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and watched as she walked onto the street, her strides long and full of purpose, her head ducked against the thickening rain.
    She’d be back. They always came back. Until the power and money of the Danvers family drove them away and they gave up their far-fetched dreams of stealing a little bit of the old man’s money.
    Good riddance , he thought, but, as she disappeared around the corner, he felt a premonition, like footsteps of the devil crawling up his spine, and he knew with absolute and bone-chilling certainty, that this one—this impostor posing as London Danvers—was somehow different from all the others.

PART TWO
1974

2
    â€œHappy birthday, darling,” Katherine Danvers whispered into her husband’s ear as they danced across the polished floor of the ballroom. From the alcove near the corner, a small dance band played “As Time Goes By” and the melody whispered through the crowd. “Surprised?” she asked, nuzzling him, her satin heels moving in perfect time to the music.
    â€œNothing you do surprises me.” He chuckled low in his throat. Of course he’d known that she’d reserved the ballroom of his hotel under the fictitious name of some sorority. He hadn’t spent sixty years learning to be the shrewdest businessman in Portland without picking up a few tricks along the way. He gave his wife a playful squeeze and felt her breasts, beneath her black silk dress, press closer to him. A few years before, he would have become aroused just by the scent of her perfume and the knowledge that beneath the gown she wore absolutely nothing—just the dress and a pair of stiletto heels.
    She pouted prettily as the pianist played a solo. Her black hair gleamed under the muted lights from chandeliers suspended from the cove-shaped ceiling, and her eyes, a deep blue, glanced coyly at him through the sweep of thick, dark lashes.
    There had been a time when he would have given away his fortune just for one night in her bed. She was sensual and smart and knew exactly how to please a man. He’d never asked her how she knew so much about the pleasures of love when he’d met her. He’d just been grateful that she’d taken him as her lover, bringing back the lust that he’d thought he’d lost somewhere near middle age.
    A kitten who liked to be cuddled, Kat metamorphosed into a wildcat in bed and for a few years her raw sexual energy had been enough to satisfy him. He’d married her and remained faithful and managed to bed her every other day in the early years. But his desire had been short-lived, as it always was, and now he couldn’t remember when he’d last made love to her. A hot fire crept up the back of his neck at the thought of his impotence. Even now, when her thighs were pressed intimately to his and her tongue touched a sensitive spot near the back of his ear, he felt nothing, no hint of wildfire in his blood, no welcome stiffness between his legs. Even a little harsh foreplay didn’t bring him to an erection anymore. It was a miracle that they’d managed to conceive a child.
    Suddenly angry, he swirled her roughly away from him, then jerked her back into his arms. She laughed, that throaty little laugh that bordered on nasty. He liked her laugh. He liked everything about her. He only wished that he could throw her on the dance floor and take her the way she wanted to be taken—like an animal, with four hundred horrified eyes watching as he proved that he was still a man and could satisfy his wife.
    She’d tried all her tricks. Flimsy negligees. Peekaboo bras that outlined her nipples and long black garters that flicked at her shapely thighs. She’d coaxed him with her tongue and dirty words, slapped playfully at his butt and balls, but nothing she did aroused him anymore, and the thought that he couldn’t manage an erection, might never have sex for the rest of his life, cut a hole in him that burned like