He hadn't left her customary cup of coffee. Just his

lay on the bedroom floor, a ga

e picked up the ruined silk-limp, lifeless-and d

alling him.

ere you so angry last

eckmarks ap

rep

rate. Calculated. Designed to ma

buzzed. Her heart lur

was

nknown

was more chillin

compete with a dead woman. Check the attic on the to

oman. Th

it her i

lway led to a steep set of stairs. When she'd asked about it once, Hartwell had bee

she hadn't

to his exacting standards, have a space full of someone else's junk? And why secure it with

burning obsession. It co

rch in his study-his desk, the bookshelves,

th

cept a single drawer in his antique maho

nniversary. Access Denied. His birthday. A

g. The keyhole looked like a dark, accusing eye. She tried a bobby pin, the

ool wood. A faint smell seeped through the crac

pen

tartling her. Claire,

g. She's here, at the clinic. Sh

, forcing the locked door fr

er with divorce papers this morning. Th

ressed her fingers to her temples. She had to compartmentalize. This

"Get Mrs. Sterling a glass of water. Tell her not to cry. Tell her not to

, she's hysterical.

ips. "Tell her to trust me. I'm going to

her chest. She could orchestrate the salvation of another woman's marriage, manipulate emotions an

she

. She began to change into her armor: tailored suit, understa

her clients'

come back and

e would burn the