one trait she'd pa.s.sed on to her daughter. Her black, fitted silk dress-designer, no doubt-made a soft swishing sound as she strode forward. Matching stiletto heels completed the outfit. Did her mother see this visit as an act of mourning?

"Emilie." Claire's attempt at cordiality sounded forced and lacked any sign of sincerity or affection. Her gaze swept over Emilie. "You look well."

"I am."

"Physically, of course."

"Claire, what are you doing here?"

Faux surprise crossed her waxen face. "I heard about what happened. I wanted to see for myself you were all right. Against my pride, I decided to come visit."

"I know you heard about what happened. You had plenty to say to the papers."

"I was only answering their questions." Claire slipped her black and white Chanel bag onto her shoulder.

Liar. "Well, you've seen me. I have work to do."

Emilie stalked toward her office. Her mother wasn't here to make peace. There was no sign of contrition, no rush of compa.s.sion as she spoke. Her motivation was personal.

"I came all this way," Claire said. "Can't I have five minutes to speak with you?"

Emilie saw her coworkers watching. Lisa had crept around to the front of the teller's counter and stood with a catty smirk on her face. Jeremy appeared frozen in his doorway, eyes wide in surprise. Mollie and Miranda had the grace to pretend they were working.

Emilie motioned to her office. "Five minutes."

She quickly straightened the mess of papers on her desk and set her shiny nameplate on the edge for Claire to see. She sat up straight in her chair. Emilie wasn't going to let Claire get to her this time.

"A nice window, desk neat and tidy." Claire settled into one of the chairs facing the wide desk, her gaze roaming the office. "Not much of a personal touch. Typical you."

"Your five minutes have started. Better get to the point."

Claire glanced at the carpet and then placed her bag on the edge of the desk. "I told you, I wanted to see how you were. You're my child, Emilie, whether you like it or not. I want to be here for you." Claire looked as though she were choking on the last sentence.

"Really? If that were the case, why did you wait so long to come see me? Why did you tell the press my personal history they had no business knowing?"

"I thought I was helping. Maybe this had something to do with Evan."

"Evan is long gone and had nothing to do with it. And believe it or not, the police around here do their own work. They don't rely on a shady reporter to get information for them."

"I wanted to come sooner, but I was afraid you wouldn't want to see me." Claire adjusted the diamond tennis bracelet on her right wrist. Her voice lowered in a pathetic attempt at sincerity. "I finally decided I was going to come and risk your reaction.

"We've lost so many years, Emilie. All because of my own stupidity." Her botoxed lips trembled. Tears slipped out of her eyes. "Thinking about what you must have gone through in here and knowing that man probably wanted to do awful things to you is so upsetting.

"How you're able to come back to work is beyond me. I would be in constant fear, wondering if he'll return. After all, no one knows what this Taker looks like. He could pose as a customer and wile his way into your good graces. G.o.d knows what he could accomplish." She dabbed at her eyes with a silk handkerchief. "You're just not safe."

Emilie's fingernails dug into the leather arms of the chair. Claire's skill at manipulation had not diminished over time.

"Cut the s.h.i.t. I'm not a kid anymore. I know all your tricks. You're wasting your breath. What do you want?"

Surprise flickered across Claire's face, and then her expression relaxed into her normal look of mild disgust where Emilie was concerned. "I should have known. You haven't learned anything from your mistakes."

"I've learned plenty. What are you here for?"

"Have you spoken to the reporter-Rachel Hunter?"

"No. She keeps calling, but I haven't bothered to answer. Why?"

"Because she wants to interview you for your side of the story."

"From the hostage ordeal? No thanks."

"From your childhood." Claire's upper lip curled. "Why you left home, what happened to cause you to be with your guidance counselor."

"So she wants to know your dirty little secret?" Emilie choked out a bitter laugh. "She's smart enough to wonder why a high school kid hooked up with her guidance counselor and ran off. At least she realizes there are two sides to every story."

"She realizes there's money in it," Claire snapped, all pretense of civility gone. "Your stepfather is a well-known attorney, and I'm among Portland's social elite. A scandal like that would make headlines I don't need."

Naturally her mother a.s.sumed even her dirty laundry was worth special attention.

"Well, maybe it's time you faced the consequences of your actions. After all, my leaving didn't faze you."

"Your leaving was a blessing. I didn't have to worry about your moping around the house or pretending I gave a d.a.m.n."

"You give yourself too much credit, Mother. I always knew you were pretending."

"For once in your life, think of someone other than yourself." Claire pulled an envelope out of her bag. "This could ruin Sam."

"How? He never did anything wrong. I have no reason to hurt Sam." She wanted to tell her mother about Sam's call, but Sam didn't deserve the wrath of Claire over Emilie's pride.

"He'll still be attached to the story, Emilie. This could damage his business."

"And your pocketbook, not to mention your precious social status." Emilie pointed to the envelope. "What's that?"

"A certified check for two hundred fifty thousand dollars." Claire tossed it across the desk. "You keep your mouth shut, the money's yours."

Red spots danced in Emilie's vision. The numbers on the check loomed large, mocking her anger. Sam was worth millions, but he never would have condoned Claire's actions. She'd come up with this scheme on her own. How had she managed to secure the money without Sam knowing? Did he just allow her to run rampant through their finances now? That was probably easier than listening to her b.i.t.c.h about being neglected all the time.

"Get out." Emilie finally managed to speak.

"What?"

Emilie balled up the check in her fist and tossed it across the desk at her mother. It smacked her nose and fell into her lap. Claire stared back in shock.

"You threw away a quarter of a million dollars."

"You've thrown away a h.e.l.l of a lot more than money, Claire."

"At least the last sixteen years of my life have been pleasant. Can you say the same? How's dear Evan, anyway?"

"Off somewhere with another stupid, young girl. And my life has been infinitely happier without you in it."

"Even in the psycho ward?"

"Especially so. You get the good drugs there."

"You're as foolish as ever, child."

"And you're older and even more self-absorbed, Mother. Now get out of my office before I have security remove you."

Claire's entire face turned puce. "How dare you speak to me that way, you ungrateful little-"

"I'm ungrateful?" Emilie rose from her chair and leaned across the desk, bringing her face within an inch of Claire's. "You lied to me. I thought my father didn't want me."

"I did what was best for you."

"Bulls.h.i.t. You did what was best for Claire, like always. You lied to Meme and Grand-pere. And when you were finally caught, you manipulated my father into not seeing me. I was only two. He and I could have had a relationship."

Out of the corner of her eye, Emilie could see the entire staff of the bank watching. She didn't give a d.a.m.n. Her business with Claire would be finished today.

"Nothing has ever been good enough for you." Emilie's anger swelled with every word. "You had two parents who adored you and gave you everything they could. Wasn't enough. You had a husband who loved you and wanted to spend his life with you-again, not enough. You tossed his love away like garbage. You had a daughter who just wanted affection, a little girl who didn't care about your faults and cruelty. Yet you resented her very existence. You'll never be satisfied, Claire. No matter how much plastic surgery you get or how much of Sam's money you spend, you'll always be a bitter, old shrew."

Emilie stood to her full height and looked down at her mother. "One last time: get out before I call security. And don't attempt to contact me again. My life is better without you, and despite whatever may have happened since I left Portland, getting away from you was the smartest thing I ever did."

She walked to the door and pulled it open with a flourish. "Have a nice life, Claire. May you live to be a bitter, lonely old hag surrounded by the money you so love."