Usa Today Bestselling Author

Kayla Perrin
single mama drama

This book is dedicated to every woman who is, or has

been, a single mother. They say motherhood is the hardest

job in the world, and it’s even more so when you’re

parenting alone. Single mothers do their thing—they work

hard, love their children and often don’t get a break. So I

hope as you read this book you’re able to put your feet up,

relax for a while and smile. You deserve it!

Contents

acknowledgment

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

chapter eleven

chapter twelve

chapter thirteen

chapter fourteen

chapter fifteen

chapter sixteen

chapter seventeen

chapter eighteen

chapter nineteen

chapter twenty

chapter twenty-one

chapter twenty-two

chapter twenty-three

chapter twenty-four

chapter twenty-five

chapter twenty-six

chapter twenty-seven

chapter twenty-eight

chapter twenty-nine

chapter thirty

chapter thirty-one

chapter thirty-two

chapter thirty-three

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

I am eternally grateful for the support provided to me by the Writers’ Trust of Canada’s Woodcock Fund while I was writing this book. At the time, I was involved in an unexpected, time-consuming and expensive legal situation. Thanks to the support I received from the Woodcock Fund, I was able to concentrate on finishing my book, rather than on trying to find a part-time job to make ends meet during this difficult time. Thanks to everyone involved with the Woodcock Fund. Your support of writers in need is truly remarkable!

chapter one

“Damn you, Eli,” I muttered when my fiancé’s voice mail picked up for the gazillionth time. “Are you planning to never talk to me again?”

Cursing softly under my breath, I flipped my cell phone shut. No point leaving another message. It was obvious—painfully so—that Eli was avoiding me.

Great. It wasn’t even nine-thirty in the morning yet, and it was clear that the day was going to be full of drama.

I’d been calling Eli since shortly after he stormed out of our apartment the night before, and so far, I hadn’t heard a word from him. Did he expect me to grovel? Perhaps take out a billboard ad announcing to all of South Florida that I had overreacted? We’d had a fight. So what? It certainly didn’t warrant him acting like I no longer existed.

Enough was enough. If Eli didn’t have the decency to get back to me, why should I spend the day moping over him?

Balancing my Starbucks latte in one hand, I shoved my cell phone into my purse with the other, then strode purposefully into the office building on NE Fifth Street, where I worked in downtown Miami. I showed my ID card to security before heading for the bank of elevators. Only one other person was waiting there, a tall and striking brunette. She barely glanced my way, but when she did, I saw that her eyes were red-rimmed. Clearly, she had been crying. I wondered if she, like me, had dealt with some early-morning man drama.

Probably. At least I wasn’t the only one arriving late to the office because of a man.

I got off first, on the eleventh floor. My plan was to head through the glass doors housing the Believe the Dream, Change Your Life Agency and go straight to my office. But as I approached the doors, I found myself reaching into my purse and wrapping my fingers around my cell phone.

Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it….

I did. I pulled the phone out of my purse and once again punched in Eli’s mobile number. What can I say—as frustrated as I was with him, there was no way I would stop trying to reach him. He was my fiancé—the Mr. Right I’d finally found at the ripe old age of twenty-eight—and I was determined to marry him.

“Eli, baby,” I said when his voice mail picked up. “It’s me again. I’ll bet you’re still sleeping, which is why I haven’t heard from you yet. Listen, I know I said this before, but I am sorry about last night. I was stressed to the max, had worked an incredibly long day—and you know how I get when I’ve worked past eight at night.” With my shoulder, I nudged the glass door open and headed into the agency. I nodded in greeting at Alaina, the receptionist and a friend, as I walked briskly past her. “The good news is, the campaign is now all set,” I said a little loudly, hoping Alaina would hear and think I was on a business call, even though she wasn’t my superior. “And I’ll be home right after work today,” I continued, when she was out of earshot. “No later than six, I promise. And then I’m all yours. Maybe Carla can even babysit Rayna for a couple extra hours and we can go for a nice dinner.”

I paused as I attempted the fine art of opening my office door with full hands, succeeded, and stepped inside. I quickly placed my coffee on my desk, along with my purse. “Can you just call me, please? Let me know the wedding’s still on,” I added with a laugh, the kind that said I was sure it was, but in reality, I wasn’t entirely confident of that anymore. Anytime Eli and I had had a disagreement before, he’d never taken this long to get back to me. We were the type who patched things up in a couple hours at the most, and we certainly never went to bed angry with one another.

Eli wasn’t that mad at me—was he?

After all, I was the one with the right to be mad. I was a single mother, and he’d damn near bitten my daughter’s head off when she spilled her milk on his lap. At the time, I’d reacted instinctively, like a mother hen protecting her chick, but now the clarity of the morning after had me realizing that Eli had simply overreacted, then I had overreacted, which had led to a stupid fight.

I tossed my cell onto my desk and collapsed in my leather chair with a long-suffering sigh. No sooner had I sat down than my door swung open. My boss, Debbie Noble, walked in and closed the door behind her.

“I’m sorry, Debbie,” I began without preamble. “I got held up a little this morning because my sitter had to run an errand, so I couldn’t bring Rayna over there at the usual time.” A lie, but what the hell. I didn’t need any more grief today.

Debbie waved a hand dismissively. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh?”

A grin slowly spread on her face as she strolled toward my desk. “Ask me what I was doing last night.”

I reached for my Starbucks cup and took a quick sip of my latte. “I already know what you were doing. You were having dinner with a potential client.” The agency represented motivational speakers and life coaches, and I worked as the office manager. “Did you sign her?”

“After that,” Debbie said. “When I came back to the office.”

“You came back to the office?” I’d been here until nearly eight, and only the cleaning staff had been around when I left.

“Just ask me.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What were you doing last night when you came back to the office?”

“Maybe the better question is who I was doing….”

Now my eyebrows shot up. “Debbie—”

“Jason!” she squealed before I could formally ask the question. “And, oh my God! I’ve been dying for you to get here so I could tell someone.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said, waving my hands around as I stared up at her in total shock. “You slept with Jason? Jason from the mail room?”

Debbie grinned proudly and rested her butt on my desk. “Honey, nothing that we did together even remotely resembled sleep.”

“I don’t understand. What was Jason doing here so late?”

“Meeting me for a scandalous rendezvous.”

“You’re totally serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

“But he’s so young!” I blurted, not meaning to sound judgmental, but I couldn’t help it. “What is he—twenty?”

“Twenty-two, but who cares?”

Which made him sixteen years Debbie’s junior. “Does he even shave yet?”

“He’s old enough to be legal, but young enough to be horny and hard—all the time. Vanessa, he is like a steel rod. And I tell you, girl, that boy couldn’t get enough last night! On the floor, against the wall, bent over my desk giving it to me from behind. Mmmm!” Debbie closed her eyes and shivered, as if reliving her orgasmic pleasure.

I cast her a wary look as I reached for my latte and gulped it this time. Her story was making me miss Eli all the more.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I said.

Despite my expressed concern, I knew Debbie wouldn’t take offense. Not only was she my boss, she was a good friend. We shared all kinds of personal info and didn’t hold back on our opinions.

“Of course I know what I’m doing. And I’m doing it again tonight.” She laughed airily. “Though this time I’ll make sure he’s on the floor. I got some serious rug burn on my knees….”

“Okay, I think it’s a little too early for that kind of talk.” I downed more coffee.

“You should try it some time.”

“Jason?”

“No, a twenty-two-year-old. Heck, even eighteen.”

“Eighteen! You have lost your mind. Besides, I have a man.”

Debbie rolled her eyes.

“And I’m getting married.” I waved my three-carat rock. “You remember that important detail, don’t you?” I didn’t mention that my fiancé was mad at me right now and that he’d spent the night at his best friend’s place. I didn’t feel like bringing up our stupid fight, especially when I had no doubt that we’d be making up later in the day. Or that a deliveryman with a dozen roses would show up any minute.

“Seriously, Vanessa—don’t knock it till you try it. Nothing against Eli, but only the young ones can give it to you the way you want. Talk about stamina! Before you walk down that aisle, I think it’s in your best interest to—”

“Enough.” I held up a hand to silence Debbie.

“Fine.”

“Tell me more about you and Jason,” I said.

She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You know he’s got a tongue ring, right?”

“Yes, I’ve seen—” I stopped short when the implication of what Debbie was saying hit me. I’d heard plenty about tongue rings, although I’d never dated a guy with one myself.

