A woman’s search to uncover the truth about her mother ignites danger and passion in this novel from #1 New York Times bestselling author Julie Garwood. Daddy’s girl Cordelia Kane is devastated when her father has a serious heart attack, and the emotion is only intensified by the confusion she feels when he reveals the shocking truth about her late mother. Desperate to find answers to her questions about the woman who gave birth to her, Cordelia hitches a ride to Sydney, Australia, on the company jet of hotel magnate Aiden Madison, her best friend’s brother. Aiden wants to help Cordelia, but threats from her wealthy, high-powered family quickly become dangerous. As sparks fly between them, multiple attempts are made on Cordelia’s life—and Aiden realizes he must put a stop to the madness before he loses the thing he values most. Praise for #1 New York Times bestselling author Julie Garwood “Whoever thinks romantic suspense is dead should read a Julie Garwood book.”— USA Today “A trusted brand name in romantic suspense.”— People “Julie Garwood creates masterpieces every time she writes a book.”— The Kansas City Star “Undoubtedly Garwood is a pro.”— Kirkus Reviews “If a book has Julie Garwood’s name on it, it’s guaranteed to be a meticulously written...and thoroughly engaging story.”— Sun Journal (ME) Julie Garwood is among the most critically acclaimed—and popular—romance authors around, published in thirty-two languages worldwide with forty million copies of her books in print. She is the #1  New York Times bestselling author of numerous novels including Wired , Fast Track , Hotshot , Sweet Talk , The Ideal Man , Sizzle , Fire and Ice , Shadow Music , and Shadow Dance . She lives near Kansas City. ***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof*** Copyright © 2014 Julie Garwood O N E Some deathbed confessions are expected, others surprising, but this one . . . well, this one was a real doozy. It was Andrew Kane’s third heart attack, and he wasn’t going to come back this time. Too much damage had been done to the anterior wall to hope for a recovery. He knew it, and so did his daughter, Cordie, who sat by his side in the critical care unit and prayed for a miracle. Her father was hooked to a plethora of machines by a series of tubes and IVs. The constant beep from the heart monitor was a comfort to Cordie because it assured her that, even though his eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow, he was still alive. She wouldn’t leave him, not even for a minute, fearing he would take his last breath alone in the cold, sterile environment while machines sounded his passing with wailing alarms. Cordie’s life had come to a screeching halt at eleven o’clock Friday night when she got the news. She had just arrived home from a charity event at St. Matthew’s High School for Boys, and she was exhausted. Her day had started at six fifteen in the morning when she left her brownstone to go to work. After teaching three chemistry classes and two biology classes, she graded papers during study period, supervised two lab experiments, broke up a fight, and filled in for a math teacher who was home with stomach flu. Then, once the students had been dismissed for the day, she, along with most of the other underpaid teachers, helped transform the gymnasium into a Monte Carlo atmosphere for the annual charity auction. The remainder of the evening was spent serving soft drinks and smiling at donors until her face felt frozen. She had been teaching at St. Matthew’s for three years while she finished her PhD. The school was located on the edge of Chicago’s south side, a rough area of the city, to be sure, but thus far she hadn’t had any real trouble. A ten-foot-high wrought-iron fence that had been there since the school was built surrounded the property and the parking area, and she had to drive only two blocks from the highway exit to get to it. There was always a guard at the gate. An anonymous benefactor had made a substantial contribution to the school with the condition that there would be a guard on duty at all times, and ever since the principal had hired the highly recommended security firm, the number of slashed tires and smashed windshields had plummeted. Although her father wouldn’t admit it, Cordie suspected he was the benefactor. When she started working at the school, he became a staunch supporter. He even took over the auto shop classes when the regular instructor quit in the middle of the semester. The boys could be difficult. Most of them were high risk, but her father didn’t have any problem controlling them. He’d grown up in New Jersey and, even now, after all these years living in Chicago, still had a bit of a Jersey accent and a tough-guy façade. He treated the boys with respect, and they responded in kind. His gruff, no-nonsense attitude and his enthusiasm won them over. The fact that he had built a national chain of auto repair shops from the ground up didn’t hurt. I