EXCERPT

Chapter 1

Phoenix, Arizona
September 1988

The facts were as plain as the freckles sprinkled across Sarah Mason’s petite nose. Why no one else could see those facts, Sarah didn’t understand. Only her roommate, Trish, appreciated the point she tried to make. Her parents and fiancé continually brushed aside her concerns, refusing to allow any discussion.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Sarah leafed through her sister’s letters one more time, hoping for a clue…any clue. A mountain of correspondence stood before her—at least one letter a week for six months. But a month and a half ago, they stopped arriving. Nicole had even forgotten her own daughter’s birthday. Deep in her soul, Sarah sensed something was very wrong.

She knew the divorce from Patrick Ramsey hadn’t been easy for her older sister. Then Patrick sued for and gained custody of their five-year-old daughter, devastating Nicole.

As she often did when pondering their situation, Sarah frowned. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand what had happened between them. Nicole and Patrick had always seemed the epitome of young lovers, constantly nestled side-by-side, Nicole’s dark head tucked under Patrick’s auburn one. The shared and heated glances, the numerous and swift kisses when they thought no one was looking, their joy at their daughter’s birth—yes, Sarah thought for the hundredth time, so very much in love.

In the emotional aftermath, Sarah did her best to comfort Nicole. Nothing, however, seemed to help. Then, out of the blue, Nicole decided to try living in Jamaica. The news left Sarah utterly speechless. But Nicole’s enthusiasm chased away Sarah’s despair, and she grudgingly supported the move, no matter how much she’d miss her sibling. Thankfully, Nicole’s many letters advertised it had been the right choice for her after all.

Each bit of correspondence dripped with cheer, crammed with Nicole’s daily experiences on the golden tropical island. She’d rented a small bungalow on the outskirts of Montego Bay from a man named Dominick LaCroix, and even scored a job at his business, Seaside Gifts. She’d clearly gotten on with her life. Nicole also boasted of her intimate relationship with Dominick in great detail.

As far as Sarah was concerned, way too much detail.

Although relieved that Dominick had rescued her sister from the gloom of a bitter divorce and custody battle, Sarah had to admit the truth of why she cringed every time Nicole launched into one of her elaborate accounts of life on the sunny isle—envy, plain and simple. The more Sarah read about the lively clubs and five-star restaurants, the endless beaches and breathtaking sunsets and, more importantly, Dominick’s prowess as a lover, all graphically depicted in Nicole’s florid script, the more Sarah felt the vile sting of jealousy. To Sarah, orgasms were a complete mystery, and the last thing she wanted to read about was Nicole’s success in that particular arena.

But to Nicole, nothing was too sacred to share, and no matter how many times Sarah told her to stop writing about it, she didn’t let up. So Sarah lived in perpetual jealousy and suffered in silence.

But then, to Sarah’s surprise, Nicole grew tired of her relationship with Dominick and ended it. Finally, Sarah had thought, a welcome reprieve from reading about her sister’s endless and satiating sexual exploits.

The reprieve, however, didn’t last long. By the following week, Nicole had hooked up with a new man—Lance Driscoll, a treasure hunter searching for a sunken Spanish galleon. Nicole penned that she had decided to accompany Lance on the expedition. She promised she’d write Sarah when they returned in two weeks’ time.

It was the last letter Sarah received.

Once again, Sarah eyed the stack of correspondence, and a shiver traced her spine, despite the heat of the late-afternoon sunlight flooding through the kitchen window. Something was wrong—terribly wrong. Now if she could only get someone other than her roommate to believe her.

The doorbell brought Sarah’s gaze to the digital clock and a groan to her lips.

Lee! What a surprise! Early, as usual!

They were going to her parents’ house for dinner, but in her mood, it was the last place she wanted to be, and certainly not with him. With each passing day, he grated on her nerves more and more.

And this is the man I’m supposed to marry in two weeks? Good God!

Rubbing her temples, Sarah closed her eyes and wished away the now-customary panic. She had already postponed the wedding once, when Nicole’s marital problems surfaced. Now, she doubted she could get away with such a tricky maneuver again.