“Okay, are you saying…?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She smiled slyly.

“Don’t get coy now. I want the dirty details. Is it true what they say—”

My office line rang, interrupting me, and I groaned in disappointment. I reached for the receiver, saying to Debbie, “Hold that thought.”

She clamped a hand over her mouth as she giggled, either because of the look on my face or because she was remembering everything about the tongue ring that I now wanted to know.

“Vanessa Cain,” I said into the receiver, my eyes still on Debbie. “Will you hold a moment?”

I pressed the hold button before the person on the other end of the line could even speak, but Debbie shook her head. “I’ll finish the story later,” she told me. “You take that call.”

“Oh, no you don’t! You can’t leave me hanging like this!”

She tapped her watch.

“Fine, tell me about the tongue ring later,” I said hurriedly, “but do you like this guy or what?”

“I’m married,” she said candidly.

“I know, but…” In the last year, Debbie had grown increasingly less attracted to her husband and was now on her third affair. I didn’t agree with her infidelity, not in the least, but when I’d made that fact clear in the past, she firmly told me she was a big girl and could do what she wanted. That she didn’t need my approval, just my friendship.

Since she was a friend, I tried not to judge her, even if I didn’t agree with what she did behind her husband’s back. Still, I tried to talk sense into Debbie whenever I could slip my moral opinion in.

“You’ve found a new boy toy, Debbie,” I said. “Obviously, you’re not happy in your marriage. That’s been clear for a long time. You owe it to Ben—and to yourself—to leave him if you can’t be faithful to him.”

“And what about my children?” she countered. When I didn’t answer, she went on. “Look, screwing Jason is about the sex. Nothing more. He certainly can’t offer me anything more than that.”

Once, over drinks, Debbie had suddenly gotten emotional and told me how Ben had hurt her while she’d been pregnant with their first child. He and a female colleague had been working together on research about juvenile diabetes, and apparently Ben had almost cheated on Debbie. He couldn’t be reached as she’d gone into labor, and had arrived at the hospital after their son was born. When Debbie grilled him as to his whereabouts, he’d broken down and admitted that his colleague had tried to seduce him in his office at the university, and that they’d kissed for quite some time before he came to his senses and realized he couldn’t go through with having sex with the woman. He’d been infatuated with her for months, culminating in a moment of weakness.

To his credit, Ben immediately stopped working with her, then stopped working altogether to be a stay-at-home father. Debbie didn’t know if he’d been entirely truthful about what had happened, and didn’t press the matter, but it was clear to me in her retelling of the story that she had been deeply wounded by what Ben had done. Her trust in him had been forever shattered. Add to the mix the fact that Debbie’s father had abandoned her and her mother for a younger woman when she was only nine years old, and it was clear that Debbie had major trust issues where men were concerned. The way I saw it, her infidelity now was a way of guarding her heart, a way of protecting herself from utter devastation should Ben ever say he was leaving her.

I gave Ben credit for having been honest with her, and personally would have written off his actions as immaturity, or even last-minute fear over becoming a new father. And if I couldn’t forgive him, I would have moved on.

“I don’t see how you can cheat and not feel guilty,” I said.

Debbie shrugged. “I guess I did feel a bit guilty when I got home last night—until Ben came out of the kitchen smelling like meat loaf and wearing this ridiculous apron he thinks is cute. My guilt vanished like that.” She snapped her fingers for emphasis. “Vanessa, we’ll chat later. Take that call. It’s not like we both don’t need to be working. Because I did sign Lori Hansen!”

I watched Debbie head out of my office, thinking that in many ways she was like a man. The fierce, ambitious blonde was the breadwinner in the family. Her husband stayed home with their three kids. And here she was, the one having an affair with a subordinate, the way so many men in positions of power do.

Once again I pressed the hold button, realizing for the first time that maybe it was Eli on the line. I cleared my throat and started speaking in my most professional tone. “Thanks for holding—”

“Oh, Vanessa. Thank God.”

My heart picked up speed at the sound of Carla’s voice. She was my neighbor and babysitter, and if she was calling me so soon after I’d arrived at work, that meant something was wrong with my daughter.

“Carla—”

“Vanessa, you have to come home. You—you just have to. Right now.”

“Oh my God. Something happened to Rayna.” Had my two-year-old fallen down the stairwell, or gotten into something poisonous, or burned herself? Panic clawed at my throat. “Carla, tell me what happened!” I pushed my chair back and shot to my feet, already reaching for my purse. “How bad is it?”

“No, it’s not Rayna.”

My pulse was pounding so loudly in my ears, I wasn’t sure I heard her correctly. “Rayna’s okay?” I asked.

“Yes, she’s fine. She and Amani are beside me, coloring.” Carla blew out a frazzled breath. “Vanessa, it’s…it’s Eli.”

“Eli?” Panic turned to confusion. Why would Carla be calling about Eli? Had he returned home already and by chance gone to pick up Rayna? I fully expected him to leave Leroy’s place and head straight to the studio, where he and a few former athlete friends were working on their new passion—a hip-hop demo. I had my doubts as to whether or not they’d get a record deal, but I supported Eli nonetheless.

“Maybe you don’t have to come home,” Carla said suddenly. “You have a TV there, right?”

“Why do I need a TV?”

“Vanessa, listen to me. Turn on the TV to CNN. Right now. There’s a commercial playing, but the story’s coming up next. Oh, Vanessa. I’m so sorry.”

Carla had me wondering what the heck was going on. Why would Eli be on the news? Had he been arrested for something stupid like drunk driving? I dropped the phone and raced to the conference room. Thankfully, there wasn’t a meeting going on, so the room was empty. I found the remote, turned on the television and fumbled around with the buttons until I got to CNN.

I caught the tail end of a Viagra commercial, and then CNN began again. The female news anchor announced this hour’s headlines. I bit my fingernail, waiting for her to say something about Eli.

“Also this hour, the bizarre death of Eli Johnson.”

I gasped, stumbled backward. I landed against the conference table and gripped it for support.

Bizarre death? Eli was…dead?

I sucked in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before letting it out slowly. Then my mind began to race, searching for answers.

Surely it wasn’t my Eli Johnson.

Of course not. How could it be him? Eli had stormed out of our apartment just after nine the night before and said he was going to stay at his best friend’s place. I knew Eli, and he wasn’t a morning person—and definitely not a Monday morning person. It was highly unlikely that he was out of bed already, much less in time to have died a bizarre death. And if anything had happened to him, wouldn’t Leroy have called me before the media got hold of this info?

No, it didn’t make sense. It had to be another Eli Johnson.

Still, the minutes that passed seemed like hours before the full story of Eli’s death began. I was anxious to hear confirmation that my Eli was alive and well—and still pissed at me.

“And in what the police are calling a bizarre crime of passion, former Atlanta Braves player Eli Johnson was found murdered early this morning.”

I didn’t have to hear the news anchor say “former Atlanta Braves player” to know it as my Eli—because a picture of him flashed on the screen to accompany the broadcast.

And then my world crumbled.

“Shortly after seven this morning, Johnson’s body was found in an upscale Miami home, in the exclusive area of Bal Harbour…”

I must have cried out, because someone came running into the conference room. And the next thing I knew, arms were wrapping around me. I didn’t move, my eyes glued to the television screen.

“Apparently, he was killed by a bow and arrow,” the reporter said, enunciating her words to match her shocked facial expression. “But if that weren’t bizarre enough, Johnson and his female companion, Alyssa Redgrave, were both shot with the same arrow, their bodies bonded together in death as they had been in passion. Conrad Redgrave, the victim’s husband, reportedly turned himself in to police after the incident. He confessed to shooting Johnson and his wife after returning from a business trip and finding them in bed together.”

Beside me, I heard a gasp. Or had it come from my own mouth?

“Eli Johnson was thirty-nine years old.”

“Oh, Vanessa. I can’t…I can’t believe it.”

The news anchor moved on to the next story, and I finally turned to look at who was holding me, and saw my friend Alaina. Her beautiful Cuban-American face was now full of shock and concern. Shock and concern I didn’t know how to deal with. I pulled away from her and numbly walked toward the conference room’s floor-to-ceiling window.

“He’s really dead?” Alaina asked.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t find the energy to speak. Instead, I stared out the window at downtown Miami, but didn’t see a thing.

Eli was dead. Good God in heaven.

Someone else entered the room—a few people, I think—but I didn’t turn around. I heard whispers and words like, “Murdered!” and “with some other woman” and “holy shit.”

