“What?”

“Thank you. Really.”

“Don’t mention it. Sweet dreams.”

She hung up, smiling again. But then the smile faded as she wondered what the hell she was getting herself into with him.

19

“HELLO? HELLO? WHO’S THERE?” MELANIE HAD said.

Sophie Cho opened her mouth to answer, but no words came. Before she even realized it, her finger moved to the button and clicked off the phone. She couldn’t do it. She’d decided she would, but when the moment came, she just couldn’t.

She sat on the glossy hardwood floor and looked around her completely empty apartment. Her furniture was gone, taken away by the moving truck that afternoon. The problem seemed too big, so she’d pretty much made up her mind to run away from it. It was the only solution she could think of. Eventually it would come out, what she’d done, but she was a minor enough player in this drama that she had to think the police wouldn’t bother pursuing her. So long as she went far enough away and left no forwarding address.

The possibility of anyone other than the police coming after her never entered her mind.

But even as she put her escape plan into action, she wavered. She was not an adventurous person. The thought of leaving behind everything she knew and starting over in some new, foreign place held not the slightest whiff of romance for her. It seemed horrible, in fact, like being sentenced to exile. When she really thought about it, was staying here and facing prison really any worse?

Such thoughts made her consider the possibility of confessing to Melanie. Surely Melanie, who knew her so well, could argue for leniency on her behalf. After all, who could have imagined such severe consequences flowing from one small, unorthodox bit of architecture? Sophie herself had never imagined it, let alone intended it. All she had tried to do was please a client. And yes, admittedly, she had filed false documents at his behest. Which was wrong. And certainly a breach of professional ethics. But anyone who knew Jed Benson would understand. Because he wasn’t just any client-he was a particularly persuasive and persistent one.

It was her inability to say no to Jed that had caused this terrible problem. She hugged her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth, berating herself silently in her mind. Why had she agreed? Why, why, why had she been so weak? Was it that he’d turned her head? Such a handsome and powerful man, paying attention to her? This was very unusual in her experience. But no. She was realistic enough about her own modest charms to understand immediately that Jed was merely adding another inducement to the package, along with the monetary compensation and the promise of future referrals. So why, then?

In the end she had to come back to her upbringing. She was raised to place politeness above all other qualities. To say no to a patron, one older than she was and male, would have been unthinkable. So she’d said yes.

And now it was done, and the consequences were what they were. She could bemoan and agonize as much as she liked, but she had a choice to make. Run-or stay and face her punishment. She hid her face in her knees. She would sit here all night, if necessary. But by the time the sun came up, she must make her decision.

20

IN THE LIGHT OF DAY, THE DESPERATION OF THE night before seemed alien to Melanie. Her fear had vanished, and with it the strange intimacy she’d felt as she lay in her darkened bedroom talking to Dan O’Reilly on the telephone.

Steve had something to do with that. He had woken her up, banging on the front door just as the sun was rising.

“Melanie!” he called. “The chain’s on! Let me in!”

She jumped out of bed and hurried to the foyer in nightgown and bare feet. Tiptoeing up to the door, she peered through the peephole. Better make extra sure it was really Steve. After last night she couldn’t be too careful.

The face was distorted by the lens, but definitely his. Not that that meant she should open the door. Steve was dangerous in his own way.

“Mel, I can hear you breathing. I know you’re there.”

She opened the door a crack, leaving the chain on. Steve was one of those rugged, sporty-looking blonds who tanned. Like Robert Redford in his glory days, Steve always looked as if he’d just climbed off the back of a horse or been squinting into the prairie sun. Okay, so he really caught those rays on the tennis court. But, hell, that turned her on, too.

“What are you doing here at this hour?” She made her voice as cold as she could manage. She knew she was vulnerable.

“Didn’t you get my message? I took the red-eye. My plane just got in.”

“So? Go to your parents’. You don’t live here anymore.”

His face fell. She noticed suddenly how exhausted he looked, unshaven, pale beneath his tan, his fine blue dress shirt creased from sleeping on the plane. She un-fastened the chain and opened the door a little wider.

“Are you okay?”

“Please, Mel?” He sounded hoarse, even choked up. “Can’t I come in? Can’t I come in for just a minute and see you and Maya? I miss you guys so much!”

Didn’t she miss him, too? And long for things to be how they were before?

“Okay,” she said, opening the door, telling herself she’d probably regret this.

He rushed in, grabbed her, and held on like his life depended on it, and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t push him away. He buried his face in her neck. She reached up to hold his head, to comfort him. His hair was shaggy, flowing over his collar. She used to remind him when he needed a haircut, but she’d stopped doing that after she found out about Samantha. It wasn’t like him not to take care of himself. It meant he was suffering. She felt his pain as if it was her own. Wait a minute, it was her own! He was the one who hurt her! What was she doing comforting him?

“Steve-”

“No, please,” he said, touching his fingertip to her lips. “Please, don’t say anything. Let’s pretend for a minute that this never happened. I miss you so much, Mel. I just need to hold you for a minute like normal, okay? Please?”

He looked into her eyes. Then he started to kiss her, slowly and deeply, until they were both breathing hard and his hands were wandering around under her nightgown. Before she knew it, they were doing it standing up against the wall in the entry foyer.

Okay, they always had amazing sex. Especially the make-up sex-increíble. Out-of-control crazy. She remembered a time on their honeymoon, on an overnight train in France, after a terrible argument. They’d practically wrecked their sleeper compartment, knocking an open bottle of red wine onto the carpet, breaking the folding bunk. He could always get her with sex. That and his sweet talk. But now, even with her behind bumping against the wall, her legs up around his waist as she cried out with pleasure, she couldn’t forget all that was wrong between them. He was gorgeous. He was incredible in bed. He did push her emotional buttons. Trouble was, she couldn’t forget he’d shared all that with another woman.

“Steve?” she gasped, her nails digging into the expensive fabric of his shirt. “This…is…not…a…good…idea.”

“Ohhh, baby, you are so hot!”

Okay, maybe this was not the moment for serious discussion. She’d use him for sex, talk later. A girl has needs, after all.

When they were finished, he carried her into the bedroom and dumped her onto the bed, then collapsed beside her.

“God, I’m an idiot!” he cried. “What a tragedy.”

She sat up on one elbow and studied him. Was it possible he shared her anguish? That he felt the same sadness she did, having sex, with their estrangement weighing them down? Maybe this guy was really ready to work on things.