She smacked her fist onto the kitchen table so hard the mountain of Nicole’s letters threatened to topple. "Damned chicken shit!" She fought back tears of frustration.

From the start, she’d been unsure about marrying Lee. He had played dirty by proposing to her in front of her parents. And her mother, in her typical domineering fashion, immediately blessed the notion and barreled full steam ahead with wedding preparations that very night.

Sarah’s stomach cramped; the recollection of that infamous night angered her even now. The anger, however, was aimed more at herself than anyone else. In all of her twenty-six years, she’d followed her parents’ edicts, no matter her goals, her dreams, her happiness. But somehow, some way, she had to dredge up the courage to defy her parents and cancel this impending fiasco before she completely destroyed her life.

An impatient double-blast of the doorbell propelled her into the living room. She painted a prim smile on her face and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Thought you’d never let me in." Lee pushed his way inside the apartment before she could fully open the door. "Ready to go?"

She swallowed a groan and studied her fiancé. Lee Caswell—so clean-cut, so conservative, he practically squeaked. Never could Sarah recall his gray eyes showing any light of excitement, unless, of course, he was discussing his favorite topic—money. Always a perfectly creased Armani suit. Always the buffed and tassled ostrich shoes. Indeed, Sarah had never seen one flawlessly trimmed mousy brown hair out of place, not even on those rare occasions when she had no choice but to share his bed.

Unhappily, he’d been a major disappointment in that area, too. Like his premature arrivals for every date or appointment in his life, physical unions were precipitous. A few swift gropes, a few hasty thrusts, and wham-bam, thank you, ma’am. It wasn’t even worth undressing for the monotonous event. And God knew Lee wasn’t much to look at. He certainly appeared much older than his thirty-two years. Although in clothing, he could be considered a moderately striking man, Sarah supposed. But in nakedness? Soft, mushy, pale—and, as Sarah had wickedly decided, the day Lee Caswell took shape in the womb, Mother Nature had been overly stingy when doling out the tools of manhood.

After one unpleasant sexual encounter at sixteen, another so-so experience in college, Sarah held little hope for that one special man to appear. Lee, to her vast disappointment, wasn’t even close. With her less-than-stellar success in physical relationships, she adjudged all men as likely the same. No, that special man simply did not exist, so she avoided sex as much as possible.

Now, as Lee used a manicured index finger to tap the sparkling gold watch on his opposite wrist, Sarah conquered the devilish urge to muss his impeccable coiffeur, throwing him into a royal dither and sending him fluttering to the nearest mirror.

"Yes, yes, I’m almost ready, Lee. Just let me grab my purse."

She entered the kitchen and gathered Nicole’s letters, then hurried to her room. As she placed the correspondence on her dresser, she caught her reflection in the mirror.

Earlier that afternoon, she had arranged her hair into an oh-so-tidy bun at the nape of her neck. Prim, proper, severe. She matched Lee perfectly. This was the appearance her parents and Lee preferred, claiming she looked mature and responsible. The portrait of an upstanding lady.

The thought made her stomach convulse. She looked more like the uptight character of Lilith from the TV comedy Cheers—or worse, Lilith portraying a dumpy, unfulfilled, nineteenth-century schoolmarm in a hideous made-for-TV movie. All she needed to complete her current ensemble was the school bell! Sarah hated her appearance, and hated herself even more for following their archaic conventions.

Why am I doing this? Why can’t I just stand up for myself?

She knew the answer all too well. Inside her remained the love-starved, frightened little girl who desperately wanted her parents’ approval—no matter the cost to her happiness.

"Damn it, this is ridiculous! Enough is enough! It’s time you took a stand! Time for a new, improved Sarah!"

Uncontrollable defiance rose within her, along with a slight stirring of freedom. With determination, she yanked the pins from her hair. Soft, golden-brown waves tumbled across her shoulders and down her back. A smile twisted her lips as she fluffed the hair with her fingertips. The harsh glare of an old maid instantly transformed into soft, sensual femininity.

She smirked. "Much better."