The next person to approach was Debbie. She stepped between me and the television and rested a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Sweetie, I am so sorry for your loss. And I can’t believe Eli turned out to be such a pig. Men.” She snorted and shook her head. “Obviously, you’ll want to head home. You can take as much time off as you need.”

I heard but didn’t entirely comprehend what Debbie was saying. My head was in a fog. I continued to hear the anchorwoman’s words, like some warped drone in my head.

“But if that weren’t bizarre enough, Eli and his female companion, Alyssa Redgrave, were both shot with the same arrow, their bodies bonded together in death as they had been in passion.”

“Vanessa, are you hearing me?” Debbie asked.

“I’ll get her some water,” Alaina offered.

I didn’t protest as Debbie sat me down on a chair. I could hardly think, much less feel.

Eli was dead.

The reality of it hit me as I stared out the window at the cloudless sky. Eli wasn’t only dead, he’d been with another woman. Killed by her jealous husband while in the throes of passion.

My Mr. Right. The man I was supposed to marry a year and a half from now, next October.

I’d known when the day started that it would be full of drama, but I hadn’t expected anything like this.

chapter two

“I’m fine,” I insisted as my coworkers continued to fuss over me. The initial shock of the devastating news had penetrated my brain, and now I was trying to deal with it.

“Here.” Alaina put the mouth of a bottle of water against my lips. “Drink this.”

I forced down a couple sips, then turned my head.

“You need more than that,” Alaina insisted.

Not facing her, I waved off her concern.

LaToya, one of the agency’s administrative assistants, placed her palm on my forehead. “Oh, hell. She’s warm. And look at her eyes…they’re glazing over. I think she’s gonna pass out. Will, go get a damp cloth!”

I pushed LaToya’s hand away and got to my feet. “I’m not dehydrated, I don’t have a fever and I sure as hell am not about to pass out. I’m perfectly okay.” I glanced around the conference room at my colleagues. “Please stop treating me like I’m an invalid.”

Alaina shot me a look of grave concern. “Honey, your fiancé is dead. How can you be okay?”

“You heard the newscast. He was found in bed with another woman,” I said casually, adding a nonchalant shrug. “I guess he got what he deserved.”

“Got what he deserved?” Alaina repeated, aghast. “And yesterday, you were showing me travel brochures, telling me where you want to go on your dream honeymoon.” She shook her head. “Girl, don’t pretend this news isn’t devastating.”

“I’m shocked, yes,” I said, again trying to feign a calmness I didn’t feel. “But I’m trying to put things in perspective. Eli was screwing someone else. That makes him a lowdown dirty dawg if ever there was one. And one thing I can’t stand is a cheating man. Trust me, I’m thanking my lucky stars that I didn’t walk down the—”

I couldn’t get my words out before I burst into tears.

“Oh, sweetie.” Alaina wrapped me in a hug.

With her hugging me and stroking my hair, I allowed myself a total meltdown. The love of my life was dead, as were all our dreams for the future.

And Rayna…my God, how was I going to explain this to my baby?

“Seriously,” I heard Debbie say behind me. “You need to go home. Be with your daughter.”

“Home…Oh my God,” I croaked.

Everyone in the room must have picked up on the alarm in my voice, because there was a chorus of questions.

Pulling out of Alaina’s arms, I glanced around and studied the crowd. I think every single person from the agency was in the conference room at that moment, and as much as I appreciated the concern of my true friends, I didn’t want to be the day’s gossip for the curious.

“Alaina,” I began quietly. “Get these people out of here, please. I need to talk to you and Debbie.”

Debbie must have heard me, because before Alaina could approach her, she immediately turned off the television, then began to speak in her I’m-the-boss tone. “All right, everyone. Show’s over. We have a business to run here. Back to your desks.”

When Debbie spoke, people listened. She was that kind of boss. My coworkers started for the conference room door, some more slowly than others, all glancing back over their shoulders to shoot looks of pity at me.

Will appeared holding a wet cloth, and glanced around in confusion as people moved past him.

“Will, back to work,” Debbie told him. Not saying a word, he raised the cloth, and she continued. “Forget the wet rag. Just get back to work!”

Will knew better than to piss Debbie off, so he whirled around and disappeared. With him gone, she shut the conference room door to give us some privacy.

“What is it, honey?” she asked when she reached my side again. Debbie, though she could be a total bitch when necessary, did have a soft side for the people she liked. “You sort of freaked out when I said you should go home.”

My stomach tightened with the reality that, because Eli was dead, so much in my life would change. “The condo…we’ve got a mortgage. With Eli gone, I can’t afford the payments—not on my own.”

The thought of having to move had me on the verge of hyperventilating. Only three months earlier, Eli and I had purchased the gorgeous apartment in the heart of Miami Beach. It was a place that both Rayna and I loved, in a location that was ideal.

“If I can’t afford the payments, I’m going to have to move,” I moaned. “And I don’t want to leave South Beach! I can’t move to…to Kendall!”

“What’s wrong with Kendall?” Alaina asked, sounding a tad defensive. “It’s quiet, beautiful, a great place to raise a family. Not everyone can live on South Beach.”

“Alaina,” Debbie began, “don’t take everything so personally. We know Kendall is a beautiful place. It’s just that if it were any farther west, it’d be in Naples.”

Despite my misery, I cracked a smile at Alaina’s shocked look. If there was one topic that got Alaina riled, it was the subject of Kendall being too far from the center of Miami.

“I love Kendall,” I said, then misery gripped me again. “But my perfect sister and her perfect family live there. I’ll lose my mind if I have to move in with them. And I love the penthouse Eli and I bought. But I wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for Eli. I’ll have to move, and Rayna…how many changes does my little girl have to deal with in her short life? Carla’s been the best babysitter ever. And Eli…” My voice cracked, forcing me to finally slow my rant. “She loved Eli so much.”

“And now we know that Eli was a no-good piece of shit,” Debbie said frankly. “However, let’s hope he had the good sense to have a will written.”

“Yes!” Alaina exclaimed, excited. “He played for the Braves. He’s got to have a will. And I’m sure he’ll have left you enough money to pay off the mortgage.”

My heart lifted with hope. “Lord, I hope so. But he hasn’t played in seven years. We never really discussed it, but I don’t think he’s got millions in the bank anymore.” I caught myself talking about him in the present tense, as though he were still alive, and my stomach tightened with the sickest of feelings. I wondered when I’d ever get used to referring to him in the past tense.

“And life insurance,” Alaina continued. “He must have had life insurance.”

“Forget life insurance,” Debbie said. “At the very least, you both must have gotten mortgage insurance from the bank. In the event that one of you dies, the mortgage should be paid off.”

I heard what Debbie and Alaina were saying, but my brain—and my heart—were stuck on the reality that I’d have to refer to Eli in the past tense.

Dead. Gone. Was my fiancé.

Killed while screwing his lover.

A tear rolled down my cheek, and both Debbie and Alaina stopped talking. “I can’t believe he was cheating on me,” I said as they stared at me. “I can’t believe he’s dead. I can hardly fathom this. What do I tell my daughter?”

“I don’t know,” Debbie admitted, her shoulders drooping. “I really don’t.”

“You’ve talked to her about heaven, haven’t you?” Alaina asked. “When my kids’ hamster died, I told them that he’d gone to hamster heaven, where he was running to his heart’s content. That brought them a sense of peace.”

I didn’t see how the fate of a family pet could even compare to the death of a father, but didn’t say so. Instead I said, “No, I haven’t talked to Rayna about heaven. I figured she’s a little young to understand the concept.”

For several moments, no one spoke. What was there to say? Eli was dead, and nothing either of them said would make that reality any easier to deal with.

“I know I need you here,” Debbie said, breaking the silence, “but you go on home. I meant it when I said you could take as much time as you need. Paid leave, of course.”

I sighed. The idea of going home frightened me more than staying at the office. Going home meant I’d have to deal with Rayna, and I was not in the least bit ready to throw her little world into upheaval.

“Do you mind if I stay here for a while?” I asked Debbie. “Maybe just to rest in my office—if I can. Going home means…I’m just not ready.”

Debbie squeezed my hand. “Of course. You do whatever you need to do.”

“I think I’ll just sit here for a minute, if you don’t mind.”

“You need anything?” Alaina asked. “Coffee? Water?”

“No.” I shook my head.

“All right, Alaina,” Debbie said. “Let’s give Vanessa some peace and quiet.”

Moments later they were gone, the heavy conference door closed behind them.

