“And kids,” Maryn said dreamily. “I know you’ve done that already, but I want kids of our own, Don. I’m thirty-two. My clock is ticking.”

“Whatever,” he’d said, brushing aside any specifics.

She tapped away now at the laptop keyboard, trying different passwords. His company name, his kids’ names—Ash and Cash, he called them—the nickname his golfing buddies used for him, Shack. None of them worked.

Madison fetched her duffle bag from the armoire. She stacked the money in the bottom of it, and put a dirty T-shirt on top before placing the duffle under her bed. Her thoughts drifted back to Adam. She had to talk to him, let him know where she’d gone.

Rain pelted her as she stepped out onto the rusted iron spiral staircase. She locked the door behind her and, clutching the rail with both hands, picked her way down the steps, feeling the staircase sway with every step. When she got to the bottom, she ran to the garage and unlocked the car. She turned the key in the ignition, plugged in her phone, and sat waiting as the battery recharged.

When the phone’s display window lit up, she saw that she had eleven missed calls. All from Don. He’d left voice-mail messages too. Now she forced herself to listen.

Don’s voice was low. “Maryn. Where the hell are you? We need to talk. Look, I admit I lost my temper. But you know I never intended to hurt you. I love you, baby. Call me, okay? And let me know you’re all right. You’re starting to worry me.”

She snorted. Oh yeah, he was worried all right. Maybe a little about her. What she’d seen, who she might tell. But mostly, she was sure, he was worried about that briefcase full of money. And his laptop computer and whatever secrets it might hold. She went down the phone log and tapped each of his messages, deleting without listening. She was done listening to Don Shackleford.

She called Adam’s cell phone, and it went directly to voice mail.

“Adam, it’s me,” she said breathlessly. “I’ve … I’ve left Don. I’m down south. Look, a lot has happened. You were right. About everything. I really need to talk to you, okay? Call me as soon as you get this, no matter what time it is.”

Madison considered calling her mother, but rejected the idea immediately. They hadn’t talked in months, why call her now? She didn’t think Don would have contacted her mother. He had no interest in her family, and she was fairly sure he didn’t even have her mother’s phone number.

Idly, she tapped the phone. A wallpaper screen came up, a photo she’d taken right after they’d returned from Aruba. Don, sitting on the porch of the town house, relaxed, smiling, his arm draped companionably across the shoulder of his one true friend. Biggie.

Biggie! Why hadn’t she thought of that? Maryn jumped out of the car and ran, splashing through the rain, for the house. And Don’s laptop.

21

Ellis found herself drawn to the window in her bedroom. She told herself it was the scenery, the dark blue-green waves crashing on the sand, the rain and wind blowing and bending the tufts of sea oats lining the dunes below. She pulled a wooden chair up to the window, and rested her forehead against the moisture-beaded glass. And if she leaned in just the right way, she could see the weather-beaten boards of the garage, and the apartment above, and the dull glow of one lit lamp within.

He was home. She could see his Bronco parked to the side of the driveway. What was he doing on this rainy Sunday afternoon? Probably working, planning his next trade. She decided he was definitely not doing what she was doing. No way he was reliving that moment on the beach last night. No way he was analyzing that kiss, that amazing, lingering kiss, or the feeling of dizzying heat when they’d embraced. No way Ty Bazemore was telling himself to get over himself. Which was what Ellis was doing.

She tried reading. She had a stack of book club books, the ones she’d been too busy to read over the past year, back when she had a career. They were all highly recommended books, literary masterpieces, food for the mind. Stacked on her nightstand, they gently reproved her. But right now what she craved was mind candy, the idle, delicious retelling of a love story—featuring a heroine who looked uncannily like Ellis Sullivan and a hero with sun-streaked hair who could only be Ty Bazemore.

At five o’clock, she watched as Ty came splashing down the wooden stairs from his apartment. He wore khaki cargo shorts, top-siders, and a black T-shirt with CADILLAC JACK’S in hot pink script across the back. He jumped in the Bronco and headed down the driveway. Ellis watched him go, and a plan took root.

At seven, Ellis wandered into the kitchen, where she found Julia, dressed in cut-offs and a faded black tank top, and Dorie, still dressed in cotton pajama pants and an oversized Braves T-shirt. They were studying a handful of takeout menus.

“Pizza or Chinese?” Julia asked, looking up.

“Neither,” Ellis said. “We’ve been stuck inside all day and I’ve got a bad case of cabin fever. I say we get dressed up and head out and do the town. We could do girls’ night out, like the old days.”

“What town?” Julia asked. “Are you telling me there’s a club scene in Nags Head?”

“Not really a club scene,” Ellis said hesitantly. “But I’ve heard about a place—Cadillac Jack’s. They’ve supposedly got a halfway decent menu, and a bar, and music. Sunday nights it’s supposed to be the place to see and be seen.”

Julia raised one eyebrow. “By who?”

“By whom, you mean,” Dorie said, yawning. “You guys go on without me. Since I can’t drink, I might as well stay home and eat leftovers. Anyway, I’m gonna turn in early tonight.”

“That leaves us,” Ellis told Julia. “Unless we want to include Madison?”

Dorie turned from the refrigerator with a bowl of leftover chicken salad. “She’s not here. I saw her drive off about thirty minutes ago.”

“Really?” Julia narrowed her eyes. “Wonder where she was headed?”

“Who cares?” Ellis said impatiently. “What do you say, are you in?”

“Why not?” Julia headed for the hallway. “Just give me fifteen minutes to get changed.”

Twenty minutes later, Julia sat in the living room, thumbing through a magazine. She was dressed in faded denim capris and a tight black T-shirt that barely covered her tanned midriff. She wore brown leather gladiator-style sandals, and she’d done her hair in a loose braid that hung over one shoulder. Large gold hoops gleamed from her ears.

“Ellis!” she hollered, staring up at the ceiling. “Hurry up and get down here before I change my mind and decide to stay home with Dorie.”

“Keep your shirt on,” Ellis said, carefully taking one stair at a time.

Julia swung around to see her friend.

“Hey!” she said suspiciously. “You didn’t say this place was dressy.”

“This isn’t dressy,” Ellis said, walking into the living room.

“That’s a dress you’re wearing,” Julia said, stating the obvious.

It was, in fact, a dress Ellis had never even worn before—a short, cotton Lilly Pulitzer sundress with a pattern of stylized hot-pink-and-yellow daisies. The dress’s spaghetti straps were of a contrasting lime green, and the tight-fitting bodice showed a healthy stretch of Ellis’s freckled cleavage. She wore lime green ballet skimmers, and a pair of dangly pink-pearl earrings nearly brushed her shoulder tops. Ellis had swept her hair into a French twist updo, with feathery bangs.

“No fair,” Julia said, coming closer to examine her friend. “You look like the queen of the Junior League summer country club dance!”

“And you look like a gorgeous high-fashion model who happens to be slumming it in Nags Head,” Ellis said. “I’ve gotta bring out the big guns if I’m going anywhere with you.”

Julia studied Ellis carefully. “You’re even wearing makeup.”

“First time since we got here,” Ellis agreed. “Are you going to stand there giving me the fish-eye, or can we go?”