Her heart pounded at this tiny act of revolt. Yet, with chin held high, she snatched her purse and returned to the living room.

Lee looked up from his watch, and his glower of disapproval said it all. Sarah fought a violent giggle building in her throat. Screw him!

Smiling brightly, she hastened to the door. "I’m ready. Shall we go?"

A grunt was his only reply. Sarah did, however, give him small credit—Lee acted very much the gentleman as he led her from the building and to his brand new BMW. Only the best for Lee Caswell!

He helped her into the passenger seat and assumed his position behind the wheel. As the engine purred to life, so, inevitably, did the cassette player.

Muzak!

Sarah leaned against the headrest and squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could do the same with her ears. She liked music as much as the next person, and could tolerate just about any type.

But elevator music? A Musak version of "Muskrat Love" on top of it? Good God!

As Lee maneuvered into heavy traffic, Sarah could stand it no more. She punched off the tape and flicked on the radio to the first rock station she could find. Then turned up the volume. Led Zeppelin’s "Whole Lotta Love" threatened to blow the high-priced car speakers to smithereens.

Yes, screw the muskrats! Much better!

"What in the hell are you doing?" Lee punched the cassette back on and turned down the volume to "senior-citizen quiet" level.

"Trying to listen to some decent music."

"You know I hate rock and roll, especially that noise from bands like Black indigo and Deep Sabbath—"

She laughed sarcastically. "What planet are you from? Even residents of Outer Mongolia would recognize Led Zepp—"

"I don’t care. Noise is noise, regardless of what particular group of noisemakers is screeching into my ear."

"Good God. Then we’ll listen to country. Is that tame enough for you?" She reached for the radio again.

Lee grabbed her wrist. "Stop it."

"No, you stop it." With her other hand, she ejected his tape and whipped it into the back seat. "I’d rather listen to no music than crap."

"Fine. Then no music at all." He released her wrist with a shove. "What’s the matter with you tonight? First your hair. Now this. You’re making me angry."

Angry! So typical! Lee was always "angry." Never "pissed off," just "angry." Boring, bland, banal—angry.

"I like my hair this way and I like my music, especially Led Zeppelin!"

"Skip it. I don’t feel like arguing with you."

That was fine with her. She leaned back and counted the miles to her parents’ house on the outskirts of Phoenix.

How could she possibly marry this poor replica of a human being? He must be from another planet. They had absolutely nothing in common. He didn’t dance, didn’t like sports, didn’t like movies or traveling or sightseeing. In other words, if it was fun, he had no use for it. Lee Caswell—all business, all the time.

And a muskrat lover who didn’t know how to make love, let alone a whole lot of it!

For the remainder of the drive, Sarah grinned her defiant smile and kept happily silent.

* * *

Sarah refused Lee’s arm when he tried to escort her from the car and into her parents’ home. She said nothing, simply walked with a slight bounce of rebellion in her step toward the two-story, Southwest beige stucco mansion.

Lee harrumphed behind her. "I can tell this will be a pleasant evening…"

Sarah rang the doorbell. Seconds later, a maid led them to the expansive drawing room, paneled in Circassian walnut and smelling faintly of furniture oil, her mother’s ever-present Opium perfume, and the fresh-cut petunias clogging Porphyry vases, strategically placed around the room on rosewood tables. An elaborate Waterford chandelier dangled from the ceiling, casting a glow over the antique sofas and chairs, all upholstered in velvety moquette.

In the middle of the room before the red marble fireplace stood her parents, martini glasses in hand. Two other couples were present—business associates of her father’s and their wives. As far as Sarah knew, her parents had no real friends.

On the surface, Howard and Louise Mason seemed a charming couple. Her mother always dressed in the latest styles, yet her dark hair loomed above her head in the same beehive she’d had since the mid-sixties. Her father, the picture of dignity and success, was just beginning to show a slight paunch and a receding hairline. Despite the fact that Sarah worked with him everyday, he was a virtual stranger. Her mother, however, had always been the dominant force in her life—in everyone’s life, for that matter. Always pushing, demanding, planning, all in a bid to mold her spouse, her children, even her servants, into what she believed would make her the reigning queen of Phoenix high society. Sarah hated it, but her need to earn her mother’s approval and the old childhood fear of garnering her mother’s wrath instead of love kept her from breaking free.