And I was alone.

The way I would be from now on. Vanessa Cain, single. No significant other.

Except for my baby, of course. She was and always would be my world.

With that thought in mind, I forced myself to stand. As Debbie had so eloquently said, Eli was a louse. Even if he hadn’t been murdered, I would have suffered heartbreak when I learned he’d been cheating on me. This way, I’d been spared the agony of marrying him and then having to deal with a messy divorce.

I was better off—even if it didn’t feel that way at the moment.

I headed to my office, not turning to acknowledge the people who were throwing curious glances my way. I’d lost it once. I didn’t plan on having another meltdown. Not over Eli, when he so clearly didn’t deserve my tears.

In my office, I closed the door and grabbed the bottle of Advil I kept in my desk for the days when the stress at work became too much.

This definitely counted as one of those times. I downed two capsules with my now cold coffee, then made my way to the small love seat near the window. I had a great view overlooking the Port of Miami and Bayside, a trendy area filled with shops and restaurants along the waterfront. It was a view that normally lifted my spirits, but I didn’t even peer outside as I plopped down on my sofa and closed my eyes.

I lay there wishing that I could rewind this morning and start over. Actually, I’d rewind to the night before and erase the dumb fight I’d had with Eli. Then he wouldn’t have left, and he wouldn’t have ended up in another woman’s bed.

And he wouldn’t be dead right now.

I closed my eyes, tried to force sleep to take me away from this nightmare. It wouldn’t come.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Eli, trying to imagine the man I’d last seen very much alive suddenly dead. My mind simply couldn’t comprehend this information in a real way. It seemed inconceivable that I wouldn’t see him when I went home later. That I would never see him again.

He was with another woman.

Had Eli been killed in a car crash, or gunned down at an ATM, I think I wouldn’t have had such a hard time dealing with the news of his death. But the fact that he’d been cheating on me when it had happened was the ultimate bitter pill to swallow.

Who was this woman? Had Eli been involved in an ongoing affair with her? Or had he picked her up in a bar last night after he’d left our place? Had Eli truly been in love with me? Or had I been so blinded by my feelings for him that I’d missed all the signs that he was going to break my heart?

Replaying our life together in my mind, I couldn’t think of any signs I’d missed. Eli had chased me. Eli had been the very definition of a romantic. After a whirlwind courtship, he had proposed to me under the stars while we strolled on the beach.

We were engaged, for God’s sake. Why propose to me if he didn’t love me? And why be such a great father to Rayna? I could see Eli lying to me, breaking my heart—but not my daughter’s.

My sister, Nikki, said that what attracted me to Eli was his money, but that wasn’t it. It was his smile. I vividly remembered the day I’d met him. The exact moment, actually.

I had been at a diabetes fund-raiser at the Eden Roc Hotel, a wine-tasting event that brought out Miami’s movers and shakers. Built in the 1950s, the Eden Roc is one of the landmark resorts on South Beach’s famous Collins Avenue. It is right on the beach, a definite plus, and has one of the best spas in South Florida. Once, the exterior had been completely white, but with the recent renovations, it had been painted a pale shell-pink with green accents, giving it more of an art deco look.

Debbie knew someone working for the American Diabetes Association, and the organization had needed volunteers for the event. I gladly offered to help out. Free wine and possibly a few bottles to take home—it was a no-brainer.

Even before Eli approached the table I’d been manning, I noticed him among the crowd of happy, stylishly dressed people. I’d finished pouring two glasses of merlot for an older couple, glanced across the room and saw him instantly. He was with a beefy-looking black man in an expensive mustard-colored suit, a man I recognized immediately as Christian Blake, a former Miami Dolphins running back. Christian had retired two years earlier and now appeared in commercials promoting weight training products for men.

Christian Blake was all flash, and yet the man who caught my attention was the one he’d been with. Eli. Eli looked sharp in a loose-fitting black blazer and crisp white shirt. And unlike Christian, he hadn’t been sporting a pair of dark sunglasses, so I could easily see his eyes when his gaze met mine. Met and held.

His eyes lit up like he’d just seen the most beautiful woman in the world. Then his lips had curved into a stunning smile, and for that moment, it felt as if we were the only two people in the place.

I know that sounds corny, but it’s really the way it happened. Eli didn’t stop looking at me as he approached me from across the room, and I tried to be nonchalant, fiddling with one bottle of wine after the next, acting as if I wasn’t as instantly smitten with him as he appeared to be with me.

We both knew it was a game, however. Cat and mouse. Hunter and hunted. He was on the prowl, and I was his prey.

“Can I tell you something?” Eli had asked when he’d reached me. “And I hope you won’t think I’m crazy.”

I made a show of putting an empty bottle under the table, but said, “Sure.”

“You have got to be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life.”

Now, I’ve heard that line before, but from Eli’s lips, I wasn’t compelled to roll my eyes and laugh. Maybe it was because he looked so polished, so damn delicious. Maybe it was because after my last breakup, I needed a good distraction.

Or maybe it was because I couldn’t deny the instant attraction between us.

“Would you like some merlot?” I asked, deliberately not responding to his comment. I began uncorking a new bottle, even though there were two open ones on the table.

“I’ll take anything you want to give me.”

My hands stilled on the cork, and once again I’d looked into his eyes. The charge between us sent a jolt of heat through my body.

I cleared my throat. “One glass of merlot coming right up.”

I fumbled to get the cork out of the bottle, all the while making sure not to look at him. He was over six feet tall, strikingly gorgeous, and had an incredible smile; in other words, I needed to keep my guard up around him. Heck, he was friends with Christian Blake, a man who publicly dated women like it was a new sport he’d taken up after football. And you know what they say about birds of a feather….

I’d already fallen for a smooth-talking pretty boy named Lewis, the guy I had been trying to get over at the time. I didn’t want to go down that road again.

“Here you are,” I announced, my hand shaking slightly as I passed him the glass of wine.

“My name’s Eli,” he said.

“That’s nice,” I replied.

“Ouch.” He winced. “So it’s like that?”

I should have said yes, that it was like that, making it clear that I didn’t want to get to know him. But I couldn’t bring myself to reject him, even if my brain told me to send him away. He was too fine, with his smooth, dark skin and that dazzling smile. My heart wanted him to stay exactly where he was.

“I hope you like the wine.”

“I couldn’t care less about the wine. It’s you I like.”

My heart fluttered at his bold statement. I glanced across the room at his friend, who now had a woman on each arm. “I see you’re here with Christian Blake.”

“I might be here with him, but I’m not like him, if that’s what you’re getting at. I’m a one-woman man.”

I couldn’t help laughing sardonically, a bitter memory of Lewis and his player ways popping into my head. “I’ve heard that before.”

“Yeah, but not from me.”

Damn the man, he sounded completely sincere. And to his credit, he was talking to me—not one of the groupies tailing Christian. Was it fair to compare him to Lewis? Probably not. Right from the beginning, I knew Lewis saw me as a plaything, and I didn’t care. It was my own fault that after six months of hot sex, I’d fallen in love with him.

Eli sipped his wine, eyeing me as I served merlot to another couple. It was clear he wasn’t going to leave my station. When the couple walked off, he said, “You gonna tell me your name?”

“Vanessa,” I stated. “And before you say anything else, I’m a single mother, raising my baby on my own.”

“That supposed to deter me?”

I shrugged.

“You can tell me all about the fool who let you go, over a drink later tonight.”

“I get out of here at eleven.” My easy answer surprised me. Then I realized that I’d made up my mind about getting to know Eli a little better. A drink was just a drink. I didn’t have to see him again if I didn’t want to.

We ended up heading to the Delano Hotel, a very chic and trendy South Beach spot. The lobby is beautiful, with two rows of white pillars down the center and interspersed white drapes that billow as the breeze flows through the hotel’s open front and back doors. We took a seat on one of the sofas on the large back terrace, also enclosed with drapes, and had a couple of drinks. We talked easily for an hour and a half.

Eli asked about my baby’s father, so I told him. I went on and on about Rayna’s deadbeat dad, Byron, and how I didn’t understand how a man could walk away from his children. Then I talked about Lewis and how he’d broken my heart because he was a player. When I realized I’d bitched for twenty minutes straight, I thought for sure that Eli would be ready to call it a night. But he wasn’t. I let him talk, and that was when I learned he used to play for the Atlanta Braves, which didn’t surprise me. Even if he hadn’t been with Christian Blake, I would have figured him for an athlete. He’d played nine years as an outfielder before a torn rotator cuff had put an end to his career. He said he’d been married before, and that it had ended badly, but didn’t offer more information. I didn’t ask.

