I didn’t recognize a number of the other medications, and I started to get nervous about taking too much time. I decided simply to look at the dates of the medications. Finally, I found one that had been prescribed only three weeks before. The name of the medication sounded familiar, a heart drug.

Just then, I heard the soft shuffle of feet from the hallway. My arms, one still holding the medication, the other holding the flashlight, froze.

Mayburn stepped into the bathroom. “What do you have?”

“You scared the crap out of me,” I said. “How about giving me some signal?”

He shrugged. “I never do this with other people.”

“I thought I saw a light outside.”

“Whoa, when?” His voice was alarmed.

“When I was walking past the front door.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” His head swiveled both ways, as if looking for someone.

“Because it went away. I thought I was imagining it, and I just wanted to get everything we need here before we leave.”

He gestured at my hand. “Heart stuff?”

“I think so.”

He took the bottle. “Let’s do this and get the hell out of there.” He shook out three tablets. “We’ll take these for analysis, and hope they’re the same as the rest in here.” He dropped them in a small, plastic box he’d pulled from the pocket of his coat. “Now, what about the herbs?”

“I’m not even sure what they look like.” I rooted around in the cabinet some more.

Mayburn shined his flashlight in the cabinet for extra light. “Let’s go, Izzy.” I heard impatience there, and if I wasn’t mistaken, a little fear.

Finally, I found a small bottle that was a third full of dark-brown liquid. The white label listed the name of Dr. Song Li. “Got it.”

“Great, I’ve got something for that.” Mayburn took out a small white bottle capped with a medicine dropper. He used it to extract two droppersful of the liquid, which he squeezed into the bottle.

Just as I was putting the brown liquid back on the cabinet shelves, I heard a low rumble and the crunching of gravel.

“Shit,” Mayburn said. “Turn your light off.”

We both switched off our flashlights, shrouding the bathroom in shadow.

I felt something touch my hand, and I jumped.

“It’s me,” Mayburn hissed. “Stay behind me. We’ll leave through the back.”

“But we have to turn the alarm on or Annette will know someone was here.”

“I’ve got it.”

I followed Mayburn, so close to his back that a few times, I almost bumped into him when he slowed.

He went to the alarm panel near the kitchen door. “Quiet a minute.”

We both stood in absolute stillness. I concentrated with every cell in my body to hear something.

Mayburn punched a series of numbers into the alarm. “Okay, it’s armed. We just have to leave in forty-five seconds. There’s a door in the garage that leads to the backyard. Let’s go.”

I followed him again, trying hard not to make any noise with my shoes, jumpier now. The garage had no windows and was entirely black.

Mayburn took hold of my hand. “This way,” he whispered. He flashed his light on, for one second illuminating the door at the back, behind six of Forester’s cars. Just as quickly, the light was off, and we were sneaking through the darkness. “We’ve got to hurry. We’ve got about fifteen seconds to get out or the alarm will go off.”

When we stepped out into the backyard, I breathed a sigh of relief. We crept around the side of the house toward the front. Mayburn peeked around the corner at the front driveway.

He stepped back and spoke into my ear. “I don’t see anyone, but let’s stay in the trees.”

We slunk into the trees and headed away from the house, keeping the driveway in our sight. Finally, we came to Mayburn’s car.

“Stay here,” he said.

I watched him move around the car, shining the flashlight. “C’mere,” he said. On the ground, near his back bumper was a vague imprint in the gravel. “It’s a footprint.”

“It could be ours.”

“Did you walk around the back of the car when you got out?”

“No. So whose is it?”

“Someone who wanted to get my license-plate number.”

“The cops?”

He shook his head. “They wouldn’t be so quiet about it. Get in the car.”

With the lights off, he rolled down Forester’s driveway, and I was left feeling like a thief, one who had come very close to getting caught.

44

Day Seven

Monday, I woke up yearning for Sam so intensely I felt physically sick by his absence. I had gotten used to seeing him every morning and at the end of every day. Each time I saw that cute, sweet face, it was like getting into a hot bath-that initial disappearance of breath, followed by a tingling of every inch of my skin, then the breath rushing back to fill up the lungs, and then the utter relaxation, the utter bliss. Without him, my body didn’t seem to know how to loosen up. I couldn’t remember what it was like to take a full, satisfied breath of air. My guilt over the wedding hit again, closely followed by the hard stabs of a million questions-Was he overwhelmed, too? Was he a bad guy and I never saw it? What in the hell is going on? And more. So many more.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and tried to breathe deep. No luck.

I called Q. He was already at the office.

“You have a meeting with Jane Augustine and her agent at eleven,” he said. “Jane left a message to finalize everything. She’s ready to sign the contract.”

“Great.” I would have to tell him I was losing the Pickett work. But I had time. Gradual. That’s what Shane said. And as long as the work was still mine, I was going to give it my all. I’d go to the meeting. I’d keep doing my best for Forester until they wouldn’t let me anymore. I liked pretending that this was any other Monday morning. “Fun party on Saturday,” I said. “How was the aftermath?”

Q groaned. “Simone hooked up with some guy that Max’s sister brought.”

“What? How old was the guy?”

“Late thirties.”

“And how old is Simone?”

“Sixties.”

“Jiminy Christmas, that’s impressive.” And oddly hopeful, I thought. Life, apparently, does go on and on.

“Did you see the news last night?”

No, I was going through Forester’s house right about the time the news was on. I thought of that white, scalloped bowl again. For some reason, it kept lingering in my mind. “I missed it. Anything new?”

“Same recap of the Forester and Sam stuff. New picture of Sam, though.”

“Which one?”

“Looks like a professional thing. Just him. Wearing that brown suit he looks so hot in.”

“We got that at Bloomie’s.” I thought of that night-we’d gone shopping for Sam and then to Pane Caldo for dinner. We sat in a cozy front-window booth and talked about wedding plans. That was when the planning was still fun.

I told Q I’d see him at the firm. I went into my home office and got on the Internet. I checked my bank accounts and other sites. No one seemed to have logged in, and there was no sign that anyone had been in my apartment since I’d changed the locks. I went to my e-mail. Nothing from Alyssa. No voice mails.

I looked up the number for the research institute where she worked and called. This time a receptionist answered. I remembered that Indianapolis was an hour ahead of Chicago. I asked for Alyssa and was connected.

As the phone rang, I planned on leaving another message but, on the third ring, it was picked up. “Alyssa Thornton.”

My body tingled with a bizarre mix of excitement and utter jealousy. “Alyssa, it’s Izzy McNeil.”

Silence.

“Sam Hollings’s fiancée,” I added.

“Right, sure.” More silence.

“So, I don’t know if you got my e-mail and messages over the weekend…”

“Yeah, I did. Just about ten minutes ago.”

“I’m looking for Sam, and-”