The only love Sarah had ever felt came from her sister. It was Nicole who had read bedtime stories to her, who tucked her in at night, who listened for countless hours to her childhood fears and, later, teen-aged angst.

God, where are you, Nicole?

"Ah, the happy couple has arrived."

Her father strutted forward. His dark brown eyes widened slightly when he took in Sarah’s flowing hair. He opened his mouth to speak, but must have reconsidered, for he clamped his lips shut and turned to his guests.

"I believe you all know my daughter and her fiancé. They’re going to be married in two short weeks."

With a false smile and a sharp nod, Sarah silently accepted the various congratulations.

"Where do you plan to honeymoon?" one of the women asked.

Sarah set her purse on a table beside yet another vase of petunias. "We haven’t quite decide—"

"We’ll be spending two weeks in Europe." Lee smiled, then poured himself a Scotch from the bar in the corner.

"How wonderful!" Despite Lee’s rudeness, the woman kept her cheerful blue eyes on Sarah. "But aren’t you concerned about being over there, my dear? There seems to be a lot of turmoil."

"I’ll admit there’s a risk," Lee answered, and took a quick drink from his glass, "but I can think of no better place to spend a honeymoon. Can you, darling?" He came to her and slithered an arm around her waist.

Not only did Lee’s touch make Sarah’s skin turn to goose flesh, but his presumption made her bristle in rage. She peeled free of his hold and accepted a glass of Pouilly-Fumé from the maid. She drained it in several gulps. The spicy white wine sparked her insides and added another injection to her blossoming courage.

"Actually"—she swiped another glass from the maid’s serving tray—"I can think of better places to go than Europe. I’ll be damned if I spend two minutes there, let alone two weeks."

Her mother’s overly rouged face mottled to a shade of red, matching her off-the-shoulder burgundy gown—a gown made for a woman half her age, and half her waistline.

While Lee sputtered for something to say, Sarah smirked and watched him collect his thoughts.

"I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t realize Europe displeased you. You should have said something—"

"I did, but you never seem to listen to—"

"We’ll discuss our options later."

"But—"

His gray eyes brooked no argument. "Later." He turned to pour several fingers of Scotch into his still-unfinished glass.

Louise Mason, a woman forever fearful of what "the neighbors might say," clanked her empty martini glass on a table and rushed forward, swooping her arms toward a set of double doors. "Dinner should be ready. Howard, please show our guests into the dining room. I’m sure you’ll enjoy what Cook prepared for us this evening—canard à l’orange—it’s her specialty and absolutely heavenly. That’s right, this way, this way, friends—"

"Sounds wonderful," one of the guests announced as Louise herded them into the adjoining room.

"Good God, Mother," Sarah declared, "you know I hate duck…"

"Yes, dear friends, this way, follow after Howard"—she pierced Sarah with a pointed, venomous glare—"I’ll be along shortly. That’s right, this way…"

With the aplomb of a gracious hostess, she waited for her guests to enter the dining room, then firmly closed the doors behind them.

She whirled to face Sarah and barred her teeth. Gone was the gracious hostess, instantly replaced by a raging she-devil. "What is the matter with you tonight, young lady?"

"That’s what I’d like to know." Lee, who had made no move to leave the room, always took her mother’s side. "She’s been difficult ever since I picked her up. First the hair, then the rock music, now the honeymoon—"

"Leave us!"

Lee gulped his Scotch, then did as Louise Mason commanded.

With a snort of disgust, Sarah watched him slink off—Lap dog!—and shut the dining room doors behind him.

Louise snatched Sarah’s arm in a punishing grip. "I’m talking to you, young lady. What nonsense has gotten into you?"

Sarah jerked free of her mother’s grasp. "How many times do I need to tell you? I’m worried about Nicole! I’ve been trying to discuss the situation with you and Father for days, but you just keep ignoring me—"

"And I’ll continue to ignore you." Her mother planted her hands on her hips and rooted herself before the fireplace.

