He’d taken her to lunch again the next Friday, but the Friday after that, he’d driven directly to the condo, with no explanation. “Whose place is this?” she’d asked, once they were inside, and he was unzipping her skirt.

“Mine,” he’d said, his mouth on hers. There were no more questions. He knew she only had an hour for lunch.

It hadn’t taken Maryn by surprise, really. She was surprised he’d waited this long. Don Shackleford was a man who was used to taking what he wanted, and she’d known, the first time she met him, that he wanted her.

If she were honest with herself, Maryn would admit she’d been attracted to Don because of his single-minded pursuit of her. It was absurdly flattering to be so desired, so adored. Nobody had ever wanted to take care of her the way Don did. It didn’t occur to her until many months later that he didn’t want to just take care of her. He wanted to possess her.

Two months after their first date, she was living in Don’s condo. Adam, not surprisingly, made it clear that he didn’t approve of Don.

“He’s using you,” Adam would say when she’d come back after lunch, her hair still damp from her hurried shower.

“How do you know I’m not using him right back?” Maryn had asked. She didn’t care who knew she was sleeping with Don. She was doing her job, wasn’t she? So it was nobody’s business.

Adam was Maryn’s age. He’d gone to work at R.G. Prescott Insurers two years earlier, right out of the local community college. There were five other women in their office, but with the exception of that bitch Tara Powers, they were older, married, and clearly none of them, especially Tara, liked or approved of Maryn—or Adam, for that matter.

So it was Adam and Maryn, just hanging out as friends, although Adam clearly wanted more from her than that. She always insisted on paying her own way when she was with Adam. She saw lots of guys, but there was nobody special. Not until Don came along.

“He’s way too old for you,” Adam said. “I mean, come on, Maryn, what is he, forty?”

“He’s forty-two,” Maryn said. “Anyway, my mother always said I’m an old soul. I’ve always dated older guys. You’re just jealous of Don, that’s all.”

“You’re only sleeping with him because he’s rich,” Adam said accusingly.

“And he’s amazing in bed,” Maryn said, taunting him. When Adam’s face flushed, she regretted what she’d said, knowing she’d hurt his feelings.

“I don’t like him,” Adam had said finally.

And Don didn’t like Adam, either. He made that very clear when Maryn had suggested, once or twice, that Adam join them for drinks after work. “That loser?” he’d sneered. Eventually, she’d quit asking.

She got a twinge in her stomach thinking of Adam. She needed to talk to him so badly.

19

Raindrops tapped at the tin roof of the old house, and the thin cotton curtains billowed at the windows of Ellis’s bedroom. She stretched and yawned and sank blissfully back into the pillows. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so soundly. The breeze and the rain had a narcotic effect, she decided.

But then she thought again about last night. The kiss. Her lips curved dreamily at the memory of it. When had she last been kissed like that? Wait. Had she ever been kissed the way Ty Bazemore kissed her on the beach the night before?

Definitely not.

She wondered what it could mean. Ty had chosen her. From his vantage point on that deck, he surveyed a vast buffet of beautiful women sunning themselves on the beach below. And he had the kind of looks that could make even a sane woman yowl at the moon. Julia and Dorie for sure had proclaimed him their instant summer crushes. He could probably have any woman he liked. But he liked her. He’d told her so himself, last night.

So what? the practical Ellis taunted. She’d been standing right there in the moonlight, only half dressed in those skimpy pjs. Easy pickings. And it didn’t mean a thing. Not to him anyway.

She sat up and swung her legs out of bed. The rain sluiced down the windows, and now it was pooling on the scarred wooden floor. She went to the window and looked out at the sky. Heavy gray clouds covered the horizon. There would be no beach today. And no chance encounter with Ty Bazemore either. Reluctantly, she closed the window and headed for the shower.

*   *   *

Maryn slept badly. Unable to shake the sense of dread settling into her psyche, she’d tossed and turned the rest of the night, and not even the gentle rain beating on the roof just above her head could lull her back to sleep.

Finally, at six, she got up and fetched a paperback romance novel she’d bought on one of her bike rides around the island. But the plot—all dizzy, frothy nonsense about true love and undying devotion—bored her to tears.

Her thoughts kept turning to that terrifying scene back home, of Don, white-faced with fury, gripping her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh, his eyes burning into hers.

After the meeting with Adam, Maryn had to know the truth. Was she married to a thief? Where did all Don’s wealth come from? She’d waited until the end of the week, a morning when she knew he had a standing golf date with a client who always wanted to play thirty-six holes. Taking his spare office keys from a tray he kept on his dresser, she drove to his office in a bland strip mall and let herself in.

It took most of the day, fumbling around in his computer files, before she’d finally blundered into a file with rows and rows of damning figures. She wasn’t a CPA, but she’d taken enough accounting classes to get their meaning. As she read, she grew nauseous.

Everything Adam had said was true. Don had helped himself to, from what she could tell, at least two million dollars, writing checks to bogus companies controlled by him on five different Prescott accounts. Sick with fear, she’d locked up the office and left, so upset she never noticed Don’s Escalade trailing her all the way home.

He’d stormed into the house moments later.

“What the hell are you up to?” he’d demanded, grabbing her by the shoulders and slamming her against the wall. “I saw you pulling out of the parking lot at my office.”

“Nnnnothing,” she stammered. “I went shopping and thought I’d stop by to see if you were back from golf.”

“I saw you coming out of the office,” he said quietly. “Watched you lock up and leave. What were you doing in my office, Maryn?”

She’d never seen him so angry before. Should she tell him what she knew? Confront him with the truth?

“Tell me,” he said, grabbing her by the forearm, squeezing until she thought she could feel her bones crumble to dust.

“Don, for God’s sake, stop. You’re hurting me.” For a moment, she wasn’t even sure he knew what he was doing. But he knew. He always knew exactly what he was doing.

“I asked you a question, Maryn.” He tightened his grip, and she thought she would pass out from the pain.

“I know,” she said, nearly screaming. “I know you’ve been stealing from Prescott. Adam knows too. He told me.”

Don let go of her arm, and she slumped to the floor, crying softly.

“Adam knows what?” he said, looking down at her. He prodded her with the toe of his golf shoe. “I asked you a question, Maryn.”

“He knows there’s something funny about the way you’ve handled Prescott’s finances. The company has hired outside auditors! They know you’ve been stealing from them.”

“Adam doesn’t know dick,” Don said calmly. “The auditors don’t know dick.” He jerked her up by the arm to a standing position. “And you don’t know anything either. Do you hear me?”

“Don,” Maryn said, her eyes riveted to his. Maybe there was a mistake. Maybe she’d misunderstood. “I saw the files in your office. It doesn’t look right.”

“Shut up,” Don said. “And listen carefully. You didn’t see anything in my files. You don’t know anything.”