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was a throw over the couch, and a wooden apple crate beside it filled with magazines. There was a hardcover book, turned over, open, making it look as if someone had sat here reading and they had just gotten up for a second. The fireplace, that had never been used, was laid for a fire as if it was just waiting for a match.

      The kitchen had a platter of cookies on the island and a basket of the small green apples that grew wild on the road down to the house. He knew them to be inedible, but they were a delight to the eye and created that illusion of homeyness. On the counter, there was a cookbook open on a reading rack, and a bottle of wine with two glasses.

      She had disobeyed him and gone into his bedroom. There were candles on the bedside tables, and the scent of freshly laundered sheets filled his nostrils. And right underneath that scent was one that reminded him of her. She didn’t know that he had saved Hailey’s pillow, and he went to it and pressed it to his face.

      Hailey’s scent was gone from it. And after what he had revealed last night, that seemed fitting.

      There was not a nook or corner of his house that had not been cleaned to sparkling. The little details were everywhere, but she was not.

      Angie was gone.

      And he did not blame her for going. She had fulfilled the letter of her agreement with him. She had refused his further protection, which given his failure to Hailey, was understandable.

      Jefferson fought down the feeling of panic rising in him. There was a nut job out there who wanted Angie and who was most likely responsible for the disappearance of another woman.

      He scoured his house for a note from her that would leave him a clue to where she was, but he found nothing.

      Even though he had brought this on himself, he felt furious with Angie for the impotence he felt. He had known last night’s revelations would force her to leave if she was smart, which he knew she was.

      But, somehow, he had thought he would engineer the exit plan, so that he could know she was safe. How dare she wake him up—to the point he could feel again—and then leave him with this sense of abject helplessness? Leave him to face his demons: he had failed to protect Hailey, and now he could not protect Angie either.

      No doubt, she would go into deeper hiding than ever. She was clever. If she didn’t want to be found, he was pretty sure Winston would not find her.

      But he wouldn’t, either. For his own sanity, he had to know she was all right. How was he going to do that? He was a man with resources. And plenty of them.

      Within an hour, he had the most elite private detective agency in the world looking for Angie. Vibrating with tension, needing something to occupy him, he turned his attention to the final stages of getting the house ready for the magazine.

       CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      ANGIE SAT AT the window of the coffee shop, sipping a cup of tea, waiting. She should have felt nervous. But she didn’t. She felt strangely and wonderfully elated.

      She had experienced an epiphany that night of A Black Tie Affair, coming home on the boat with Jefferson. He had told her everything about himself, exposed what he perceived as his weaknesses to her. She knew he had been trying to chase her away.

      What he had done was the exact opposite. Angie realized she had pursued love for all the wrong reasons for her whole life. She had wanted to feel safe and secure. It had always been all about her.

      But what she felt for Jefferson—what had grown over their two weeks together and culminated on his boat that final night—was so much bigger than that.

      It made her realize who she had to be to love that man. And that realization made her feel bold and fully alive for the first time in her life. The realization that she loved the man beyond reason required her to fearlessly embrace the unknown, not retreat into safety. It required her to be whole and strong, not to go to Jefferson weak and afraid and filled with neediness.

      A voice crackled in her ear. It startled her, but she resisted the urge to reach up to her ear and adjust the tiny bud that had been planted there.

      “We have the subject parking his car. He’s out. He’s coming to the door.”

      “Okay,” she whispered.

      Hidden in a brooch she had attached to the lapel of the suit jacket she was wearing was a microphone. She was “wired” just like in the movies.

      Angie watched as the door to the restaurant slid open. She felt her heart begin to beat hard. Up until this point, they had not even been sure the message she had left on Winston’s Facebook page had reached him or if he would respond to it if it had.

      Winston stood there, scanning the room. Angie’s sense of confidence evaporated. He was innocent enough looking: an ordinary bespectacled man in a sports jacket and jeans. The bow tie, and blue-checkered shirt, added to the air of benign befuddlement, as if he was a professor trying to figure out which class he was supposed to be in.

      But underneath that, when he narrowed his eyes and caught sight of her, Angie saw the truth of him. His gaze was that of a predator who had spotted prey. There was the glint of pure malice before it was masked with a smile. She fought a desire to shudder and, more, to get up and bolt.

      She took a deep breath. She reminded herself she was in a crowded room. She reminded herself that the police were right outside, and that they would listen to every word. She reminded herself that this wasn’t just about her. Or even about Jefferson. It was about putting away a dangerous man; it was about protecting another unsuspecting woman, or maybe even more than one.

      She had, with police help, rehearsed a script. She needed to put Winston at ease enough to talk about the woman who was missing.

      Winston sat down across from her. A little smile flickered across his face as he looked at her. What was it? Suspicion? Hope? Slyness?

      “Hello, Angie,” he said.

      She took another deep, steadying breath. She reminded herself of the fearless woman she had been on the deck of that pitching boat. Her lips stretched into what she hoped was a smile of amiable greeting.

      “Hello, Winston.”

      It was a game of cat and mouse, luring him into her confidence. After a few pleasantries, she began to talk about Harry and his new girlfriend. She claimed she had gone away because she needed to think, to recover from Harry’s betrayal. She had to manufacture indignation, because these days, she saw Harry as a necessary step to being put on the most important road of all. The road to herself.

      Once she had talked about Harry, it was an easy enough thing to turn the talk to Winston’s ex, to follow a carefully crafted script that led him deeper and deeper down a road he could not retreat from.

      As his barriers dropped, Angie had the chilling feeling Winston wanted her to know what had happened to his ex. That he was pleased with himself. That he wanted her to know what he was capable of, so that he could use it to control her.

      He told her everything. He trusted her. He incriminated himself. He, no doubt, thought that even if she wasn’t so frightened she would never speak of this again, no one would ever believe her if she repeated this chilling tale.

      “Good job. We’ve got him,” the voice said in her ear. “Tell him you have to leave now.”

      She looked at her watch. “Oh! Look at the time. I have to go, Winston. It’s been nice catching up.”

      He looked stunned at this easy dismissal. And then he looked angry. He was seething as he followed her to the cashier.

      “I’ll get it,” he snapped, when she reached for her purse.

      But the thought of his money paying for one thing she had ingested nauseated her. She shook her head. She was pretty sure he noticed her hand trembling as she passed the bills to the cashier.

      “When

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