A portrait of Louise hung above the mantle, momentarily giving Sarah the impression she was receiving a double-serving of hellfire. "Don’t you care an ounce about Nicole? About her safety?"

Louise vented an exasperated sigh. "Your sister has been a source of pain and disappointment to me for years. I refuse to worry about her because you feel the need. Nicole has never been good at communicating with those she should. Be grateful for the letters you’ve received and let it go. She’s irresponsible and flighty, always has been, always will be! She probably wrote to you on—on a whim and has grown tired—"

"A whim? Nicole—"

"Yes, a whim. Mark my words! Your sister is off gallivanting. Just another one of her escapades designed, no doubt, to shame this family. Now, the discussion is closed, and this absurdity with you will stop immediately!" Louise stormed forward, sticking her index finger into Sarah’s face. "You’re behaving like a willful brat—like Nicole herself—and I will not have it! Do you hear?"

Sarah pierced the woman with her eyes.

Without warning, Louise slapped her. Hard.

Shocked, Sarah staggered backward and rubbed her cheek. Mouth agape, she stared at her mother. The woman’s expansive bosom heaved in outrage, almost as if she, and not Sarah, had received the vicious attack.

Again, Louise waggled her finger before Sarah’s nose. "Never—never!—look at me that way again and you know you’ll regret it! I’m your mother and deserve respect! You’ll do as I say!" She lifted her beehived head in imperial dignity and pulled a deep breath. "Now, wash your face and get in to dinner." With that, she strode across the room and left.

Sarah trembled in wrath. Once again, she’d been defeated—and knew it.

For several minutes, she stood in the center of the room, blinking back bitter tears. Why bother to please any of them? Why bother to seek their love? Damn them all! The love she craved simply did not exist and probably never would. It was time for a change before it was too late.

After pulling herself together and checking herself in a gilt-framed wall mirror, she entered the dining room, but refused to look in her mother’s direction.

Her father’s smile greeted her. "Ah, now that Sarah is here, I have an announcement." He waited until she seated herself at the sixteen-foot-long mahogany table. "When you two return from Europe, I have a gift for you. Lee—you will be my new vice president, and Sarah—you will replace Lee as bank manager."

While Lee soaked in congratulations with a beaming smile, Sarah was only vaguely aware of the applause that went around the table. This wasn’t what she wanted at all! But was she bold enough to object? Even she knew the answer to that. A hairstyle change and a few sarcastic comments were one thing—refusing to do something this major was another.

As she again contemplated her cowardice, a deep depression settled over her. She barely touched her duck, expect for forking it from one side of her plate to the other. It was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears. She made polite conversation only when required and wallowed in despair.

* * *

No one seemed to notice her preoccupation throughout the remainder of the dinner. Her parents obviously accepted her taciturn subservience as yet another stunning victory. Even Lee waited until they reached her apartment before speaking to her.

Once inside, he plopped onto the small sofa and tugged her down beside him. He reeked of Scotch, which made her want to gag.

"Wasn’t that an unexpected but welcomed surprise? But I knew one day it would happen, yes, sir, I just knew it!"

What was he blabbering about? Why didn’t he just leave? She squirmed. "What…?"

"Our promotions, of course. Just think of what we’ll be able to buy with all that extra income pouring in!" As she expected, his eyes came to life when the thought of money entered his head. Unfortunately, other parts of him did as well.

"Oh…that." Sarah rubbed a nonexistent chill from her arms as she desperately tried to put some distance between them.

"You’ll be the bank manager, for pity’s sake. You are happy about it, aren’t you?"

She shrugged. "I…I guess."

"Ah! Just as I suspected. Now I see the problem." He draped an unwelcomed arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. "Fear not, darling. You’re concerned you won’t be able to do the job as well as I do. I perfectly understand, I certainly do…others before me had tried, and failed." He uttered a smug chuckle and snuggled against her.

What a pompous ass. The only thing big about Lee Caswell was his mammoth ego. I can work rings around you, and everyone at the bank knows it except you and my parents.

