Half a dozen patrons are already stretched out in the sunshine that has just cleared the cliffs above. At the far end of the terrace, off by itself, one of the orange lounge chairs faces the open sea to the north. All that is visible is the back of a woman’s head and one long bronze arm as it replaces a glass of ice and lime onto a small cocktail table. I step into the sunlight, weave through the chairs, and step out into the open space. The two men from the bar are suddenly by my side.

One touches my sleeve. In heavily accented English, he says, “I’m sorry. You cannot go there. This is private.”

“I know her,” I say, removing his hand.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he says. “No one can disturb her.”

“How long has she been here like this?” I ask. “With no one talking to her?”

The man scowls at me and says, “Three weeks. Maybe four. Please.”

“No,” I say, starting her way and shrugging them aside. “She’ll want to see me.”

“Sir,” he says, raising his voice.

I keep going. Helena is stretched out in a white two-piece bathing suit. She must have her eyes closed behind the sunglasses because she doesn’t get up when I block out the light.

“Please go away,” she says. “Nothing personal, but as soon as I sign one thing, I’ll get hounded for the rest of the day.”

Her voice is tired and irritated.

“What if I don’t ask you to sign anything?” I ask, and her body stiffens.

She takes off her sunglasses and blinks up at me.

“Why are you here?” she asks, scowling.

“Because you are,” I say, “and I’m finished with everything that had to be done.”

“With her?”

I nod, but say, “Yes and no. She’s the mother of my son. Part of me cares about her.”

“And the other part?” she asks, her lip trembling.

I kneel down beside her chair.

“Everything else,” I say, “is for you. If you’ll take it.”

She presses her lips tight and says, “You’ll never leave?”

“You saved my life,” I say. “The new one.”

“Meaning?”

“I owe you a life,” I say. “I want to pay it back to you. Ten times. A hundred if I can.”

“Show me,” she says.

“I will.”

She reaches up and touches my face, guiding me to her until our lips touch… From the corner of my eye I see the waiters gawking, wishing they were me, and then I shut my eyes.

As with every book I have written, there are people throughout the process who are invaluable. Each contribution, whether great or small, helps make the whole and for that I thank you all: Esther Newberg, my agent and friend, whose honesty exceeds all things. Ace Atkins, a brilliant writer and my good friend. Jamie Raab, my publisher, who spent her valuable time, creativity, and mental energy to make this book shine. The other people at Warner Books who have made me a part of their family, starting with our fearless leader, Larry Kirshbaum, and my editor, Rick Wolff, along with Maureen Egen, Chris Barba, Ivan Held, Tina Andreadis, Dan Ambrosio, Paul Kirschner, Jason Pinter, Jim Spivey and designer Ralph Fowler, and the special editorial assistance I received from Frances Jalet-Miller, Mari Okuda, and Roland Ottewell.

My parents, Dick and Judy Green, who not only taught me a love for books but for their inexhaustible reading of my manuscripts to give them their final polish.

Besides being the best lacrosse coach in the country, Ron Doctor was my expert on Native American lore, and I thank him for his many hours talking patiently to me. Dick Madigan was my expert on my characters’ financial maneuvering.

Probably the most fascinating aspect of writing this book was spending time in and around Auburn Prison, and I could never have done that without the generous time of Captain John “Hoddie” Rourke and his wife Debbie, Lieutenant Mike Vazquez, and my expert up on the wall who took my calls day and night, Officer Clarence Van Ostrand.