The hell with it. We were adults. I was tired and wanted to be comfortable.

The sweatshirt came off.

I met Phin’s eyes and didn’t feel comfortable at all. I felt awkward and vulnerable and ner vous and also a little excited, like a teenager right before her first time. Phin’s eyes had that purple hue again, and his expression was intense.

I levered myself between the sheets.

Go to sleep, I told myself.

But instead of closing my eyes, I watched Phin take his shirt off. His body was different than Latham’s. Latham’s body was decent. Lithe, strong, distinguished. But comfortable and familiar. Sort of like a Lincoln Town Car.

Phin had a Ferarri. Fast and sharp and sculpted. And dangerous.

Quit it. You just buried Latham. He hasn’t even been dead for three weeks.

When Phin began taking off his sweatpants I used all of my self-control to kill the bedside lamp so I couldn’t see anything else.

The bed bounced lightly when he climbed in, and then he turned off his light and we were both lying there in the dark and I was getting warm. Really warm.

Hot, actually.

If he tries something, I’ll roll with it, I decided.

I closed my eyes, waiting for him to touch me. Wanting him to touch me. I knew it was wrong, for a hundred different reasons. But I wanted sex. I wanted to feel something other than pain. With all the death and horror of the past weeks, I needed something life-affirming.

I no longer had love. Love died with my fiancé.

But I didn’t expect love from Phin.

However, an orgasm or two would be a good temporary placeholder.

The bed springs creaked, and I sensed him shifting. Moving closer to me.

Maybe my breath quickened a little bit. Maybe I shifted a little bit toward him as well.

I waited. Pictured his hands on my body. My breasts. Between my thighs. I remembered his kiss, how good it was, and imagined how his mouth would feel on other parts of me.

But nothing happened. He didn’t make a move.

I’d been rebuffing him all night, and he hadn’t been put off. Now, when I finally want him to try something, he decides to listen to me?

Didn’t guys understand women at all?

I sighed, loudly, hoping he’d take the hint.

Nothing.

I sighed again, this time putting a bit of slut into the tone. More of a moan than a sigh.

Nada. Zip. Zilch.

I realized I couldn’t back down at this point. I was turned on. All I had to do was reach for him, and I would make sure he was turned on as well.

My hand crept under the covers, toward Phin. I aimed low, for a part I was sure would get his attention. The king-sized bed seemed huge, the distance between us enormous, and I really did feel like a virginal school-girl, so much so that I almost giggled, and giggling is not something I’m known for.

And then I heard it. A sound. A horrible, libido-killing sound.

Phin was snoring.

My hand stopped, flattening out like someone had stomped on it. I shrunk back, turned and faced the other way, the luxurious heat of arousal transforming into the sting of rejection. Giggly and turned on to red-faced humiliation in less than three seconds. It had to be some kind of record.

I closed my eyes and swore that if he ever tried to touch me again I’d break off his fingers. Then I tried to sleep.

Exhausted as I was, sleep didn’t come.

CHAPTER 30

LUCKY BITCH.

It had a December 31 vibe, like counting down the seconds until the new year, and Alex had been looking forward to seeing the monochromatic fireworks of poor Lance’s head blowing up. But lucky Jack stormed in at the last possible second and saved his miserable life.

How anticlimactic.

Things became interesting again when the two cops arrived, but Jack killed the live feed in the middle of that little drama. Cue commercial. Switch channels.

Alex considers her next move. It’s still too early to pay Jack’s ex a visit, so she spends some time on the Internet, reading up on defibrillators, replying to an e-mail in her anonymous account, learning about bulletproofing a vehicle. Boring stuff, but necessary. Then she logs on to the homepage of her pay-as-you-go cell phone ser vice provider. The phones are impossible to trace, but they do keep track of minutes and numbers called. Because Alex is spoofing caller ID, most of the numbers listed are 555-5555.

But there are a few real numbers. The numbers Jack has called from the phone Alex gave her.

One of them is interesting. An 800 number. Alex makes a mental note to call it later.

At a little after seven a.m. she dresses in the police uniform and goes for a ride, finding a twenty-four-hour con ve nience store and picking up two rolls of duct tape and some quick energy foods: chips, beef jerky, candy bars. She also gets a six-pack of bottled water.

It’s going to be a thirsty day.

Back at the hotel she checks her appearance and then knocks on Alan’s door.

“Yeah?” he answers.

Alex steps away from the peephole, letting him see her good profile and her cop clothes.

“Mr. Daniels? It’s about your ex-wife.”

She resists a smile when she hears the lock turn, the Cheetah stun gun palmed in her right hand.

Two seconds after the door opens, Alan is on his knees. Two seconds after that, he’s facedown on the carpeting.

Alex checks the hallway for witnesses, and seeing none, drags Jack’s husband to bed.

CHAPTER 31

I FELT LATHAM’S ARM slip around my waist and I sighed, happy it had all been some horrible dream.

But it didn’t feel like Latham’s arm-it felt like a stranger’s-and everything came back at once and I jolted, then went rigid.

“You okay?” Phin, his voice sleepy.

“Yeah. Just forgot where I was.”

Phin’s hand was still on my hip, burning there like an iron. I nudged it off.

“I wasn’t trying anything.”

“I know.” My tone had more regret in it than I might have liked.

Sunlight peeked in through a crack in the drapes. I looked at the clock radio. A little past ten a.m. I’d managed about four hours of sleep. Not too bad. I’ve been able to function on less.

I rubbed my eyes, felt some crud in the corners, and immediately wondered how my hair looked. My breath was probably awful as well. I wanted to get up, dress in the bathroom, but didn’t want Phin to see me in my underwear. Earlier it seemed daring. Now it was just plain embarrassing.

“I’m not used to waking up next to cops,” Phin said. “Especially pretty ones.”

I felt his finger trail up my spine. I flinched away.

“Jesus, Jack. We’re both adults.”

I faced him, hugging the sheet to my chest.

“You’re a good-looking guy, Phin. I’m sure you’ll rebound quickly.”

He smiled and locked his hands behind his head, triceps bulging.

“Do you like being miserable? Is that your thing?”

His pillow talk needed some work.

“No, Phin. Like most other people in the world, I actually try to be happy. And sometimes I actually achieve it for brief periods of time. But to me, being an adult means having responsibilities.”

I was lecturing, but Phin appeared more amused than chastised.

“I used to be like that. Feeling like the only thing holding the world together was my self-discipline.”

“There’s a difference between taking care of business and being a control freak.”

“I know that. Do you?”

And to think I almost slept with this guy.

“I try to do my best. Sometimes it doesn’t work out, but I keep trying. It’s all I can do.”

Phin adopted a pensive look as if he was considering what to say next. I waited, feeling dorkier and dorkier in my sports bra and red pan ties.

Finally, he spoke.

“Let me tell you a story, Jack. Young man. Had a decent paying job in an office. Was in love with a girl who loved him back. They even had the wedding date set.”