But since she had no energy to argue, she pruned the sarcasm from her voice. "Oh, yes, Lee, I suppose you’re right. How could anyone perform a job as masterfully as you do?"

"Yes, I thought that might be your concern." He stroked her hair with one hand and thumped his chest with the other. "But don’t worry, you’ll be just fine—after several months, of course, with the correct guidance."

"Guidance?"

"Yes. Just remember, if you have any problems, I’ll be on hand to fix things. Always." He gave her a slobbery kiss on the cheek. "Now, let’s celebrate the impending growth of our bank account"—he snatched her hand and pressed it against his groin—"and the growth of something else entirely."

That did it! She shoved him away. "Don’t—"

"What is it?" His features turned icy cold. "A headache? That time of the month? Too tired? What excuse is it this time, Sarah?"

"I just don’t want to. I don’t like it. Why can’t you understand that?"

"Oh, I understand perfectly." He snapped to his feet and stared down at her. "Let’s hope you learn to like it in the next two weeks!"

Sarah watched him finger his belt buckle and realized he had likely omitted two words from his sentence—"Or else." God only knew what he intended to do to her on their wedding night, but she had a pretty good clue, and it made her sick.

She didn’t bother to see him to the door. After he left, she spent several minutes fighting more tears. All of this was too much to deal with at once. Only one problem at a time, she told herself. The first was Nicole’s failure to write. Someone had to listen to her. Something had to be done.

On impulse, she telephoned Patrick Ramsey. Of all people, her ex-brother-in-law would certainly care about Nicole’s disappearance. After all, she was the mother of his only child.

The phone rang numerous times. Sarah was about to hang up when Patrick answered.

"It’s Sarah. Sorry if I’m bothering you."

"You know you could never bother me." Sarah could almost see his sparkling blue-green eyes, his gentle smile. "Is something wrong, Sarah? You sound…troubled."

"It’s Nicole."

A discernible sigh came through the line. "We haven’t heard from her either. I know she can be irresponsible, but I never figured she’d forget Molly’s birthday. She’s been writing and sending little gifts to her all this time. It doesn’t make sense. I refuse to believe she’d forget. At first I thought there might have been a delay in the mail. Now I don’t know what to think. I don’t know whether to be worried or furious."

"Well, I’m worried, but no one will listen. Do you suppose she’s…?" Sarah couldn’t bring herself to voice her greatest fear.

"In trouble, is more like it," he replied. "That’s why I’m tempted to be furious."

"Surely if she was in trouble, she would have called."

"Not with the kind of trouble she’d get in to. She’d certainly know not to contact me for aid, or your folks. She’s already pushed us way too far. And she certainly wouldn’t spoil your image of her by coming to you."

"I don’t understand."

He sighed again. "Besides Molly, you’re the only person she truly loves—"

"She loves you, Patrick."

"At one time, maybe. But she let something come between us—something that destroyed all the good that existed." Regret laced his words.

"What was that?"

"Nicole made me promise not to tell you…certain things."

"But I need—"

"I made a promise, Sarah. You know I’m a man of my word, so even now, I won’t break my vow."

She smiled. "You’re an honorable man. If Lee were half the man you are, maybe I wouldn’t mind marrying him."

"There’s no law that says you must. You could do a hell of a lot better than Caswell, no matter what ‘Queen Louise of Phoenix’ thinks. And I certainly don’t like Caswell, her butt-kissing lackey. Never have, never will."

She couldn’t help but laugh. "Maybe I should tell him to kiss Mother’s butt, then I’ll fly to Jamaica to check on Nicole."

"Good! Sounds like a plan."

"What? No, no, Patrick, I was kidding—"

"Give me a call when you get there so I know you arrived safely."

"But—but my responsibilities—and Lee—I can’t just go off on a whim and—"

"The hell you can’t. The only one stopping you is you. Think about it. For once in your life, do what Sarah wants. Promise me you’ll think about it."

"I—I will."

Sarah grinned as she replaced the receiver. Talking to Patrick always lifted her spirits.

