Chapter 2

Tomorrow evening, he promised himself, he’d go home and once again be alone, as he chose—no, as he needed to be. That narrow and austere existence had become the only life he could tolerate. Thank God for the Internet and the other modern devices which allowed him to do most of his business by long distance, safely insulated from human contact, removed from the requirement to behave in a normal manner and to function as a social being.

Tonight felt so wrong. He suspected it always would.

Seeking a way through a dense knot of celebrants, he lifted his gaze to the far side of the room, his current goal. The fact this event fell on the tenth anniversary of Steven Hayward’s death did not make the soiree any easier for him. The memory was still so raw, too excruciatingly close and vivid. They’d said time healed. They lied.

He let his breath out in a long, slow sigh. Then he stopped, jerked up short, as if he’d hit an invisible wall. His gaze met and locked with that of another man, a tall, slender man who stood beside the bank of French doors leading to the hotel’s garden atrium. Green eyes ablaze in a keen, narrow blade of a face, fierce intensity radiating from every line of his lean, energy-charged body, the stranger lifted his glass as he gave a slight nod.

DeVore was sure he’d never seen this man before. Surely he’d remember if he had, but the stranger seemed to recognize him. A sense, less actual recognition than a jolting awareness, singed his fragile soul.

Steven’s eyes had been blue, a brilliant southwest-sky blue, while this stranger’s were emerald green. Steven had rich auburn hair, while this man’s looked the color of dark chocolate under the overpowering glare of the glimmering chandeliers. In fact, Steven had probably been at least a couple of inches shorter. No, this man didn’t actually resemble Steven at all and yet…

Heedless now of polite edging and repeating excuse me, DeVore began to elbow his way across the crowded room. The pull grew so strong he forgot all else, even ceased to notice the unwelcome barrage on his senses that had threatened to crush him instants before.

A part of him held back, but with strength inadequate to slow his pace. That part tried to argue with this illogical urgency.

When I get to him, I’ll see there’s no similarity to Steven. I’ll find nothing but another bored man suffering through the reception just as I am. Someone looking for a kindred soul, perhaps, but none can be so for me, not now, not ever again.

It took forever and yet happened too soon. He came face to face with the other man. The clear emerald gaze met his, one eyebrow lifted in a mocking question.

“You look as delighted to be here as I feel.” It was not Steven’s voice, not even close. DeVore heard a hint of the Deep South in the low and slightly drawling intonation. Steven had spoken with the remnants of a Bostonian’s distinctive accent in a clear tenor tone.

“Is it that obvious?”

The stranger shrugged, a mere twitch of one shoulder immaculately covered by an elegant suit coat DeVore guessed would be an Armani or similar costly designer’s work.

“Not really, but there’s something in the way you move, a slight aura of acute discomfort surrounding you. Feeling such myself, maybe I’m more aware than most.”

DeVore hesitated. Did he really want to introduce himself to this man, who at close range troubled him even more than he had at the first glimmer of awareness? Yet he felt an odd compulsion to do so. By giving his own name, surely he would get the other man’s in return and he had a sudden need to know.

He held out his free hand. “DeVore Weyrick.”

The other man returned the handshake with a firm but somehow gentle clasp. “TheDeVore Weyrick?”

DeVore gave a mirthless laugh. “Is there more than one? Yes, I’m the photographer, if that’s what you mean, but I don’t consider myself to be worthy of such an appellation as ‘the’.”

“Your work is exceptional. In general, I’m no great aficionado of the arts. Mother’s overwhelming enthusiasm saw to that. But I’ve seen and appreciated some of your pictures. They have great power. In fact, I had hoped someday to encounter the man behind that amazing camera. What a surprise and a joy to do so at last.”

DeVore hesitated, not sure how to proceed. His social skills had grown rusty from a decade of disuse. “I appreciate the compliment Mr….”

The other man gave his head a swift shake. “Ah, forgive me. I got so caught up in the moment, I forgot to introduce myself. Tim Hardesty, at your service. Not ‘the’ by any means. I have yet to make my mark anywhere. ‘Still trying to find my niche,’ as my mother apologetically puts it.”

His speech held a slight hesitance, almost self-effacing. That was not like Steven either. Although not imbued with any false sense of excellence, Steven had always been confident—one of the things that had attracted DeVore. Though several years his junior, the young medical student had impressed DeVore from their first chance meeting. The attraction had soon deepened until it became the focus of his life.