We moved on to more neutral topics, like movies and music, and our favorite places to eat. It had been a perfectly enjoyable evening, and I really liked Eli, but a little voice in my head had told me I shouldn’t see him again. That I should remember my vow to concentrate on my career and put men on the back burner.

Only Eli started sending a dozen roses to my office every day when I didn’t return his calls. The attention had been as intoxicating as the roses’ sweet scent. Still, I was determined to stand my ground. I didn’t want to set myself up to get hurt again, as I’d been with Lewis.

With every flower delivery came a note that included Eli’s name and number, and the instruction to call him. I didn’t. But with the sixth bouquet of roses, the message had been different. It included his name and number as before, with the added note: “I won’t stop sending flowers until you call me back.”

So I caved and called him. Wouldn’t you?

I loved Eli’s sense of humor, the way he’d chased me. Lewis was used to women doing the chasing, and I think if he’d spent two days sending flowers with no response, he would have moved on. With Eli committing a solid week to his chase, I decided he was worthy of giving a chance.

Man, how he’d wooed me. Romantic dinners at Miami’s top restaurants, gifts of jewelry and adorable toys for Rayna…I’ve got to say, there wasn’t much to not like.

He won me over, and more importantly, won my daughter over. Who wouldn’t fall for a man who seemed absolutely perfect?

I’m not sure how long I lay curled up on the plush love seat in my office, but when there was a knock at my door, I didn’t move. When I heard it open, I turned my head and saw Trisha, Debbie’s assistant, peeking her head through the door.

“Hey, Vanessa,” she said.

“Hi,” I responded weakly.

She entered the room without waiting for an invitation. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said. “If there’s anything you need, please tell me.”

“Sure.”

Trisha paused at the door, and I expected her to leave, but she didn’t. After a moment she asked, “Do you want me to pick you up some lunch?”

“Lunch?” I asked, surprised. “It’s already noon?”

“It’s almost one, actually. We gave you some time, like you wanted, but we were starting to get worried about you.”

Sitting up, I glanced at my watch. Where had the time gone? I must have drifted off to sleep, after all.

“Whatever you want,” Trisha said. “My treat.”

“I’m not hungry,” I told her.

She stepped fully into my office and closed the door behind her. “I know what you’re going through. You remember my father died a couple months ago. You need to keep your strength up.”

“I’m really not hungry,” I reiterated, now getting to my feet. I wasn’t in the mood to hear that I’d have to keep my strength up, that I was about to deal with the hardest thing in my life. I already knew that. “I appreciate your concern, Trisha, but I’ll get myself something to eat when I’m ready.”

She nodded, then silently left the room.

I was still standing before my window, staring outside but seeing only a blur, when I heard the door open again. I didn’t know if Trisha said a word to anyone, or if they simply saw her coming from my office and decided that was their cue to enter. But person after person came in to check on me after that, in a steady stream, offering to get me food or whatever I needed, offering to lend me their shoulder to cry on, sharing stories of how they’d learned their lovers had cheated on them, but how they’d gotten over the heartache.

I swear, they drove me nuts with all their sympathy, to the point where I finally left the office to get food, just so I’d have some peace.

I made the short walk from my office to Bayside, where I wandered back and forth along the scenic walkways and perused the two levels of fashionable shops. I was trying to pretend I was a normal woman out for a normal, carefree stroll. When I passed the Hard Rock Café for the seventh time, I realized I couldn’t go on like this forever. I couldn’t wander around aimlessly like a tourist, pretending everything was right in my world.

Sooner or later, I had to face reality.

Eli was dead.

It suddenly dawned on me that I hadn’t called Carla back after I’d watched CNN. Now, I wanted to assure her that grief hadn’t caused me to jump out of my office window.

I dug my cell phone out of my purse, turned it on and punched in Carla’s home number. She answered on the first ring, exclaiming, “Vanessa!”

“Hey,” I said.

“Where are you? Every time I call your office, the phone goes straight to voice mail! I have been totally worried!”

I didn’t even remember setting that up, though I must have. Just as I’d obviously turned off my cell phone. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you. I just wanted some time.”

A moment passed, then Carla said, “When I saw the news, my heart just froze. You had no clue?”

“That Eli would get himself killed one day because he was having an affair with a married woman? No, I had no clue.”

Carla tsked. “Sometimes life seriously sucks. I know how much you loved Eli.”

“How’s Rayna?” I asked, changing the subject. I didn’t want to think about what I’d felt for Eli, because I would likely fall apart, right here in front of countless strangers.

“Great. She’s having a blast here.”

“Good, that’s good.” A heavy sigh oozed out of my body. At least that was positive news.

“When are you going to be home?” Carla asked.

“Between five-thirty and six, same as usual,” I answered.

“What? Tell me your boss isn’t that much of a bitch that she’s making you stay.”

“No, of course not. I chose to stay.”

“Why?”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to head home—I’m definitely no use at the office today—but…I just couldn’t. I guess I needed some time to pull myself together. To deal with the shock of all that’s happened. And, my God, Carla, I’m afraid I’m going to break down the moment I see Rayna. She’s going to ask where Eli is, and how do I tell her…” My voice cracked.

“Oh, sweetie. I’m really sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

A weird feeling suddenly passed over me, the kind you get when you sense you’re being watched.

It stopped my tears in my eye ducts, because up until that moment, I was certain I’d been about to start crying.

Spinning around, I surveyed the crowd. I saw happy lovers strolling hand in hand, girlfriends carrying multiple shopping bags, people standing near the railing at the edge of the water.

In other words, I saw nothing out of place.

But still, that odd feeling didn’t leave me.

“Carla, I’ll see you later,” I said hastily, then closed the phone.

One more quick glance around and I assured myself I was being paranoid. Who would be following me in this very public place?

I stuffed my cell phone back in my purse and headed for the street. Once again, it hit me that I wasn’t in the middle of a nightmare.

Actually, I was—only this nightmare was real.

I pushed that thought aside and forced myself to think about Rayna, how I had to be strong for her.

She was going to need me, and I wouldn’t let her down.

chapter three

Needless to say, I didn’t get any work done when I went back to my office, but I stayed there the full day nonetheless. I even lingered several minutes after five, giving most of our office staff a chance to leave so I wouldn’t have to face them.

I did peek my head into Debbie’s office to tell her goodbye, and she told me to make sure I stayed home the next day. There was no mention of Jason, but the fact that she was applying a fresh coat of lipstick told me he would soon be on his way up.

Shortly before five-thirty, I was heading to the lot where I’d parked my car, when I heard my name.

I turned. Kim, a heavyset, dark-skinned woman from the agency, was rushing toward me.

“Vanessa,” she said as she reached my side. Sadness creased her forehead. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you earlier because I was out with a client. I’m so sorry about your ex.”

“My fiancé,” I clarified.

“Fiancé, right. I read the story on the Internet. Holy shit, it was gruesome. Killed with a bow and arrow! In bed with another woman! I can’t imagine what you’re going through. And when the news hits the papers tomorrow—”

“Thanks for your concern,” I said, cutting her off. But I wanted to say, “Do you think that repeating the dirty details is making me feel any better?”

I cut her some slack, because none of what had happened was her fault. I started walking again, picking up my pace a little.

She clearly didn’t get my not-so-subtle hints that I wanted her to drop the subject, because she fell into step beside me and continued talking. “I was dating this guy once. Big shot in some finance company. He took me out for all these fancy dinners, wooed me on his yacht. I wish someone had shot that asshole with a bow and arrow, because when I found out he was married—”

“You know, Kim,” I said, halting, “I’m really not in the mood for this.”

A hurt look passed over her face. “I’m just trying to say I understand what you’re going through.”

“Yeah, I know,” I told her. “Everybody does. More people have told me today that they’ve been cheated on than during the rest of my life combined.”

“I’m only trying—”

“It’s okay.” I placed a hand on her shoulder and offered her a small smile. “I know you care. Thank you.”

I turned to the right, leaving Kim standing on the sidewalk. Perhaps I was abrupt with her, but didn’t I have a right to be? Let’s face it, I’d had a really shitty day.

I don’t know why, but as I was walking south, I again got that feeling that someone was watching me. Turning, I saw no one suspicious, not even Kim staring at me with an evil expression. I saw office workers making their way to wherever they’d parked their cars.

