hine at the end of the hall. A sudden craving for something sweet,

to the machine, her phone began to v

ew York landline. He was getting creative. It

e dripping with acid before the

ne more time, I'm getting a restraining order. Go t

of the line. It stretched for five long secon

us and utterly bewildered, cut

ace. She would know that voice anywhere. It

he stammered, mortified. "I am so, so sorry. I thought

me sharp, analytical. She had smelled trouble. "A

hedged, trying to regain her compo

oice leaving no room for argument. "Pack a

mother needs me. The wee

iver is already on his way to you. He will be outside the

ne wen

herine. She went back to her mother's room, gave a vague excuse about a family emergen

etly at the curb. A driver in a crisp unif

ng estates of Long Island's elite. The car turned onto a long, private drive, winding through acres of meticulou

, her gaze sweeping over the familiar facade. But she was not the same woman who had last walked through those d

stood with a glass of bourbon, watching the car a

ed. She was in a simple trench coat and jeans, her hair pulled back in a loose, unstudied knot. There was a new se

ightened arou

s the distance. There was no pain in them, no love, no pleading.

ning her back on him and walking

ack the rest of his bourbon, the liquor burning a path down his th