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  Books by Fern Michaels

  Fate & Fortune

  Sweet Vengeance

  Holly and Ivy

  Fancy Dancer

  No Safe Secret

  Wishes for Christmas

  About Face

  Perfect Match

  A Family Affair

  Forget Me Not

  The Blossom Sisters

  Balancing Act

  Tuesday’s Child

  Betrayal

  Southern Comfort

  To Taste the Wine

  Sins of the Flesh

  Sins of Omission

  Return to Sender

  Mr. and Miss

  Anonymous

  Up Close and Personal

  Fool Me Once

  Picture Perfect

  The Future Scrolls

  Kentucky Sunrise

  Kentucky Heat

  Kentucky Rich

  Plain Jane

  Charming Lily

  What You Wish For

  The Guest List

  Listen to Your Heart

  Celebration

  Yesterday

  Finders Keepers

  Annie’s Rainbow

  Sara’s Song

  Vegas Sunrise

  Vegas Heat

  Vegas Rich

  Whitefire

  Wish List

  Dear Emily

  Christmas at

  Timberwoods

  The Sisterhood Novels

  Safe and Sound

  Need to Know

  Crash and Burn

  Point Blank

  In Plain Sight

  Eyes Only

  Kiss and Tell

  Blindsided

  Gotcha!

  Home Free

  Déjà Vu

  Cross Roads

  Game Over

  Deadly Deals

  Vanishing Act

  Razor Sharp

  Under the Radar

  Final Justice

  Collateral Damage

  Fast Track

  Hokus Pokus

  Hide and Seek

  Free Fall

  Lethal Justice

  Sweet Revenge

  The Jury

  Vendetta

  Payback

  Weekend Warriors

  The Men of the

  Sisterhood Novels

  Truth or Dare

  High Stakes

  Fast and Loose

  Double Down

  The Godmothers

  Series

  Getaway (E-Novella

  Exclusive)

  Spirited Away (E-

  Novella Exclusive)

  Hideaway (E-Novella

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  Classified

  Breaking News

  Deadline

  Late Edition

  Exclusive

  The Scoop

  E-Book Exclusives

  Desperate Measures

  Seasons of Her Life

  To Have and to Hold

  Serendipity

  Captive Innocence

  Captive Embraces

  Captive Passions

  Captive Secrets

  Captive Splendors

  Cinders to Satin

  For All Their Lives

  Texas Heat

  Texas Rich

  Texas Fury

  Texas Sunrise

  Anthologies

  Coming Home for

  Christmas

  A Season to Celebrate

  Mistletoe Magic

  Winter Wishes

  The Most Wonderful

  Time

  When the Snow Falls

  Secret Santa

  A Winter Wonderland

  I’ll Be Home for

  Christmas

  Making Spirits Bright

  Holiday Magic

  Snow Angels

  Silver Bells

  Comfort and Joy

  Sugar and Spice

  Let It Snow

  A Gift of Joy

  Five Golden Rings

  Deck the Halls

  Jingle All the Way

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  FERN MICHAELS

  SAFE AND SOUND

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Teaser chapter

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2018 by Fern Michaels

  Fern Michaels is a registered trademark of KAP 5, Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4600-4

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-4600-4

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4601-1 (eBook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4201-4601-7 (eBook)

  Prologue

  There were those who referred to the Circle, a property in a residential area of Virginia, as an oasis. Others questioned why there would be an oasis in an area populated by an average number of human beings and a few four-legged creatures. The queries gradually died a natural death as the years passed because, to put it simply, no one cared enough to keep questioning something that didn’t matter to them one way or the other.

  The truth of the matter was that the parcel of land in question was circular—a thirteen-acre plot of land with three homes on each side of the Circle. The bottom half of the Circle consisted of a massive hydraulic gate with a retina scanner to which one had to submit in order to gain entrance unless one had a key to the gate. The message was clear: If you don’t belong here, go away. Dead center, at the top of the Circle but beyond its perimeter was a long, low, sprawling, one-story structure constructed of aged pink brick and covered in ivy. A small, burnished-brass plaque near the wide mahogany double doors that might have been at home on the castle side of a moat in medieval times spelled out the words ELEANOR LYMEN AMERICUS INSTITUTE. More often than not it was simply referred to as ELAI.