But go to Jamaica without warning? Thumb her nose at Lee, her mother’s meticulous wedding plans, her father’s blueprints for her career?

Why, the very idea was ludicrous. Wasn’t it?

"You going to bed soon?" Trish leaned against the bedroom doorway, her bleached blonde hair a tangled mass.

"You were home all this time?" Sarah kicked off her shoes and propped her feet on the coffee table. "I didn’t mean to wake you. You certainly got back earlier than you originally planned."

"Yep—shortly after you left. And I heard your little tussle. Oh, and congrats on the promotion, by the way." Trish presented a cocky grin when Sarah groaned. "And another thing, why don’t you dump Mr. Marvelous already? You need a red-hot lover who’ll curl your toes and make you drool over his tool—not some milk-toast whose idea of sex is a grab, a shove, and ten seconds of lovin’. You need to be loved ’til you burst!"

"Trish!" Laughter smothered Sarah’s attempt to sound outraged.

"Don’t look so damned shocked. I’ve said this countless times before." Trish finger-combed her hair and flopped down beside Sarah. "So what did Patrick have to say?"

Sarah curled her arms over the back of the sofa and stretched. "He thinks I should head to Jamaica, dump Lee, say adios to Queen Louise and King Howard, and live my own life."

"Oh, God, I love Patrick. Brilliant man!"

"But how could I possibly go to Jamaica?"

"You and Lee have that joint savings account for your honeymoon, don’t you? Half that money is yours, my friend."

Sarah climbed to her feet. She had to admit, ever since Patrick planted the thought into her head, the notion had intrigued her. "I—I do have a passport…"

"Damned right, you do! And I’ll bet you could get a flight out to Jamaica by tomorrow."

She glanced at the wall clock. Thanks to the hideous soirée at her parents’ house, she had insisted on leaving directly after dinner, so the hour was still relatively early. "I could actually go to the bank tonight and transfer funds to my checking account."

"And I’ll go with you so you don’t chicken out, like you always do!"

"Then I’ll call the airline, pack—"

"Hell, yeah!" Trish leapt off the couch and playfully punched Sarah on the arm. "I’ll even call the bank tomorrow and say you’re sick so Mr. Marvelous or Kingie and Queenie won’t get suspicious and try to stop you."

Sarah nearly cheered. "I’ll do it!"

* * *

A half-hour later, Sarah opened the bank with her set of keys and strode to the computer terminal at her desk. When the honeymoon account popped up on the screen, she stared in wide-mouthed shock.

"There’s half a million dollars here!"

"What?" Trish peered over her shoulder. "Mr. Marvelous must be planning one hell of a trip."

"Well, I’m only taking the several thousand that’s mine." Sarah transferred her share of the savings to her personal account and canceled her payroll allotment to the savings account.

"Won’t you need some cold, hard cash?" Trish asked.

"You’re right. A quick trip to the ATM will take care of that. I can write a check for all my other expenses."

Smiling, Sarah snapped upright when another wicked notion of rebellion struck her like a bolt of lightning. She looked at the rock on her finger. Might as well go all the way.

"I’ll also pawn this damned engagement ring. It might also be a good idea if I switched banks tomorrow."

"Very clever."

"Very determined." She gave her friend a wink. "Let’s get out of here. I still have a lot to do."

After a stop at the teller machine and a nearby pawn shop, they sped home, laughing as they rattled off descriptions of how Sarah’s parents and Lee would react when they found her gone, their scrupulous plans for her future destroyed in the blink of an eye.

Sarah booked a flight for the following afternoon. Unable to sleep, the two spent the time packing her suitcases. When working hours began, each called the other’s office and reported them sick.

The heady feeling subsided, however, once they reached the airport.

"I can’t believe I’m doing this," Sarah said in a rush of breath.

"I can’t either, but I’m so damned proud of you." Trish gave her a hug.

"Thanks, Trish—for everything. Call Patrick for me."

"I will. And good luck searching for information on Nicole."

After a final hug, Sarah dashed toward the appropriate terminal, never once regretting her decision, and feeling freer than she could ever remember.