LITMIR.BIZ

      Prologue

      It was only by chance that the reader even picked up the D.C. Diplomat newspaper. But there, on the society page, the boldfaced caption read: HOTEL MAGNATE JONATHAN REGENT ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT.

      The reader sank into a chair and pored over the small print. Little was said about the bride-to-be, only that prior to her engagement she’d been a clerk at a rare-books store in Georgetown. There was no shortage of information, however, on the prospective groom. Jonathan Regent was well known in Washington society. A self-made multimillionaire who’d gone from manager of a small inn to CEO of the huge conglomerate Regent Hotels International in just under twenty years.

      Jonathan, apparently bored with adding more money to his already burgeoning coffers, had recently taken to dabbling in local politics. The newspaper article hinted that Jonathan was expected to enter the congressional race for the small northern Virginia suburb where he resided.

      The insinuation was that every budding politician needed a wife. Hence the engagement.

      But was it a politically correct decision to ally himself to a nobody little shop clerk?

      The person reading the article held it up, scanning the accompanying photograph of the smiling couple.

      Mary Wilder, the bride-to-be, appeared considerably younger than her fiancé. She had shoulder-length blondish hair, wide dark eyes, and a disarming smile. Not a classically beautiful woman, but she was imbued with a sweet expression evident even in the fuzzy newspaper photo.

      Yes, the reader thought, Mary Wilder had a vulnerable prettiness that would appeal to any man.

      But the image of the woman’s guileless eyes staring into the camera like those of a frightened doe suddenly made one thing clear: she wasn’t the right wife for Jonathan Regent.

      He needed a woman with a boldness of character who could withstand even the most strident opponent. A society matron beyond reproach. A social hostess who could dine with sharks and not sustain a nibble. Mary Wilder was too innocent, too naive. She would be eaten alive by those power-hungry congressional wives.

      The reader took a pair of large shears from the desk drawer and neatly cut out the photograph.

      No, Miss Mary Wilder wouldn’t do at all. She was a mistake, but one that could be eliminated.