LITMIR.BIZ

      Deception is not as creative as truth.

       We do best in life if we look at it with clear eyes, And I think that applies to coming up to death as well.

      —Cicely Saunders

      We can believe what we choose.

       We are answerable for what we choose to believe.

      —John Henry Newman

      CONTENTS

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      CHAPTER 1

      CHAPTER 2

      CHAPTER 3

      CHAPTER 4

      CHAPTER 5

      CHAPTER 6

      CHAPTER 7

      CHAPTER 8

      CHAPTER 9

      CHAPTER 10

      CHAPTER 11

      CHAPTER 12

      CHAPTER 13

      CHAPTER 14

      CHAPTER 15

      CHAPTER 16

      CHAPTER 17

      CHAPTER 18

      CHAPTER 19

      CHAPTER 20

      CHAPTER 21

      CHAPTER 22

      CHAPTER 23

      CHAPTER 24

      CHAPTER 25

      CHAPTER 26

      CHAPTER 27

      CHAPTER 28

      QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      No novelist writes alone, and I had lots of help with this book.

      First, thank you to my blog readers, who helped me fill Michelle’s purse.

      I owe a huge debt to my agent, Danielle Egan-Miller, and to Steeple Hill editors Joan Marlow Golan and Krista Stroever for their great enthusiasm for a one-paragraph synopsis.

      A deep and abiding “thank you” to the two elevator technicians I met at the Imperial Swan Hotel in Lakeland. When I asked for their names, they said I could simply thank the “two handsome gentlemen” who gave me a guided tour of the inner (and outer) workings of an elevator and let me peer into the shaft. Gentlemen, my hat’s off to you.

      Thank you to fellow novelist Randy Singer, who introduced me to Michael Garnier, who not only answered dozens of e-mailed questions, but seemed to enjoy doing so despite the story’s high estrogen level. Thanks also to Michael’s friend P.J., otherwise known as Paul G. McGrath, who answered queries from Michael, who then passed the answers along to me. Gentlemen, this book would not be complete without you.

      Hugs and muchas gracias to Vasthi Acosta and Veronica Beard, who helped me with Isabel’s Spanish. Any lingering errors are mine alone.

      SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 15

      7:00 a.m.

      CHAPTER 1

      Wrapped in the remnants of a dream, Michelle Tilson opens her eyes and smiles at the ceiling until she remembers the monster looming in the Gulf. She reaches for Parker, but the spot where he should be lying is empty and cold. She pushes herself up, the satin sheets puddling at her waist, and looks into the bathroom, which is empty.

      But a single red rose lies on Parker’s pillow.

      Of course—he’s gone to the office. He said he might not be here when she woke.

      Groaning, Michelle falls onto his pillow and breathes in the sweet scent of the flower. Typical Parker, the disappearing man. Here for a night, gone for a week. Most women would resent his inconsistency, but she’s become accustomed to his vanishing act.

      She props her pillow against the headboard and leans back, surprised she can feel so relaxed on a Saturday morning. Weekends usually depress her, but despite the hurricane warning she floats in a curious contentment, as though the previous night’s love and laughter have splashed over a levee and flooded the normally arid weekend.

      Parker is good for her. The man knows when it’s time to work and when it’s time to play, a lesson she’s been struggling to learn.

      She reaches for the remote on the nightstand and powers on the television, still tuned to the Weather Channel. A somber-faced young man appears before a map on which a swirling bull’s-eye is moving straight toward Florida’s west coast. Hurricane Felix, already a category four, has left Mexico and is churning toward Tampa Bay.

      Michelle squints as her mind stamps the map with an icon representing her condo at Century Towers. Nothing changed overnight; she’s still in the hurricane’s path.

      At least she’s well insured. Parker’s made sure of that.

      She turns down the volume on the television, then drops the remote and considers closing her heavy eyelids. She could easily sleep another hour, but Parker might call and she wants to be alert if he does. He’s already told her he plans to ride out the hurricane at his house, but who knows? This could be the weekend he’ll realize she ought to meet his children….

      She eases out from under the comforter and reaches for the computer on her nightstand. The laptop is always online, maintaining a quiet vigil as it files incoming e-mail and prowls the Web for prospective clients.

      Michelle slides her glasses on, then clicks on her e-mail program and checks the in-box: three inquiries from her Web site, www.Tilsonheadhunter.com, a note from her administrative assistant, four ads for fake Rolex watches, three for cheap (and undoubtedly illegal) pharmaceuticals.

      The spam gets deleted without a second look, but Michelle smiles as she opens the Web mail. The first inquiry is from Don Moss, a Houston CFO who has recently lost his job with an oil company. He’s looking for a management position in the four hundred thousand to five hundred thousand dollar range and he’s willing to relocate.

      The

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