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Books. Change. Lives.

Exclusive © 2014, 2018 by Samantha Chase

Cover and internal design © 2018 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

Cover design by Dawn Adams/Sourcebooks, Inc.

Cover images © PeopleImages/Getty Images

Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

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Fax: (630) 961-2168

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For my mom: For always believing in me. For always encouraging me. For always being there with the advice I needed. But mostly, for simply being the best mom. Here’s to the spa we often talk about and maybe someday will own. Love you!

Contents

Front Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

A Sneak Peek of Suddenly Mine

Chapter 1

About the Author

Prologue

Are you sure about this?

He nodded. I think it’s time.

I’m not so certain. Why her? Why now?

He rolled his eyes because this wasn’t up for debate and it wasn’t as if they hadn’t had this discussion before. We’ve been over this before. The book sales have far surpassed anything I ever imagined, and with the movie deals coming in, I think it’s time to start inching my way into public life. His words were met with a laugh.

You have no idea how lucky you are. The fact that you’ve gone this long without anyone having a clue as to who you are, where you live—hell, no one even knows what you look like! Are you sure you want to give that up?

He nodded. It’s time. Standing, he looked at the framed photo on his desk and smiled. Believe it or not, I miss being a part of something…more.

You can be a part of anything you want. No one has to know who you are or what you do for a living. For crying out loud, create an identity for yourself and go out and live a little more if that’s what you want! I just think inviting a bunch of people—

Not a bunch, he cut off, just one.

You’re seriously losing your mind, you know that, right? There is no way anyone is going to agree to that kind of condition. We can say that there can be no more than three—

No, he said more firmly. One. She comes alone, or it doesn’t happen.

And then what will you do? Will you just forget about this entire thing? Go on living like this—cut off from the world? Is that what you want?

Sitting back in his seat, he sighed. She has to come. I know that in the end, she’ll agree to the terms. He paused and looked across the room at his friend. And besides, don’t be such a drama queen. I’m not cut off from the world. I live a very fulfilling life and I do socialize.

Going into town to food shop and waving to people on the dock when you take your boat out is not socializing.

It is to me.

Okay, fine, his friend said, obviously realizing it was pointless to argue. I’ll draw up the papers and make the connections and then…we’ll see. He looked down at the papers in front of him. These dates work for you?

I’m the one who picked them, so yes. They work for me.

Okay, good. I wouldn’t want to interfere with all of your waving and picking produce.

Good one. He rose and held out his hand. Thank you for handling this for me. Let me know the minute you hear back from her.

The door closed and he let himself relax and sit back down. He had never planned for his life to work out quite like this. Didn’t think he’d live to see it end up like this. And yet here he was. For years he’d enjoyed the quiet, the solitude, and the freedom to blend into the background without anyone knowing exactly who he was. It had been novel at first, even a little fun. But now, he wanted more. For all of his accomplishments, there was still something missing.

He could buy anything in the world that he wanted. His success had afforded him that. But the one thing he wanted most, he couldn’t buy. When the idea first hit him to do this, to allow himself to be unmasked, he knew there were dozens of media outlets that would kill for the opportunity. He didn’t want a media circus, and he didn’t want to be looked at like someone who belonged in a freak show.

This was his life. He’d created it. He’d earned it. He’d nearly died to have it. It was time for the world to hear his story. He was fortunate enough that he had the power to choose who to tell it to.

If only she’d agree to come.

Chapter 1

A cubicle was a depressing place.

There weren’t enough photos of tropical getaways, mountain views, or favorite vacation spots that could possibly begin to make you forget you were crammed into a tiny square of space where the air was stale and that the sun always failed to reach. Taylor Scott reached out and straightened her postcard from Florida and frowned, wishing she were there—or anywhere—right now.

So, tell me everything you know about Jonathan Wade.

Taylor knew it was the voice of her senior editor without looking up. Excuse me?

