McAvoy was different. She drummed up another smile as she got to

her feet. He had saved her life. If seeing her father was the only

payment she could make, then she would make it.

"I'd like a ride, if it's not too much trouble."

"No big deal." He caught himself before he shifted his feet in the sand.

She probably thought he was a jerk.

"I'll just be a minute." She rushed off in the direction of the guards,

s.n.a.t.c.hing up her beach wrap and bag on the way. "My friend is giving me

a ride home," she said in her most dismissive tone.

"Miss McAvoy." The guard named Masters cleared his throat. "It would be

better if you called your father."

"There's no need to bother him."

The second guard, Sweeney, mopped his sweaty forehead. "Your father

wouldn't like you taking rides from strangers."

"Michael's not a stranger." The haughty tone made her feel nasty inside,

but she would not, could not, be humiliated in front of Michael. "I

know him, and so does my father. Michael's father is a captain on the

police force here." She pulled the long, rainbow-colored T-shirt over

her suit. "You'll be following behind us, so what does it matter?" She

turned, and keeping her head up, walked back to where Michael waited

with their boards.

"Hold it." Sweeney put a hand on Masters's shoulder. "Let's give the

kid a break. She don't get many."

Michael's gas gauge was hovering dangerously close to empty when he

pulled up at the high iron gates in Beverly Hills. He saw the faint

surprise on the guard's face before the switch was thrown and the gates

swung inward. He was sorry as he drove down the tree-lip,-, drive that

he had nothing but scruffy sandals and his old track jer:,-.

to wear with his bathing trunks.

The house was all pink stone and white marble, four towering stories of

it that took up more than an acre of the trim green lawn. Double arched

doors of etched gla.s.s stood at the entrance. He wasn't sure if he

should be amused or impressed by the peac.o.c.k that strutted across the

gra.s.s.

"Nice place."

"It's P.M."s really. Or P.M."s wife's." Emma found herself faintly

embarra.s.sed by the life-sized marble lions that flanked the entrance.

"It used to belong to someone in the cinema-I can never remember who-but

Angie did it all over. Anyway, she's in Europe filming so we're staying

a few weeks. Have you got time to come in?"

"Ah, yeah, I got time." He frowned down at the sand clinging to his

feet. "If you're sure it's okay."

"Of course it is." She stepped out of the car, the same '68 Chevelle

that Lou had once driven to the rehearsal hall. She waited for Michael

to unstrap her board from the roof, then started up the steps. "I'll

have to tell Dad what happened. The guards will anyhow. I hope you

don't mind if I, well, make it sound minor. You know?"

"Sure." He grinned at her again, making her young heart flutter.

"Parents always overreact. I guess they can't help it."

He heard the music the moment she opened the door. A piano, a series of