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      To my readers—your inspiration keeps me writing.

       Author Note

      We all make vows and promises. Many are swiftly broken or forgotten over time. But some vows are as binding as chains of iron.

      This is the story of one such vow.

      When his sister is found murdered in an alley, San Francisco lawman Flynn O’Rourke promises to find the man seen pocketing her jewellery and bring him to justice at the end of a rope.

      Flynn’s journey will test that vow to its limits. Deprived of his memory and transported to a lonely, almost mystical place, he will fall under the spell of an innocent beauty. Will he keep his vow—even though it means betraying the woman he loves?

      Untouched by sensual love, Sylvie wakes to desire in the arms of a stranger with no name. Little does she suspect that the man she calls Ishmael harbours a dangerous secret—one that will tear her fragile world apart.

      The idea for this book came to me when I was visiting my daughter in Northern California. Standing on a rugged cliff top with the dark pine forest behind me and the sea pounding the rocks below, I imagined a wild storm, a boat shattering against those rocks and a man with a mysterious ring flung onto the sand, more dead than alive. The rest of the story almost told itself.

      I love hearing from my readers. You can contact me through my website, www.elizabethlaneauthor.com

      Happy reading.

       Prologue

       Northern California Coast, March 1858

      The storm had slammed in from nowhere, howling with the fury of a banshee run amok. Lightning cracked across the dark night sky. Thunder echoed like mortar fire through the blackness. Lashed by a screaming wind, waves crashed over the fifteen-foot sailboat, threatening to crush its fragile hull.

      Wrestling with the tiller, San Francisco police detective Flynn O’Rourke swore into the storm. He cursed the wind and the sea and the hell-damned boat. And he cursed himself for thinking he could sail up the coast to Aaron Cragun’s cliff-top hideaway and catch the murdering little weasel unaware. As a sailor he was competent enough; but he was no match for a storm like this one. The sails were gone, clawed away by the wind. Worse, in the swirling darkness, with no stars to guide him, he had lost all sense of direction.

      A lightning flash illuminated the sapphire signet ring on the middle finger of his left hand. The ring was the one thing Flynn had inherited from his father—the younger son of Irish nobility, who’d died penniless in the New World, leaving his son and daughter to make their own way. Both had managed well enough. Flynn had recently made the rank of lieutenant in San Francisco’s police department. His sister had used her voice and her beauty to become a music-hall star.

      Now his sister was dead, strangled in a filthy dark alley after a performance. A shabbily dressed man had been seen crouching over her body, pocketing her jewelry. Witnesses had identified him as Aaron Cragun, a human vulture who collected and sold salvage from shipwrecks up the coast.

      Cragun was nowhere to be found. But a police informant had drawn Flynn a map of the coast, showing the remote cliffside aerie where the man lived. When the storm struck, Flynn had been on his way there, bent on dragging the bastard to the gallows or gunning him down on the spot.

      Now he found himself fighting for his life.

      The hull was filling with water. Abandoning the tiller, Flynn grabbed a bucket and began bailing like a madman. But it was no use. Anytime now, if it didn’t capsize first, the sloop would founder and sink.

      Flynn was a strong swimmer. If the storm hadn’t carried him too far out, he might have a chance of getting to shore. But in the howling blackness, he had no idea which way to go. He could just as easily swim out to sea and drown. Until he could see land, he’d be better off staying with the boat. But as a precaution, he unbuckled his gun belt from around his hips and stowed the .36 Navy Colt in the bow compartment with his store of powder, caps and balls. If he ended up in the water, the added weight could be enough to drag him down.

      Sea spray battered his face, the taste of it as salty as the tears he’d devote himself to shedding for Catriona once her killer was brought to justice. His sister had been young and beautiful, eager to laugh, too quick to love and far too young to die. But he couldn’t allow himself to mourn her until he’d avenged her murder.

      A blinding flash interrupted his thoughts. Stunned by the ear-splitting boom of thunder, Flynn could only be half sure of what he’d glimpsed yards ahead. It had looked like a sheer cliff, towering above rocks that jutted out of the water. Now, high in the darkness, he could make out the faintest flicker of light.

      That light was the last thing he saw before the boat shattered against a rock, flinging him over the side. Something struck his head, and the world imploded into darkness.

       Chapter One

      “I can’t sleep, Sylvie. I’m scared.” The boy stood trembling in the lamplight. Dressed in a ragged flannel nightshirt, he was small for his age. His long-lashed eyes, the color of new copper pennies, were filled with anxiety that went straight to Sylvie Cragun’s heart.

      “Come here, Daniel. I’ll rock you awhile.” Sylvie put down the novel she was reading and gathered her six-year-old half