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clapped appropriately and sang along as invited. By the time the music ended, the place was so full that Kyle wouldn’t have been able to see the musicians if they hadn’t been standing on a raised stage. The waiters and waitresses, proving themselves to be contortionists, nimbly slid and slithered through the crowd, delivering pitchers of beer, margaritas, and soda, along with food and various outlandish concoctions in souvenir glasses.
    The band did another number, a Top 40 rock hit. Then they played another original, this one a softer ballad called “Getting On with You Gone.” Another Top 40 hit, another original, this one about a no-good son of a gun. A few more songs, and then Madison announced the last number before their break. Again it was slow. People were dancing in the limited floor space between the tables and the stage. Toward the end of that final song, Madison looked his way at last.
    She might be nerve-rackingly psychic, but he could tell that she hadn’t known that he was there. She stared at him, and she suddenly fell silent. Madison could be one tough, sophisticated cookie, but she was staring at him then like a deer caught in headlights. Well, he must have been quite a surprise. They hadn’t seen each other in one hell of a long time. He’d stayed away, and in his healing process, he’d realized somewhere along the line that just because she’d somehow known what was going on in his life, he’d maybe tried to blame her for it. And even now, he’d come here for work, not exactly to make peace. Still, he was ready to admit to the ill manners he’d demonstrated in his grief. Yeah, he was ready. But maybe, he thought with an inner shrug, life didn’t work that way. The way Madison was looking at him, he felt as if he’d been hanging on to a rope—that she’d just cut clean through. Well, what the hell. They both had their own lives. Maybe there was no reason to make amends.
    He lifted his beer glass to her. “Sing,” he mouthed.
    Her fellow band members were staring at her, nimbly covering, playing the same beat and chords over and over. Madison seemed to give herself a mental shake, and her eyes left his.
    She flashed the audience that pure-charm smile of hers and picked up again, singing her heart out.
    Then the music ended, to a burst of applause, and Madison promising that the group would be back.
    Kyle thought she might just ignore the fact that he was there. He was somewhat surprised that no one had told her he was coming.
    Maybe everyone had just assumed that she’d know he was coming down to Miami to work. Hell, Jimmy should have told her. Her father should have told her. But maybe Jordan Adair had thought it wouldn’t mean anything to her, one way or the other.
    And maybe it didn’t, though the look she’d given him suggested otherwise.
    But she didn’t ignore him. She threaded her way through the crowd, acknowledging those who stopped her to speak or compliment her and the band, until she reached his table. By that point he’d moved his legs from the chair where he’d been resting them, but he was still wearing his dark glasses and baseball cap, so she couldn’t have seen much of his features in the darkening shadows of the coming night.
    She stood in front of the table, looking down at him with her perfect features composed in a cold and aloof expression. “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.
    â€œHello, Madison. It’s great to see you, too.”
    â€œRight. What are you doing here?”
    He shrugged, smiling. Lifted his hands. “Drinking beer. Listening to music.”
    â€œWhat are you doing here, in Key West? In my father’s place?”
    â€œI’m in the Keys on business. I’m here because your father invited me.”
    He heard a whistling sound as she sucked in her breath with involuntary surprise.
    He used his foot to push out the chair