he brief jubilation of thinking she'd found Logan, followed by the shattering reality of finding only a deserted cabin, had drained Leigh's mental and physical strength to an unprecedented low. Lying on a living room sofa, wrapped in an afghan, she watched CBS 2 News reporting that day's discovery of the cabin…

"Police have roped off the area and a full-fledged investigation is under way at the scene," Dana Tyler, one of the co-anchors, reported. "In the meantime, hopes of finding Logan Manning alive and unharmed grow dimmer. Our reporter, Jeff Case, was at One Police Plaza this afternoon, where NYPD commissioner William Trumanti had this to say regarding the investigation…"

Leigh listened for anything new, but Trumanti said only that they were following up several leads and that kidnapping had been ruled out because no ransom demand had ever been made. Leads, Leigh thought wearily. They had no leads. Shrader and Littleton were as clueless about Logan's whereabouts as everyone else. Commissioner Trumanti finished his brief statement, but the reporters weren't through. "Is it true that Leigh Kendall was flown by helicopter to the site this morning?"

"That's correct."

"Did the helicopter belong to Michael Valente, and did he accompany her?"

At the mention of Valente's name, Commissioner Trumanti's expression hardened. "That is my understanding."

"How does Valente figure into all this?"

"We don't know yet," Trumanti said, but his words and his tone seemed to imply that wherever Valente was involved, there was something sinister that needed to be investigated.

Leigh felt a brief spurt of angry energy at the sheer injustice of that remark, but she'd already exhausted her supply of anger on the unsubstantiated rumors and lurid speculation she'd read in the day's newspapers. That morning, The New York Times had run a story alongside a picture of Logan and her at a charity fund-raiser with a headline that asked, "Manning Missing: Tragedy, Foul Play, or High Drama?" The accompanying article included comments from an "official source" that hinted at the possibility that Logan's disappearance was some sort of publicity stunt.

The Post had found out about Leigh's stalker and was building a case for "kidnapping by stalker." To promote interest in that theory and lend credence to it, the Post included a detailed "profile" of Leigh's stalker created by some expert on celebrity stalkers.

The National Enquirer had another theory, and they splashed it across the front page of their latest issue as if it were fact, not fiction of their own invention: "MANNING-KENDALL MARRIAGE ON THE ROCKS BEFORE MANNING DISAPPEARED." According to the Enquirer's "undisclosed sources," Leigh had been planning to file for divorce because she "was fed up with Logan's infidelities." In the same article, "a friend close to the couple" was quoted as saying that Logan had refused to give up the woman with whom he'd been having an affair.

The Star favored that theory, but according to the Star, Logan's secret lover was a man, not a woman, and the two of them had been spotted holding hands in Belize.

Until that morning, the media had at least been forced to limit their speculation and occasional slander to Logan and Leigh, but now they had rich new fodder in Michael Valente, and they were having a feeding frenzy. Photographs of him were splashed across the front pages of the evening newspapers, along with Logan's and hers. The articles about Valente centered on his unsavory background and past run-ins with the justice system, but they were also delving into his relationships with women. According to one article, he'd been involved with the daughter of the head of one of New York's crime families before he embarked on several closely guarded relationships with "unnamed, married socialites."

Leigh's only reaction to all that was a vague sense of guilt because he'd been dragged into the ugly limelight merely for having committed an impulsive act of kindness to aid a virtual stranger. Proof again that no good deed goes unpunished.

She reached for the television's remote control and turned the set off; then she picked up the large framed photograph she'd put on the coffee table earlier so she could see it.

Logan's handsome face smiled back at her from the deck of the forty-five-foot sailboat he'd rented for a weekend last summer to celebrate their anniversary. Leigh was in front of him, at the helm, ready for her first sailing lesson. One sail was unfurled, his hands were on the wheel beside hers, and the breeze was blowing their hair. In the photograph, they were both laughing because Logan had persuaded a passerby to snap the photograph and, although it looked as if they were sailing, the truth was, they were still tied up at the dock.

Tenderly, Leigh traced her finger over the image of his beloved face, remembering the way his skin felt to her touch. He hadn't shaved that weekend, and beneath her finger now, she could almost feel the curve of his jaw and the roughened texture of his skin with its two-day growth of beard.

In her memory, she could hear his laughter that halcyon summer day as he stood behind her at the helm. "Where to, Captain?" he'd asked, brushing a kiss on the nape of her neck.

Leigh closed her eyes against the hot tears gathering there and pressed the photograph to her heart. "Wherever you are, darling," she whispered.