“I hear,” she mumbled.

“Understand me, Maryn,” Don said, a strange light coming into his pale-blue eyes. “If you say anything to anybody, I will bury you. Someplace where you’ll never be found. Nobody will even know you’re missing until it’s too late. Not Adam, not your mother, nobody will know what happened, where Maryn has gone.” He’d smiled at the thought of that. A moment later, he’d released her, but not before bending his head to her forearm and tenderly kissing the angry red welts he’d left there.

He glanced at his watch. “I’m meeting Robby and a couple of the guys at the club for drinks, and I’m already late. The other wives are meeting us for drinks and an early dinner, and Robby made a point of letting me know he expects you to join us.”

Maryn had stared at him wordlessly. Five minutes ago, he’d threatened to kill her. Now he was casually inviting her to dinner—with his client, who was also her former boss at R.G. Prescott Insurers, Robby Prescott, from whom, she was certain, he’d embezzled a couple of million dollars.

“I … I’ll try,” she’d stammered. “My mother called, and she’s been begging me to come for a visit.…”

“No,” Don said, shaking his head curtly. “Tell your mother you’re busy. If Robby wants you to have dinner with us, that’s what you’re going to do. And you’ll be just as relaxed and charming as you always used to be. Understood?”

“Well…” Maryn started, her mouth dry.

“Then I’ll see you at six,” Don said, heading for the front door, content that he’d given her the day’s marching orders. His golf cleats clicked across the marble foyer. “And for Chrissake,” he added, his look taking in her disheveled hair and tearstained face, “get yourself put together before you show up at the club tonight.” He’d reached in his pocket, pulled out his money clip, and flung a wad of fifties at her.

After Don was gone, Biggie stood by the bedroom door, his liquid brown eyes bewildered. He knew a suitcase meant a trip, and every other time, if they went to the Jersey shore, or just away for the weekend, Biggie went too. Maryn knelt down beside him and cradled his graying muzzle in her hands. “Not this time, buddy,” she said, stroking his soft fur.

There was no time for more. She’d been dressed for shopping, her cover story in case Don got home early, in a cream sleeveless silk-wrap blouse, black slacks, her favorite black patent leather slingbacks. She changed into a top that would hide the angry red welts on her arm and she threw clothes into a duffle bag she found on the closet floor, not wanting to take the time to drag her big suitcase out of the guest-room closet. She tossed in some toiletries, her makeup bag, a jumble of shoes, unsure of what she’d need or want since she had no destination in mind. Just away. Far away. She grabbed the cash hidden in her boots and her Rolex Oyster watch and threw them into her cream Prada bag. At the last minute, she remembered her laptop. She slung the strap of the black-leather carrying case over her shoulder and ran for the front door.

And there was Biggie, sitting by the door, ears pricked up, the red-leather leash in his mouth. “Oh, Big,” she’d said, mourning the dog already. She stepped outside and closed the door quickly, but she could hear him scratching at it.

Maryn ran to the Volvo SUV and threw the duffle bag and laptop case on the passenger seat. She drove without purpose, intending only to put miles between her and the stranger she’d married.

And now, nearly a week had passed. This house was quiet. Too quiet. She had to know what was going on at home. Had the auditors discovered the extent of Don’s embezzlement? And what about Don? He’d been leaving messages on her phone. She’d been too terrified to listen to any of them, deleting them as soon as they arrived.

She had to know something. She picked up her cell phone, intending to call Adam, or at least see if she had any other missed calls. Damn. The phone was dead. In her haste to flee the town house, she’d left the wall charger behind, and she’d been keeping the phone charged with her car charger. Which was, of course, out in the car. In the garage.

But there was still the laptop. She hadn’t even bothered to look at it since she’d moved into Ebbtide, unsure of whether or not the house had wireless Internet.

Only one way to find out. She picked up the black-leather case and lifted it onto the bed. For the first time, she was struck by how heavy it was. Don was a nut for new gizmos, and he’d bought both of them the latest ultra-slim MacBooks back in the springtime. She mostly used hers to play online games or to shop. Frowning, she unzipped the case and reached in to grab the computer. Instead, her hand closed over a thick rubber-band-bound bundle of paper.

Not just paper, though. Currency. She was holding an inch-thick stack of bills. With trembling hands, she rifled the stack. All hundred-dollar bills. Now she picked up the case and dumped the contents out onto the bed. The MacBook slid out, and so did nine more identical bundles of bills.

Maryn stared down at the money and the MacBook. Her laptop was hot pink. This one was white. In her frenzy, she’d grabbed Don’s briefcase. And his computer. And his money.

So much money. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands, probably. Her hands shook as she picked up one of the bundles of bills. Where had this much money come from? Too much for Vegas winnings. What was Don doing with all this cash? And what would he do when he discovered it—and Maryn—were missing?

Suddenly, there was a soft tap at the bedroom door. Maryn’s heart felt as though it would leap right out of her chest.

“Madison?” It was Dorie, the strawberry blonde who’d befriended her in the luncheonette.

“Yes?” she managed to croak.

“I hate to bother you, but since it’s Sunday, and it’s raining cats and dogs out, we decided to fix a big ol’ brunch. Julia’s making waffles and bacon, and I’ve got fruit salad, and we’re having mimosas. Why don’t you join us, Madison? We’ve hardly gotten to see you at all since you moved in.”

The smell of bacon and coffee wafted all the way up to the third floor. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. Maryn looked down at the pile of money on the bed, and then back at the door. All week, she’d managed to avoid the women except for a couple of brief, awkward encounters while she was coming and going from the house on her bike. Now, it was raining out, so she couldn’t very well take off on her bike. Her stomach growled again. She’d been a hermit long enough. Maybe one meal wouldn’t hurt. Hurriedly, she began scooping the money back into the briefcase. She would figure out what to do about it later.

“Brunch sounds nice,” she called finally. “Just let me get myself presentable, and I’ll be right down.”

*   *   *

“She’s coming down,” Dorie reported to the others. “See, I told you we should ask her.”

“Oh goodie,” Julia said sarcastically, bowing and grandly waving her spatula like a scepter. “We finally get a real audience with the queen.” She dipped a quick curtsy. “Hello, your majesty.”

“Shh, she’ll hear you,” Dorie said. “You wait. She’s not stuck-up. She’s just … an introvert, I think.”

Julia drummed her fingertips on the wooden tabletop. “I don’t buy that bit about her being in ‘transition’ after a breakup with some man. What’s she really doing here? Money obviously isn’t a problem, so why hang out in a dinky little beach town like this? Why isn’t she someplace glamorous? Why doesn’t she have any friends or family? She keeps her bedroom door locked every second she’s gone. I know, because I’ve checked. And she hasn’t moved that car of hers since she parked it in the garage. I’m telling you, she’s hiding from somebody or something, and I intend to figure it out.”

“She’s a mystery, all right,” Ellis agreed. She popped the cork on the bottle of champagne and started filling the plastic flutes they’d picked up at the dollar store earlier in the week. Dorie put her hand across the top of her own flute. “No champagne for me, remember?”