And then it dawned on me that perhaps I was sensing Eli.

“Forget it, Eli,” I mumbled, imagining him trying to find a ghost whisperer to reach out to me. “Even an apology from the other side isn’t going to get me to forgive you.”

Only when I exited the MacArthur Causeway onto South Beach did I realize that I had somehow navigated my way home. I didn’t remember one bit of the drive, but given my state of mind, I suppose that was only natural.

Glancing at my car’s digital clock, I saw that it was ten minutes after six. Rayna would no doubt be anticipating my arrival at Carla’s place, as she always did this time of day. And yet when I got to Washington Avenue, I found myself driving past my condo and down to South Pointe Park.

I drove as far south as I could go, to where the street ended and the rocky shoreline began. With my car radio tuned to 99.1, I listened to Kanye West as I stared out at the water.

South Beach had been my home for only three months, but I loved everything about this place. My building was in the historic art deco district. Tourists loved taking walks along Ocean Drive and Collins Avenue, where they could check out the prewar art deco hotels like the Breakwater and the Colony and the South Beach. Buildings with rounded edges, decorative sculptural panels, sleek symmetrical patterns, and a few with futuristic forms. And even though some of the facades appeared small, most of the hotels offered idyllic private courtyards lined with palm trees and boasted pools with stunning designs. During the Depression, the art deco buildings had been designed with bold colors and shapes with the hope of a better future. As such, they had symbolized decadence.

At night, the Ocean Drive strip lit up in an array of neon colors, and that was part of what gave South Beach its appeal. Now, a new generation of architects had designed towering condominiums, which were popping up anywhere there was space. Like Portofino Tower at the southern tip of South Beach, where I now sat in my parked car. But I wasn’t partial to skyscraper condos in a part of Miami that had become world-renowned for its low-rise art deco designs. It’s one of the reasons I particularly loved my building. It was only six stories high, and featured both angular and rounded edges. The blue-hued windows provided a nice contrast with the white-and-cream-colored exterior. And the private courtyard was to die for.

I glanced up at the Portofino, then back at the stretch of beach that overlooked the bay. It was the end of the workday, and many people were out with dogs that had been cooped up in apartments while they’d been at the office. I watched small dogs prance, big dogs race, and contemplated how odd it was that the world around me was continuing as usual when my personal world would never be the same.

It was the beginning of a slow song that had me getting out of my Honda Accord and walking across the short expanse of grass to the rocky shore. I hugged my torso as I did, a wave of sadness crashing over me as I remembered how Eli and I had liked to take walks here in the evenings with Rayna.

And, Lord, the tears started again.

“Vanessa Cain?”

At the sound of my name, I whipped my head around. And saw a tall, thin black woman who looked vaguely familiar.

I brushed away my tears as she approached me. “Vanessa, I’m Cynthia Martin from the Miami Herald. You were Eli Johnson’s girlfriend, correct?”

My eyes widened. I stood there stupidly, in complete shock.

“I know this has been a very hard day for you.”

Suddenly, I realized what was going on. I asked, “You’re a reporter?”

“Miami Herald,” the woman repeated, this time handing me her card.

And then it clicked. I knew why she looked familiar. I’d seen her today at Bayside. I’d seen her face in the crowd.

Which meant she’d been stalking me.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Cynthia said. “But I do have some questions about your boyfriend. If I could have just a few minutes of your time.”

“Excuse me?” Slowly but surely, outrage was bubbling inside of me.

“A few questions, that’s all.”

“I heard you. I—I understood what you meant. Why do you want to ask me about Eli?”

“He was your boyfriend, right? Or…” Cynthia’s eyes lowered to my left hand, landing on my engagement ring. “Oh.”

I whipped my hand behind my back. “How do you know who I am?”

“Your fiancé’s death has been big news here,” Cynthia replied, not at all answering my question.

“You—you’re spying on me?”

“It’s my job to find people,” she said simply.

“How?” I demanded.

“Your name is on the deed with Eli’s,” Cynthia answered.

“Of course,” I mumbled.

“And I don’t expect you to remember, but I met you once before,” she added. “At a fund-raiser for Jackson Memorial Hospital. I had to coax Eli into letting my photographer take a picture of the two of you together, but that must have been before you got engaged.”

“That’s right,” I said softly, remembering the event. And remembering Eli’s reluctance at having us be photographed together. He had explained that he didn’t want the media to start harassing me. I’d appreciated his concern, but didn’t think that one picture was a big deal, and he’d ultimately agreed to a photograph.

The one thing I’d liked about Eli was that although he’d been a professional athlete, he didn’t crave the spotlight. Certainly not like Christian Blake, who was often pictured in the paper at some club, with a different woman on his arm each time. Eli freely admitted that he hadn’t been the most popular player on the Braves, but said that had been fine with him because it was the team’s superstars who constantly had their privacy violated and dirt dug up about them. He’d made his money, and was happy that he could live a relatively normal life.

After Eli proposed, I’d placed an announcement in the Miami Herald, and when I showed it to him, he couldn’t have been less enthused. Again, he’d said how he wanted to protect me from any media scrutiny by being associated with him. Personally, it seemed to me that he was overreacting, since during the time I’d been with him we’d been able to walk the streets, shop, and dine at expensive restaurants without any paparazzi bothering us. Yes, some guys recognized him from time to time, but since Eli hadn’t played professionally in seven years, he was hardly a blip on the media’s radar in terms of current celebrity gossip.

“I followed you from your office this afternoon, but I left you alone because you looked so distraught.” Cynthia’s words drew me from my thoughts like any slap in the face would. Feeling utterly violated, I grunted and marched past the woman en route to my car.

“Tell me what it was like learning your boyfriend had been murdered,” Cynthia called out. “That he’d been gruesomely shot with a bow and arrow.”

The words made me halt, but only for a moment. I quickly kept going and scrambled into my car. Cynthia hurried to my window and rapped on it with her knuckles. Ignoring her, I revved the engine, surged forward, then did a fast U-turn and sped down the street. In my rearview mirror, I saw her hurry to her own car, a gold-colored Saturn that had been parked behind mine.

Not about to give her the chance to follow me, I raced down the street, then turned left onto Fifth in a bold move that could have gotten me into an accident if a car had been coming. I zipped into the right lane, glancing in my rearview mirror as I did. Cynthia was stopped at the light. I kept going straight, hoping she’d think that I was heading back to the causeway. But when I hit Alton Road, I made a hasty right turn and sped north.

When I reached Tenth Street and saw no sign of the gold Saturn, I finally started to calm down. But the calm lasted barely a few seconds before my heart spasmed in my chest.

Cynthia had found my name on the deed, which meant she knew where I lived. She wasn’t the only reporter in the city. If she could find me, how many others would?

Cynthia, however, had met me before, and therefore knew where I worked. She’d likely tried to get the jump on other reporters by showing up at my office building. But if other members of the media had found my name on the deed and wanted to reach me for comment…

Urged on by the suddenly desperate feeling that I needed to protect my daughter, I made a series of turns and sped the rest of the way home.

Sure enough, I saw a throng of people milling about outside my condo. I didn’t need to see the cameras to know they were reporters. In my numbed haze, I’d driven right by my building and not even noticed them before.

Some surrounded the front door. Some hovered near the entrance to the building’s parking lot. Slowing, I drove past my condo, wondering what to do.

As I circled the block, I realized that I didn’t have a choice. I had to get inside, had to get to my daughter. And my best bet was to drive into the condo’s parking lot, as I always did. At the very least, it would provide me the protection of my car should the reporters recognize me, and I doubted any of them would risk getting run over simply to get the perfect photo of the grieving fiancée.

Eli and I had been photographed at the hospital fund-raiser, and that picture had made the pages of the Miami Herald. So had the photo that accompanied our engagement announcement. Clearly, the reporters surrounding my building figured they could spot me when I approached.

I wasn’t about to let that happen.

Before I rounded the corner that would take me back to my condo, I slipped off my sleek sunglasses and put on the large pair I always kept in my car. Then I placed my cell phone at my ear, and acted like I was in the middle of a fun conversation. A short while later, I drove past the reporters as though they didn’t faze me one bit. Cameras swung my way, as did curious glances, but I kept my cool and inched forward, even laughing loudly into my phone as I pressed my key card to the electronic sensor.

And then I was on my way into the indoor parking for the residents of Cosmopolitan Towers.