  The Eleanor Lymen Americus Institute hosted gifted children, all of whose IQs were off the charts. These were children who, at the age of ten, had graduated from high school and immediately gone on to college. The Institute had working arrangements with a number of first-
rate colleges and universities, including the University of Virginia, the College of William and Mary, and Johns Hopkins University, which allowed its students to take online courses that instructors at the Institute supervised, thus allowing the Institute’s students to obtain higher-education degrees without suffering the adverse social effects of living on a college campus with people in their late teens and twenties. At the Institute, there were youngsters who had their MBAs at twelve, and others with PhDs at the age of fifteen. It was evident to anyone who examined the situation that most of the children were smarter than their instructors, including those at the aforementioned colleges and universities.

  The ELAI was, architecturally speaking, a beautiful building inside and outside, though its sterile appearance, once inside, was not to everyone’s taste. No expense had been spared to make its form and structure as good an example of modern utilitarian architecture as one could find. A five-star chef prepared meals for the students and staff. The outside campus was exquisite, with just the right amount of flowers, shrubbery, and trees, all of which were precisely maintained by someone with manicure scissors. Every blade of grass matched its neighbor. No branch, twig, or leaf dared to outgrow its neighbor. Colorful benches and chairs were scattered over the grounds alongside flower-bordered walkways. The campus, however, was all for show, because no child, instructor, or house mother ever wandered over the spiky grass, no one ever sat with a book on the colorful benches and chairs or ate lunch in the beautiful setting.

  The six McMansions that dotted the sides of the Circle were magnificent Tudor-style homes ranging from eight thousand to ten thousand square feet each. Three of the McMansions were currently inhabited, one by the owner of the Circle and the other two by the owner’s two best friends. All three houses sat next to one another on the left side of the Circle facing the Institute. The three McMansions on the opposite side were uninhabited. No one among the public knew why, because no one cared enough to ask. The center of the Circle was a flower garden maintained by the same person who maintained the ELAI campus. It was a beautiful rainbow of color even in the winter, when there was snow on the ground and scarlet poinsettias— artificial, of course—dotted the dead winter grass, along with some bright green Astroturf.

  The Circle was just there. A place. To be talked about or not to be talked about.

  The truth was, no member of the public seemed to care about the Circle. But one person and her friends cared, the founder of the Circle and the ELAI, Eleanor Porter Lymen, whose inherited railroad wealth allowed her to create the Circle and fund it unto eternity, as she was fond of saying.

  Eleanor Porter Lymen had given one interview to a pesky young reporter named Maggie Spritzer when construction began. She never granted another, even when the Circle was completed. Nor would she grant an interview when the ELAI opened to admit its first students.

  It wasn’t that Eleanor Porter Lymen was a recluse.

  She wasn’t.

  Eleanor Porter Lymen was a woman with too many secrets, secrets that she didn’t want pesky, pushy, obnoxious reporters ferreting out, and the best way to prevent that from happening was simply to ignore any and all requests for anything pertaining to herself or the ELAI.

  Thirteen years after the Circle had been built, the ELAI and the six McMansions were all but forgotten by the press and anyone else who might have been interested enough to ask about them.

  The Circle was just that.

  The Circle.

  Chapter 1

  Isabelle Flanders Tookus picked her way carefully through the beautiful autumn leaves as she made her way to a park bench to eat her lunch with her new best friend. She carried her lunch in a small take-out bag. It was a simple lunch—pastrami with spicy brown mustard on rye along with two equally spicy garlic dill pickles. And one peanut butter and jelly sandwich, just to be on the safe side. Two bottles of Snapple iced tea, along with napkins and two wet wipes, completed the contents of the bag.

  Isabelle loved autumn’s crisp air, the magnificent colored leaves, and the scent of smoke in the air to go along with all the fall decorations. She closed her eyes for a moment to allow conjured-up memories of childhood to appear behind her closed lids—visions of pumpkins, scarecrows, and haystacks.

  She was partial to this little park because it allowed her to see what Realtors referred to as the Circle, the enclave she had designed early in her career as an architect. She never got tired of looking at it. She had also designed the little park she was sitting in at the moment. Because she loved the area so much, she had located her offices a block behind the enclave, so she could still enjoy gazing at the fruits of her labor whenever she chose to do so.

