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corner a couple of blocks away. The crowd cheered him as he drew closer.
    Okay, here we go,
Sophie thought. She raised her camera, ready for the shot at the finish line.
    The runner came closer and closer, and was within a hundred yards of the line as the other competitors came into view far behind him.
    Sophie lowered the camera slightly to get a better look. Uh-oh. The winner wasn’t William Harrington. It was a man she’d never seen before. She quickly glanced back at those now approaching. Harrington wasn’t among them either.
    Runner after runner came across the line, but still no Harrington. He wasn’t first—nor last—nor anywhere in between.
    The man had simply disappeared.

JOURNAL ENTRY 23
ARCTIC CAMP
    Eureka! We have identified the pack. Six adults and three pups. We were able to pick out the alpha male right away. He s quite easy to identify because of his thick white coat tinged with a small dark patch across his back. He is also physically larger than the others. Brandon is thrilled with this new family we will study.
    The alpha male is magnificent.

I T WAS SOPHIE’S TURN TO PAY FOR DINNER. Regan insisted on eating at The Hamilton, the flagship of her family’s five-star hotel chain. She reserved one of the private dining rooms adjacent to the atrium. The two-story windows looked out over Lake Michigan.
    As Regan led the way to the table with Cordie and Sophie trailing behind, Sophie said, “I don’t understand why you insisted on eating here.”
    “I told you. I was in the mood for scallops, and I love the way Chef Eduardo prepares them,” Regan declared.
    Sophie wasn’t buying it. While it was true that Eduardo’s scallops were outstanding, she knew the real reason Regan wanted to eat there. If they ate at her family’s hotel, a bill wouldn’t be presented. Convenient, since it was Sophie’s turn to pay.
    “You’re just doing this because you know I’m poor,” she said.
    A waiter pulled out a chair for her. Sophie flashed him a smile, thanked him for the menu he offered her, then turned to Regan again.
    “Admit it.”
    “You don’t like dining here?” Cordie asked. She was looking at Sophie over the top of her menu.
    “I love dining here, but that isn’t the issue. I simply want Regan to admit—”
    “That you’re poor? Okay. You’re poor,” Regan said cheerfully.
    Cordie nodded. “Yes, you are. Very poor. I’d say you were dirt poor, but you know, that expression doesn’t make any sense to me. What’s dirt poor?”
    Sophie frowned. “Not being helpful, Cordie. Regan, I want you to admit that my being poor is the reason we’re eating here.”
    “Of course it’s the reason,” Cordie said.
    “Yes, it is,” Regan agreed amiably.
    Cordie put her menu down. “You aren’t going to get huffy, are you, Soph?” Her smile indicated she wasn’t too concerned about the possibility.
    “My being poor is all your fault, Regan, and yours, too, Cordie. I was perfectly happy going along with my life, buying whatever I wanted. I had a beautiful car, credit cards without limits, amazing clothes, and I didn’t have a single worry line.”
    “You weren’t happy,” Regan countered. “Yes, you had to give up your car, but walking is better for you than driving. You still have beautiful clothes even if they’re last season’s. You don’t need credit cards, and you still don’t have a single worry line.”
    “Poverty agrees with you,” Cordie said without laughing.
    “You asked us to help you wean yourself off your father’s money,” Regan reminded her.
    “Yes, but did you have to be so … enthusiastic about it? So rigid? What’s wrong with buying an occasional Prada blouse?”
    “The clothes are gorgeous, but taking the money from your father to pay for the blouse is wrong,” Cordie said.
    “The money your father gave you was gotten by illegal means,” Regan said.
    Sophie reached for her water glass. “How do you know that for certain? He’s never been convicted of