Inside, I breathed a sigh of relief. Good grief, this was insane! Here I was, having to sneak past reporters to get to my own home. Damn Eli. He hadn’t just died in the sleaziest of situations. He’d thrown me into a potful of drama.

Oh, he’d been right to be concerned that my association with him might bring out the paparazzi. But never in my wildest dreams had I thought it would be under these circumstances.

Just before I rounded the corner inside the parking garage, I craned my neck for one last look at the reporters pacing the sidewalk.

And I couldn’t help thinking, My life is about to get seriously complicated.

chapter four

Carla opened her apartment door and immediately swept me into her arms. “Vanessa!”

“Mommy!” The shriek came immediately afterward. I broke apart from Carla in time to scoop up Rayna, who was racing toward me. There’s nothing that brings a brighter smile to your face than coming home to a child who loves you so much she’ll drop whatever she’s doing to throw herself into your arms.

“Rayna, sweetie.” I planted kisses all over my daughter’s face, which had her in a fit of giggles. “I missed you, baby.”

“I miss Mommy.”

“Well, Mommy’s home now.” I held her tight, emotion welling up inside me. “Mommy’s home.”

Rayna shimmied out of my arms, then headed back to the center of the living room. She lifted a paper full of colorful swirls. “Look, Mommy.”

I walked toward her and examined the artwork she held. “Oh, wow. You made that?” Rayna beamed. “It’s beautiful.”

“Rainbow.”

“Yes, a rainbow,” I agreed, amazed at how much the picture did resemble a rainbow. “Look at all the beautiful colors.”

“This for Daddy.” Rayna lifted another picture that had a big circle colored mostly black. “A cat.”

I had to swallow back the tears. “Yes. For Daddy.”

Rayna planted herself on the floor beside Carla’s daughter, Amani, and they resumed playing with a range of colorful ponies that they were both so fond of. It was a bit of a reprieve, thankfully, because I had no clue what I was going to say to Rayna about Eli.

“It’s been all over the news,” Carla said, her tone quiet. “You must have seen the media camped outside the building.”

I nodded. “I assume they were looking for me, but I drove past them and they didn’t notice me.”

“This is crazy.”

“Tell me about it.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I took a detour to the beach for a moment to clear my head, and a reporter from the Miami Herald approached me.”

Carla’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“Yeah. I’d apparently met her once with Eli at an event, and she remembered me. Plus she found my name on the condo’s deed. The woman had the nerve to follow me! I saw her when I was at Bayside earlier today. Of course, I didn’t realize who she was at the time. Until she approached me twenty minutes ago and said she wanted to ask me a few questions.”

“Wow.”

“Wow indeed.” I sighed softly. “Hopefully by tomorrow, they’ll lose interest in this story. Staking me out like this? It’s crazy. I’m not Paris Hilton or Britney Spears. I’m a woman whose fiancé was killed by a jealous husband. Happens every day.”

“I hate to tell you this, but CNN hasn’t stopped running the story. They’re saying that neither you, his ‘live-in love—’” Carla made air quotes “—nor his family could be reached for comment.”

“What family? They tried to reach his mother in Barbados?” Eli’s father had died the year before he retired from baseball, and his mother had moved back to Barbados right after that. When we got engaged, I’d asked Eli if he would call his mother and let me say hello, but he didn’t want to. Something about her being a Christian and that she’d hate the idea of us living in sin. “I know he’s got some cousins somewhere,” I told Carla, “but I’ve never met them. Eli said I’d meet them all at a family reunion this summer, and that he was looking forward to surprising them with news of our engagement.”

“They certainly had enough to broadcast without comments from his family,” Carla said. “CNN spent the day replaying the scene outside the house where he was…well, you know. Showing the crime scene tape, and that woman’s husband in handcuffs. He wasn’t shy about talking to the press, that’s for sure. They also showed highlights of Eli’s career with the Braves, and even had people phone in to share their memories of Eli.”

“Share their memories? He hasn’t played pro ball in seven years.”

“It’s still big news. With how he was killed, and why…It’s a sensational story.”

I grew quiet. What else was there to say? Carla was right—it was the outlandish nature of Eli’s murder that had garnered such media interest. I wondered if the reporters were going to stick around until they got a statement from me.

Carla rubbed my forearm. “How are you holding up?”

“Okay. I think. But I don’t know how…” I had to stop, take a calming breath. “I’m afraid to go upstairs, Carla, and be there…knowing that Eli won’t be coming home.”

“You can stay here if you want.”

I shook my head, dismissing the idea without giving it a thought. “The routine has to be the same. For Rayna’s sake.”

Carla gripped both of my hands. “Don’t you worry about Rayna. She’s perfectly fine.”

As if to emphasize that point, my daughter’s high-pitched laughter pierced the room.

“I know,” I agreed.

“You need to take care of you,” Carla insisted. “If it’s too soon for you to go upstairs, you tell Rayna we’re having a sleepover. Trust me, she’ll think it’s fun.”

“I hear you. I do. But I can’t…” I swallowed, considered my words. “I can’t avoid this situation forever. I have to go home and deal with…with the truth. If I don’t go now, when will I? I may never be ready.”

Carla pulled me into her thick arms and gave me a heartfelt hug. “Oh, Vanessa. I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine how you’re feeling right now. But you’ll get through this.”

I nodded, but I didn’t entirely believe what she was saying. As it was, I felt like I was walking an emotional tightrope. One wrong move and I could fall into a pit of despair. The only thing keeping me walking a straight line at the moment was my daughter. She was the reason I was able to summon the strength to keep moving forward.

“What can I do?” Carla asked.

“Nothing. But I love you for caring.” I’d met Carla only three months earlier, when I’d moved into the building with Eli, the first time I went down to use the pool one warm January day. Our children had brought us together, the way so many women make friends with other mothers in play groups or at the park. Rayna and Amani had hit it off playing in the water, which had led to me and Carla talking. I soon learned that she was a military wife, and that her husband, stationed at the Homestead Air Reserve Base, was deployed in Iraq. Her daughter, Amani, was a year older than Rayna, and the second cutest child in the world—after Rayna, of course.

We talked for three hours straight that day, as if we’d been friends for years. Carla confided in me her fears that her husband could die any moment, and that sometimes it was a real struggle to stay strong. She also wasn’t happy with her weight, and hoped she could lose the twenty-five pounds she’d gained during pregnancy by the time Paul returned home from his tour of duty. Her problem, I’d soon learned, was that Carla ate sweets when she was down, which negated whatever progress she made in the building’s gym.

At five foot five, she carried the extra pounds well, I thought. She was pretty, with flawless skin the color of milk chocolate, and whenever we were out together, she attracted her fair share of masculine attention. The brothas appreciated the extra pounds on her butt, something she told me her husband, who was white, didn’t at first. Until he’d seen how men had tripped over themselves to get a good look at her behind.

Carla also shared her annoyance at the fact that many of the building’s residents had made a point of asking her how she and Paul could afford to live in this building, considering she was a stay-at-home mom and he was in the military. To others, she said they’d invested well in the stock market. But she’d admitted to me that Paul’s father had died, and he and his mother, the only two heirs, had split the million-dollar life insurance policy.

I’d never met Paul, but based on everything Carla said about him, I could tell that they had what I wanted—a happy marriage. Why was that so hard to find?

“Let me at least feed you,” Carla said, interrupting my thoughts. “I made a pot of spaghetti.”

I waved off the suggestion. “No. I’m gonna take Rayna and go.”

“This isn’t about pity. You know I enjoy the company.”

Shortly before Eli and I had moved into this building, Paul had left for Iraq. He was to be gone for a year, which meant he had eight months left to serve before returning home. And ever since his departure, Carla had been lonely. She never said so, but I could tell.

“Another time,” I told her. Tonight, I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. Needed to be. I wasn’t interested in talking with anyone about how I felt. I simply wanted to be with my baby and act like our world was still normal.

I approached my daughter. “Rayna, sweetie. Time to go home.”

She immediately got up and came to me, still holding a pony in each fist. Before I could try to wrestle them from her—a task I knew would be difficult—Carla said, “It’s okay. Amani won’t miss them. Bring them back next time.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“I got her double of each pony in case she ever lost one,” Carla explained. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“All right, then. Thanks.”

I scooped Rayna into one arm, then went back to the door, where I lifted her diaper bag with the other. Amani wrapped an arm around her mother’s leg.

Carla lifted her daughter, kissed the girl’s cheek, then gave me a look full of sympathy. “If you change your mind, I’ll be here. Like I said, the kids can have a sleepover, and we can watch a movie to take your mind off things.”