Sitting down on the corner of the cluttered desk with a dramatic sigh, Victoria Martin finger-combed her silvered hair behind one ear as she looked down at her youngest reporter. We just received an exclusive invitation to interview Jonathan Wade! Can you believe it?

Honestly, Taylor couldn’t. So…do you need me to pull up some file footage on him or something?

Leaning forward, Victoria smiled like the Cheshire Cat. "He has requested that you, and only you, do the honors."

That got Taylor’s attention. Her head snapped up as she pulled off her glasses. "Me? she squeaked as she looked around to see if Victoria could be addressing one of her coworkers. They all appeared to be staring at their computers and listening to music as they went about their tasks. Jonathan Wade wants me to interview him?"

Exactly, Victoria said with a hint of exasperation. Now, tell me everything you know about him. She straightened on her perch, crossed her arms over her chest, and waited for a response.

I’m afraid I don’t know much, Vic, Taylor stated as she made herself more comfortable in the squeaky leather chair. "He’s a bestselling mystery writer. His books have been topping the New York Times bestseller list for over five years, they’re loved and admired by men, women, and even teenagers. The movie adaptation of his first book, Midnight’s Obsession, is due out in theaters early next year and is already gaining Oscar buzz. He’s won several literary awards—which he never accepts in person—and he’s a recluse."

Recluse is putting it mildly, Taylor. No one even knows what the man looks like! There’s no telling if he’s young, old, married… Nothing. His agent and publisher have been most understanding about not putting his face on the book jackets. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and looked down at Taylor. If it were me and I were his agent, I might have gone along with the whole thing in the beginning, but I don’t know how they’re able to keep it up—especially with the movie coming out! She shook her head in disgust. They claim it adds to the ‘mystery of the mystery.’ Whatever the hell that means.

Victoria was a brilliant editor and mentor, but irony just seemed to escape her at times. Taylor looked up at her expectantly. She’d known her boss long enough to know she wasn’t done with this discussion.

Pushing a stack of papers aside, Victoria leaned forward again on Taylor’s desk and narrowed her hazel eyes. So how do you know him, Tay?

What? I don’t! Why…? What would make you even think that?

You mean to tell me a world-famous reclusive author wants a relative newcomer to the field of journalism, who works for a little-known magazine, to get the exclusive interview of the century? It wasn’t like Victoria to be so sarcastic, but right now her voice very nearly dripped with it.

Taylor stared back and shrugged. Look, believe what you want, but I have no idea who this man is. I don’t have a clue why he wants me for this piece, but I guess I’ll do it.

Of course you will, Taylor. Don’t be ridiculous, Victoria stated in her authoritative boss voice. The concessions for the interview rights are a little demanding, but I guess when you are offering this kind of story—and it’s exclusive to us—you can ask for whatever you want. Taylor arched a brow, intrigued. He wants you to meet him up in Maine on his farm. According to the request he sent, it’s in a place called Mechanic Falls. Ever heard of it?

Taylor shook her head. No. Sitting up straighter in her chair, she turned to her laptop and began furiously typing to get her search started.

Anyway, his agent will be sending you directions once you sign a confidentiality agreement. Taylor’s only response was to nod as she continued her online search. He wants the interview done over a two-week period. You may take pictures, but you will have to be the photographer—no other staff is permitted to go with you.

Looking up from her screen, Taylor hesitated. I don’t know how much I like this, Vic. Uncertainty rang out in her voice. For starters, I am certainly no photographer and—

This is the opportunity of a lifetime, Taylor. Don’t think, just do!

Oh, sure, that’s easy for you to say! You’re not the one going off to some tiny town where no one knows where you are or who you’re with! No one knows what he looks like, and yet I’m not supposed to think about it! She stood abruptly and began to pace in her tiny square of office space. "I mean, honestly, I’m twenty-eight years old and work for Newslink magazine. I know what goes on in the world, and I know what kind of freaks are out there. How do we know this request is legit and not from some man who molests women or a crazed ax murderer or something?"

