As he moved toward the line of cabs, he heard his name and for a brief instant thought his dream-woman might be calling him; then he recognized the voice, but not from his dreams. He hesitated, briefly toying with the idea of pretending he hadn’t heard. Of jumping in the first cab and racing away—answering his own question of what he would do if someone he knew did appear. Run. He gritted his teeth against that disturbing insight. “Rory,” the voice called again, and he forced himself to turn, realizing that it was his sister’s face he’d been searching for all along. He’d known—somewhere deep down, buried beneath denial—he’d known she’d be here. Returning home had opened the door to that other world, the one steeped in the mystery that was Ireland. Bracing himself, he turned. Danni MacGrath—Ballagh now, he reminded himself—stood next to a tan Volvo, her hair caught back in a ponytail, her gray eyes clear and insistent. No smile, he noted, but that wasn’t a surprise.
