It was nice to be Laney Thayer again too. Being other people had been both a comfort and a strain. Every moment spent as Belinda Nichols or Barb Schroeder or Niki Boivin was time that she didn’t need to face the loss of her life, didn’t need to worry about her beautiful husband. But it had also worn heavy; something of each of those roles came into her, made murky the facts of her personality.

Now that was over. She and Daniel were back together. That part of this ordeal was done with. Now they just had to deal with Bennett. And with Daniel’s amnesia.

She imagined him on that beach, lost in every way. What a terrible, lonely experience. To remember everything you needed to live, and yet nothing of your life. To wake in pain and fear, like a wounded animal.

Yet in a strange way, how freeing it was. Daniel could choose to be anyone he wanted. He was unconstrained by the facts of his past, by ugly truths or terrible mistakes. Maybe that would all come back to him, eventually; but maybe not. Maybe all he would remember was the things he wanted to. Memories excavated like dinosaur bones. Unearthed gently, cleaned and polished until they shone. And the ugly ones, the things better forgotten, those could stay buried forever. She could help him, guide him toward some and away from others.

It could be a blessing.

Laney peeled the paper off a bar of moisturizing soap. A week sleeping in a van and washing in the bathrooms of gas stations had left her funky, and sex had added the fecund smells of sweat and spit and semen. She had that good ache, the sweet one that she knew she’d get twinges of when she walked, and those twinges would remind her of them in the bed. After they’d talked they’d made love a second time, slower, gentler, and during the whole of it she had forgotten all of their problems, all of the things that pursued them, and gotten happily lost in the moment. That was the best part about sex, really; not the orgasm, but the forgetting that led up to it.

The water had cooled, and she drained off a couple of inches, spun the tap to hot, refilled it. She stretched out one leg, scrubbed slowly and thoroughly, wishing she had a loofah or some exfoliant, then laughing at herself. Low maintenance, much?

Her best friend spoke from her purse.

Laney started at the sound, the motion sending a tsunami across the bathwater. She could see a faint tracing of green light at the lip of her purse, and then heard Robert’s voice again, muffled but clear. “Ring, sweetie.” A year ago, waiting for the grips to finish lighting a scene, he’d started playing with her cell phone. He’d been delighted to discover how to record a ring tone, and ever since then, every time someone called, Robert’s voice echoed from her purse or her pocket, saying, “Ring, sweetie.”

All of which was fine, except that she liked her privacy, a lot, and so besides Daniel, the only people who had the number to her cell phone were her agent, her director, her dad, her brother, and a handful of trusted friends like Robert. All of whom thought she was dead. So who would be—

There’s another name on that list.

Laney’s body slid on the marble as she grabbed at the edge of the tub and hauled herself out. Water ran off in sheets, soaking the thick white bath mat. She dried her hands quickly—“Ring, sweetie”— and fumbled through her bag, pushing aside the pistol, the keys to the van, the remaining bundles of cash. Glancing over her shoulder to be sure the door was closed, she pressed the talk button.

“Guess who?”

No, no, no, no no no . . .

“Funny thing, if I knew you were alive, I’d’ve called earlier. Could have saved some time.”

“Whatdoyou—” She made herself slow down. Looked at the door to the bedroom, lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “What do you want?”

“Here’s a fun fact. If you don’t want to be found, you should be sure to take the battery out of your cell phone. Even switched off, it’s basically like carrying a tracking device. Someone can triangulate on that signal, find you easy as pie.”

Her chest rose up her throat and cut off the air. The gun. She opened the purse, slid her hand inside, distaste for the weapon outvoted by panic. If he could triangulate on her, he could be, where? The lobby? Could he be as accurate as the hallway—

Over the phone, Bennett broke into laughter. “Ahh, I’m just playing. I don’t know how to do any of that stuff.”

Laney didn’t let go of the gun. “What do you want?”

“I know I’m supposed to insert a little witticism here, like, ‘world peace,’ or ‘a glass of hot fat and the head of Alfredo Garcia,’ but instead, how about we just go with the classic ‘what you owe me.’ ”

Laney was about to retort when she heard footsteps approaching the bathroom door. Her heart went crazy. She dropped the cell phone on the counter, jerked the pistol up as the door swung open, her hands shaking, the door seeming to take forever—

“Whoa!” Daniel staggered back, raised both his hands.

She realized she was holding her breath, let it out in a rush. “Jesus.” She lowered the gun quickly.

“What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m, umm.” She glanced away, and her eyes fell on the cell phone. In her haste, she hadn’t hung up. Shit. No way to reach it without making it obvious. She looked away, set the pistol on the counter. Praying Bennett wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t draw Daniel’s attention to the phone. “I’m just jumpy.”

Daniel gave that single laugh sound he made, touched his fingertips to his temples. “Well, that woke me up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just, you know, don’t shoot me.”

She worked practiced muscles to conjure a smile. The mirror bounced it back to her. It looked natural enough. “No promises.”

He laughed. “I was going to call room service. You want anything?”

“A salad? Whatever looks good.”

“You got it.” He started to close the door. “Be careful, okay, Hopalong?”

“I will.” The moment the door was closed, she stepped over to it and eased the lock button in. Then she picked up the cell phone.

“You know,” Bennett said, “secrets are the death of trust.”

“What do you know about trust?”

“Elaine, that’s a topic I know thoroughly. That and love. The poets don’t have a thing on me when it comes to love and trust. Neither do the divorce lawyers. Without love and trust, I’d be out of work. So tell me, why don’t you want your loving, trusting husband to know you’re on the line with me?”

She couldn’t think of an answer, kept her mouth shut.

“Let’s try another. What’s up with Daniel? He seemed a little off at the Market. Of course, until then he didn’t know what I really look like, did he?”