  Weather permitting, she brought her lunch every day, usually from home, and spent a quiet hour doing nothing but people watching and devouring her lunch. It was also something she did alone, never inviting anyone to join her, because this hour of the day was hers and hers alone. Until six months ago, that is.

  Isabelle looked down at her watch. He was late. A first.

  He was never late. More often than not, her lunch date was early and waiting for her. It wasn’t always that way. In the beginning, when she first met him last spring, he would simply wave and move on. Waving became “hi,” then a few words here and there. Each encounter was for no more than a few seconds. Gradually, over the past six months, those few seconds slid into minutes, to be followed by an exchange of identities. First names only. So far.

  A worm of fear crawled around Isabelle’s stomach. She wondered if something was wrong. She’d been crystal clear when she issued the luncheon invitation. Lunch on Friday—a first. Twelve noon. He’d nodded in agreement. Seeing no watch on his wrist, she wondered if he would be on time. She smiled now when she remembered how his eyes had lit up and sparkled like bright blue jewels at her invitation. It was a sign that their relationship was safe and moving to another level. Something she totally understood.

  Isabelle shifted on the bench as she strained to see down the many paths in the little park that led to another circle, then back to the main entrance. She could see two young women jogging in their brightly colored spandex outfits that screamed, Hey look at me, I’m exercising. Two elderly gentlemen were wearing gilly hats and getting ready to set up a chessboard for their daily game. And a young couple was strolling along, holding hands.

  It was such a beautiful day, so inviting, so golden and bronze that Isabelle was surprised the park wasn’t jammed with office workers taking advantage of the nice weather to eat their lunch outdoors. In a few weeks, these days of Indian summer would be nothing more than a memory.

  Isabelle chewed on her lower lip as she stared down at her watch. Eight minutes late.

  And then she saw him, pedaling his bicycle as fast as his eight-year-old legs could pump the pedals. “Hey, Izzy! I’m sorry I’m late! I had to help a lady catch her dog. I caught him, and he was fast.” The little boy beamed happily. “Look, she gave me five dollars! I didn’t want to take it, but the lady insisted. I didn’t want to insult her, so I took it.”

  “It’s okay, I just got here myself. That’s wonderful about catching the dog! You ready for lunch?”

  “I am. What are we having, Izzy?”

  “Something you told me you have never eaten before, a pastrami with hot mustard on rye bread and some really good pickles. Snapple.”

  Ben Ryan slid off his bike and propped it up against the back of the bench before he skedaddled around to sit down next to Isabelle, his only friend in the whole world.

  “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it. I also brought a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, just in case.”

  Ben grinned from ear to ear as he waited for Isabelle to hand over his sandwich and napkin. “I am sure I’ll like it. I have a discriminating palate.” He chomped down on his sandwich.

  Isabelle had trouble not laughing at his final comment before starting to eat. She nibbled on her own pastrami sandwich as she studied her new friend. She was obsessed w
ith the little guy, who was so skinny she worried that a strong wind would blow him away. Childless herself, she simply assumed what she was feeling was some kind of motherly instinct. She knew so little about him. She understood his original reticence about not talking to strangers. But months of hand waves, short greetings, and short conversations meant they’d moved to a place where the young boy felt safe and comfortable around her. And yet he was still aloof to a fault. He had never volunteered any information about himself; nor had he asked her anything about herself. As much as she wanted to quiz him, she’d restrained herself, afraid that if she did, she’d drive him away.

  She saw him three days a week, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday. Five months into the friendship, Isabelle found herself scheduling her appointments earlier or later so as to always be available at the noon hour to spend time with the little boy. She couldn’t explain it to herself, much less explain it to her Sisterhood friends or her husband, Abner. In a way, it was her special secret, one she wanted to keep to herself. She couldn’t help but wonder if Ben had told his parents about her. For some reason, she thought it unlikely.

  Ben Ryan was an endearing little boy. His dark, curly hair was too long. His bright blue eyes confused her because, at least in her opinion, they were the eyes of an adult. He had a cute little pug nose and chipmunk cheeks, and there was a gap between his front teeth. Endearing. Something about Ben suddenly stirred in Isabelle. It was something she was all too familiar with: fear. Now why would a little eight-year-old be fearful? He was well dressed. Just because he was whippet thin didn’t mean he wasn’t fed. He had a bicycle, and it was relatively new. Obviously, he was allowed to be out and about on his own, so he wasn’t being held a prisoner anywhere.