“I know that I can’t trust anything you’ve said or will say. I might have a panic disorder, but I’ve been well trained about con men. I’ve got that fifty million. And my father, he’s got so much more.”

Her color was back and her cheeks looked flushed. She wasn’t gasping for breath any longer. Her panic had diminished as her anger had grown, which was good. She needed to be angry.

“I imagine you’ve seen your share of gigolos.”

“Some of the best. That’s why-”

“Why what?”

“I can’t have this conversation.” She stood up and took a deep breath. “I can’t be in this room with you.”

He was the breathless one now. Why had he thought the truth would be enough? It rarely was, and if he were Tate, he wouldn’t have bought it, either. He just hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted a miracle. “I understand.” He looked up at her. “Unfortunately there’s nowhere for me to go.”

She looked behind her, at the door. “You can go be with your brother.”

“Uh, no. Martini already let me know that if I didn’t get you to sign the papers, he’d kill Charlie first.”

“Why should I care?”

“Because he said he’d kill you second.”

SARA WAS GOING TO lose it. They’d heard nothing, absolutely nothing, and William had delivered the ransom hours and hours ago.

She’d paced all six thousand square feet of Tate’s place. She’d tried to comfort William, but he was inconsolable. Believed his daughter was dead. Believed Michael had been behind the kidnapping. There were security people all over the place, all his phones had been forwarded to Tate’s main line. And they’d heard nothing, not a word.

What concerned her most was William having a heart attack. She’d called his personal physician to be here until this was resolved, and the doctor should be arriving any minute. She went to the fridge again and took out a head of lettuce. It wasn’t her usual kind of snack, but it was here and she had to stuff something in her mouth. She broke the lettuce up into chunks and put it in a colander to drain.

“Is there something I can make you?”

Sara jumped at Pilar’s voice. “No, thank you. If I have a bite of something decent, I’ll never stop. I’m going to chew lettuce.”

“I can fix a quick vinaigrette-”

“Thanks, Pilar, but I wasn’t kidding. I will never stop.”

“I understand. Food is oddly comforting.”

“Maybe you can fix something for Mr. Baxter.”

“He’s refused me several times.”

“You know, I think if you put a platter near him with bite-size treats, he’ll end up taking one, and that will lead to more.”

Pilar nodded. “I’ll do that. I’ve got twenty minutes until I have to take the casserole out for the staff.”

Sara sighed as she took the lettuce from under the running water. She let it drip, thinking about how incredible Pilar’s casseroles were, and put a chunk of the not-quite salad into her mouth. It tasted about as good as she’d expected.

“Michael didn’t do this,” Pilar said.

“I know.”

“Mr. Baxter doesn’t.”

“He needs someone to blame. This family has a history with kidnappings.”

Pilar went to the fridge and pulled out an array of goodies. She set up on one of the huge counters and started to prepare delectable treats without a glance at a cookbook. Huge fresh figs were sliced down the middle, then stuffed with a wedge of Gorgonzola cheese. Just looking at them made Sara feel way too sorry for herself.

It was the doorbell that saved her, and she hurried out, all thoughts of figs buried beneath her prayers. Unfortunately it was the doctor, not Tate.

The doctor. She made sure he sat with William, and despite the older man’s objections, he started an immediate checkup. “William, I’ll be back,” she said.

“Where are you going?”

“To pay someone a visit.”

He looked at her, concerned.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. It won’t take me long. I’ll be back before you can blink.”

“Please.”

She strode toward the elevator, knowing this had to be done and knowing she was the right person to do it.

MICHAEL WAS RIGHT-there was nowhere for him to go. But she needed some time to think without looking at him. The only place was the head. She’d been so positive in there, what, fifteen minutes ago? Maybe she could find something to hang on to in there.

Without a word, she went back to the head and closed the door. It looked smaller, uglier. It didn’t matter because Michael wasn’t here.

Michael wasn’t there, either. Not the Michael she thought she knew. What was she supposed to believe? Everything had come together so easily. They had to have been aware of Elizabeth or they wouldn’t have put her out of commission so easily. They’d known exactly where she’d be. How, if Michael hadn’t told them?

She sat down on the toilet and willed herself-uselessly, it turned out-not to cry. The tears were heavy and hot, and her chest hurt as if she’d been kicked by a mule.

He’d set her up. There was no other conclusion she could come to, right? He’d been dismissed from the one job he’d loved and been forced to become a babysitter. It had to be humiliating. It only made sense to want revenge, and since he couldn’t get back at the Army, he could get even with her. The stupid rich chick who was a perfect mark. She was already crazy, it wouldn’t take much to immobilize her. Persuade her that he was on her side. That he would be her salvation. Of course she’d sign over her money if it meant saving her life, but it didn’t, did it? She would never be released. He would sneak about the boat, but he wouldn’t be successful because that wasn’t the plan. All he had to do was have her believe in him. Have her need him again.

The real tragedy? She wanted to. Desperately.

Last night had been incredible. Not just the sex but the fact that she hadn’t spent every single second trapped in a panic attack. She’d slept. She hadn’t had a nightmare.

It was better than anything she’d ever anticipated, better than she’d been even in imaginary scenarios.

More than that, Michael had been the safest of her safe places. She remembered the feelings that had coursed through her body as she’d pictured him in her mind. He’d been right there with her, but she’d never seen him more clearly than with her eyes closed.

Her heart was beating hard even now, just thinking about it. She’d liked him so much. Those talks in the car-those couldn’t have been faked. Wasn’t possible. He’d never known what they were going to talk about. He didn’t know what books she’d read, what movies she’d seen. So his reactions had been real. Honest.

God, what if he was telling her the truth?

She unrolled some tissue and blew her nose, then got some more and wiped her eyes. She wished she could talk to Sara. Sara would know. Sara would tell her the truth and she’d completely look out for her. Unlike Dr. Bay.

SARA FELT AMAZINGLY calm as she read the new issue of Vanity Fair. She’d never get tired of seeing George Clooney as the cover subject. Not ever. She’d seen him in person three times, and he was the single dreamiest man on earth. And, yes, she’d seen Mr. Pitt in person, too. Of course, if forced, she’d also go out with Brad, but her first choice would be George.

The door opened and Sara stood up. She’d had to wait longer than she’d hoped, but it was worth it. Or it would be in another minute.

She approached a well dressed woman. Very well-dressed. Her short, dark bob was perfect and so was her makeup. She lived the life, here on Park Avenue. “Dr. Bay? I’m Tate’s friend, Sara.”

She nodded. “Has there been any word?”

“No. None.”

“Oh, my God.”

“I do have one thing to tell you.”

“If I can be of any help, of course I will.”

“I think you’ve been about as helpful as you’re going to get.”