Geez, Taylor, ease up on the drama, will you? Our legal people are hammering everything out to ensure your safety as well as Mr. Wade’s privacy. Victoria stood and placed her hands on Taylor’s shoulders. You are a very lucky young woman, Taylor. This kind of story this early in your career could mean big things for your future. She released Taylor and walked toward her office, turning to look into the cubicle one last time. "It could be your ticket out of this tiny magazine and on to Time or Newsweek. Think about it."

Oh, Taylor would think about it, all right. In fact, she had a feeling she wasn’t going to be doing anything but thinking about it. Sinking back in her chair, Taylor rubbed at her temples. Just thinking about it now was giving her a headache. Sure, it was the opportunity of a lifetime for someone in her position, but at the same time, it was scary as hell to take that leap.

What if she wasn’t up for the challenge? What if she wasn’t as good a journalist as she thought she was? Could she honestly deal with that kind of criticism and rejection on such a grand scale? Because there was no doubt this story was going be seen and read internationally. This one story was going to put Newslink—and her—on the map. Would her career survive if her story was deemed horribly written? Would she end up working in a mail room somewhere and that would be the closest she came to working in an office ever again?

Headache.

Migraine.

Nausea.

Opening her desk drawer, she bypassed the Advil and grabbed the antacids. Popping several as if they were Pez, she chewed and contemplated all the ways this could go south for her. Her writing could be ripped apart, Jonathan Wade could be a boring or uncooperative subject, her camera could break and she’d have no pictures—on and on her mind spun with negative scenarios.

Okay, stop it, she muttered as she reached for the Advil. Shaking off the negative thoughts, Taylor grabbed her pad and pen and began making notes on the town of Mechanic Falls—size: eleven square miles, population: thirty-two hundred per the last census, blah, blah, blah. It sounded like the perfect place for a recluse to live. Too bad she couldn’t get information on the type of farm he owned or the size of it. Taking a chance, she went to the online white pages and typed in Wade. No listings. Not surprising. Like no one’s ever thought of that one before, she thought with disgust.

Discouraged, she tossed her pen down and put her head in her hands. There was the very real possibility Wade was a pen name. Authors did that all the time.

Think, Taylor, think, she muttered to herself. A Google search proved to be another dead end, with nothing more than the barest of information—all of which she already had. Even by page ten in the search, she couldn’t find one bit of new information. Standing, she stretched. Clearly this is not the way to go. She walked over to the tiny kitchen area and got herself a glass of water before going back to her cubicle to pace. If anyone thought there was something wrong, they didn’t mention it. Her coworkers were going about their days as if she wasn’t even there—as if the fact that what could possibly be the story of the decade hadn’t just been dropped into her lap.

Pulling out her chair, Taylor sat down and took a different approach. His catalog, she said softly. I’ve got to get my hands on all the books he’s written. Maybe there’s a clue in them as to who Jonathan Wade is. A quick search had her filling her e-reader with the dozen titles that were available. Hmm, maybe audiobooks would be a better—and faster—way to go. Then I can listen to them while I take notes… The idea had merit and left her excited that she’d be able to get so much done while doing her research. She was familiar with Wade’s books—she’d even read a few—but for the most part, she didn’t spend what little free time she had reading. Her work kept her so busy with research and writing that the last thing she wanted to do in her downtime was look at more words.

Living in New York City gave her so much to do to fill her time. She jogged, she biked—her favorite form of stress relief—and walking around the city left her with endless inspiration for stories to write. She was always able to get a good grip on her subjects before she sat down with them, to form the kind of questions that engaged her subjects, and they were impressed with her advance work. Taylor had a sinking feeling she was going to come off sounding like a babbling idiot to Jonathan Wade simply because she was walking in there blind. It made her pretty uncomfortable. She didn’t like being at such a disadvantage.

Staring at her reading list,