Brice couldn’t sleep. So he walked the perimeters of the property, checking on concealed cameras, securing already secure high fences. This rambling old house had belonged to his mother’s side of the family for close to one hundred years. After his father died a few years ago, Adele had immediately come home to Atlanta. She could always be found here when she wasn’t traveling or visiting Whelan Castle in western Ireland.

      Adele loved the castle and its rich heritage, but unlike Brice, she couldn’t stay there in seclusion for months on end. And while she supported Whelan Wool and traveled as a spokesperson to promote the farm and their mills, she would never understand Brice’s need to work with his hands on the land that had been in his family for centuries. That didn’t matter to Brice. He didn’t mind living in two worlds. His CHAIM duties had him traveling all over the world anyway.

      So besides the obvious, he couldn’t figure out why he was so on edge tonight. He longed to be back in Ireland, working the farm, watching his sheep dogs, Greta and Piper, corner a herd of blackface ewes and yearlings to help him bring them down from the mountains. Okay, so he missed Ireland; that was nothing new. And while he loved the cosmopolitan energy and urban intensity of Atlanta, his time here now wasn’t turning out to be a relaxing, fun visit.

      He stopped, the dark night surrounding him as a thousand nocturnal sounds assaulted his senses. Living near the Chattahoochee River made for interesting late-night walks. But tonight even the creatures scurrying and singing all around him couldn’t put Brice on such high alert. No, something else was nagging at his soul right now.

      Yes, he was worried. About Selena. About these nasty people who seemed determined to scare her and possibly harm her. But there was something else hanging like a loose vine near his consciousness. And Brice wouldn’t sleep until he could pinpoint that something else.

      So he walked and listened and went over everything in his mind. Selena’s SUV had been bombed in a bad area of downtown Atlanta, and a few hours later, an unusual sound had come from the back of Brice’s estate north of the city. The bombing was surely a cause for concern, but something about the incident tonight bugged Brice. Charles was a naturalist and outdoorsman. That man knew every kind of bird call and every kind of animal cry in Georgia and beyond. So why had he been so spooked by what he’d heard tonight?

      And what about Selena? She’d been as shaky as Charles by the time they’d taken the golf cart back to the house. At the time, Brice had chalked it up to the events of the day. But now…he had to wonder if he’d missed something.

      Selena was usually very cool under pressure, especially when she was with a patient. She was a top-notch R.N., one of the best. But tonight, she’d been too skittish when she’d examined Charles. Normally, she would have insisted on getting her patient to a doctor. Maybe Charles had convinced her differently, or maybe she’d been too flustered to think straight.

      Brice stopped again, then looked up toward the room where a light still burned. Selena’s room. She was trapped up there like a princess in a castle. And her fears seemed trapped inside her memories and her mind.

      Then he understood. She wasn’t telling him everything. He could sense that each time he asked her about her memories. He’d interrogated enough people in his life to know when someone was being evasive. And he’d noticed a sense of guilt floating like an aura all around Selena each time he asked her for more details. Was Selena withholding information on purpose? Or was she just confused and scared?

      Why would she hide things from him, of all people?

      Maybe because she didn’t want him to find out the truth?

      That was the thing. Selena and he had shared a lot during their years as friends. What would make her clam up now, when he needed to know everything in order to help her? It didn’t make sense.

      Unless she was trying to protect someone else.

      He thought of a James Joyce poem—“Alone.” “The sly reeds whisper in the night. A name—her name—”

      Selena. That was the name calling to him tonight.

      Brice grunted, kicked at the soft grass at his feet. He didn’t like being so helpless and feeling so alone. He needed answers. But how could he get those answers if the woman he was trying to protect didn’t want to tell him the truth? What could be so scary or so important that she felt the need to keep it to herself?

      Saying a prayer for help from a higher source, Brice took a long, calming breath and asked God to guide him. Then he stared up at the big bay window and wondered what secrets Selena had brought home from Argentina.

      And he wondered how he’d ever convince her to let go of those secrets so he could help her and protect her.