“I’ll let you know,” I murmured, but I knew I wouldn’t be taking her up on her offer. I couldn’t watch a movie and pretend everything was okay. A romantic comedy would make me cry. A murder mystery would make me cry.

Anything would make me cry.

Rayna rested her head against the crook of my neck, and I treasured the warm feeling of her little body. She seemed tired, which was good. If she went down early, she wouldn’t have a chance to ask me where Daddy was.

No sooner than I had entered my apartment, than the phone rang. Carrying Rayna on my hip, I raced to answer it.

“Hello?” I said breathlessly.

“Vanessa Cain?”

“Yes,” I answered, my tone guarded.

“This is Robert Rooney from Channel 2 News. Can I set up an interview—”

I hung up the phone. It rang again.

I picked it up, but replaced the receiver without answering.

That happened five more times. So when it rang yet again, I snatched up the receiver and put it to my ear. “No, I won’t give you an interview. Please leave me alone.”

“Baby, you know the last thing I want from you is an interview.”

My eyes narrowed—and then it clicked that Lewis Carter was on the other end of my line. Thankful that it wasn’t another reporter, I felt my body relax—then immediately tense. I hadn’t heard from Lewis in about six weeks, and the last time he’d called, he had been hoping to get me to cheat on Eli.

“Lewis?” I asked.

“Who else, baby?”

Rayna started to squirm, so I let her down. “What do you want?”

“Is that any way to greet me? After everything we once meant to each other?”

I rolled my eyes. If we meant so much to each other, why hadn’t he proposed? “You know exactly what we meant to each other,” I said frankly. Lewis had been, for lack of a better word, a booty call. “More importantly, I know it.”

“Baby, don’t be like that.”

“What do you want, Lewis?”

“I’m phoning to see how you’re doing. Is that against the law?”

I didn’t say anything. I wondered if the timing of his call was coincidental, or if he, like most of America, had learned about Eli’s death on CNN.

“I heard about your fiancé on the radio,” he stated, answering my question.

“Of course.”

“So how are you?”

I lowered myself onto a chair in my kitchen. “I’m hanging in.”

“You sure? Because if I was as shocked as I was to learn that Eli was killed while in the arms of some other honey, I can only imagine how you took the news. Especially after how much you raved about him being the perfect guy.”

“If you’re calling to gloat, then I’m going to hang up now.”

“No, no, I’m not,” he said hurriedly. “Look, I’m sorry. I really am. I know how much you cared about him.”

I waited for more, but there was none. Maybe Lewis was being sincere. “Thank you,” I told him.

“I could come over, if you like,” he murmured.

Of course. “Why?”

“To keep you company. Offer you my shoulder to cry on.”

I’ll bet, I thought. But I said, “I’m fine. I’m going to spend a quiet evening with Rayna.”

“But she’s gonna head to bed sometime soon, right? In the next hour or two. And after that, you might need someone.”

I narrowed my eyes again, wondering why I had even considered giving Lewis the benefit of the doubt. Whenever he called, it was about one thing.

Sex.

I’ll be the first to admit that my feelings for Lewis had started out as pure lust when I met him at a South Beach nightclub. I always knew he was a smooth operator, the kind of guy you can’t completely trust in terms of a relationship. And that was okay, because I didn’t want anything serious with him. He was a guy I enjoyed spending time with because he was a lot of fun. Goofy. Whether pulling off lame Michael Jackson moves on a crowded dance floor or tickling me while we were naked in bed, he never failed to make me laugh.

I loved how I felt when I was out on his arm, the way women stared at me with envy. And I loved the passion we shared in the bedroom. He treated me well, wined and dined me in style. We had an easy rapport and some serious chemistry. And he got along well with Rayna, too, on the occasions when he’d come over and spend time with both of us.

After a while, what had started as lust had turned into love.

“What time should I come over?” Lewis asked, his voice husky.

“I’ll be fine, Lewis.”

“I’m not sure you should be alone right now. The first night is always the worst after a tragedy like this. Let me come by, hold you in my arms and help you sleep.”

“I can’t believe you. You are not suggesting we hook up tonight.”

There was a moment of silence, and I fully expected Lewis to deny my accusation—if only halfheartedly. Instead, he said in a low voice, “I miss you.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“No, seriously, I do. In fact, I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately, and how things ended between us. I feel really bad about that.”

I rolled my eyes. If I hadn’t moved on, Lewis’s words might actually have me taking a trip down memory lane. But I still remembered vividly how he’d told me we couldn’t be together because of Rayna. Actually, he’d used the lame excuse that Rayna’s father, my no-good ex, who only wanted to be a father when the mood struck, might come back into our lives, leaving him out in the cold, heartbroken.

Of course, he’d come up with this lame excuse after I’d found a red thong in his pocket.

At the time, I’d been crushed. Now, the absurdity of it all made me want to laugh out loud.

“Lewis, you’re a trip.”

“Let me come over.”

Because I knew him, and knew that he might just decide to drop by in hopes of seducing me, I lied. “I have plans.”

“You said you were spending a quiet evening with your daughter,” Lewis said, his voice full of doubt.

“Yeah, well…in all the chaos of the day I forgot that my sister said she was going to come over.”

“Tell her to come tomorrow.”

Something struck me, a thought I hadn’t considered before. “It can’t wait till tomorrow, because I have to contact the police about Eli. To make inquiries about his body. Nikki said she’d be there for me as I did that.”

“Oh.” Lewis sounded convinced, though unhappy. “Maybe after that?”

I heard a thud, then Rayna’s loud cry. “Lewis, I have to go. Rayna just fell.”

“Call me later,” he said quickly.

I hung up the phone and raced into the living room. My daughter was on her back on the hardwood floor, bawling at the top of her lungs.

“Oh, baby.” I lifted her into my arms and gently cooed, offering her comfort.

But as she cried, her raw emotion triggered the overwhelming sadness inside me that needed an outlet for release. It overpowered me, refusing to be contained any longer.

My own tears started to fall, my anguished cries mixing with my daughter’s.

chapter five

Thankfully, an hour later, Rayna fell asleep. I’d fed her, bathed her, read her a story, and then she was out like a light. It wasn’t like her to fall asleep before eight o’clock—trust me—but it was just what I needed, and I was grateful.

She was so tired, she didn’t even ask about “Daddy.” I knew the question would come, but hopefully, when it did, I’d be in a better frame of mind to answer it.

The phone hadn’t stopped ringing while I’d put together a quick dinner of chicken strips and broccoli, so I’d taken it off the hook. Now, I gave Rayna one last kiss on her forehead, content with the fact that she was sleeping peacefully, and made my way to the kitchen to replace the receiver.

By now, the reporters were certain to have given up in their attempts to reach me, and I needed to use my phone. I would have to call my sister because she had no doubt tried calling me. After that, I would contact the police and find out what a person was supposed to do when her fiancé had been murdered.

But before I did anything, I needed a glass of wine. I poured myself an extra large glass of white zinfandel, then went to the living room and plopped down on the leather sofa.

For several moments I sat there, unmoving. Myriad thoughts ran through my mind like little feet trampling my brain, leaving me with a headache. There was so much I needed to do, but I wasn’t ready for any of it. Alaina had asked if I’d told Rayna about heaven. I hadn’t, and maybe I should head out tomorrow to buy some books on the matter. Children’s books, of course—something that could explain the concept of death to a child.

Or I could simply tell her that Eli was gone on a trip. That was something Rayna would understand. Every day, if she asked, I could tell her that Eli was coming home soon. Surely, one day, she’d just stop asking about him….

I took a sip of my wine and frowned, knowing I couldn’t take the chicken’s way out of the scenario. However I explained it to Rayna, she needed to know that Eli wasn’t coming home. It would be grossly unfair to lead her on, and ultimately make her think Eli had abandoned us. Kids didn’t forget things like that, and I’d be guaranteed to foot the therapy bill later if I dared to venture down that road.

My thoughts were disrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone. There was a cordless handset on the coffee table beside the sofa, and I quickly glanced at the caller ID.

It was my sister’s home number. I inhaled deeply, then picked up the phone. I knew I’d have to talk to her sooner or later but, Nikki being Nikki, I wasn’t relishing the idea.

“Hey, Nikki,” I said, offering her the most upbeat greeting I could muster.

“When were you going to call me?” she demanded.

I counted to three before answering. “It’s been a crazy evening. The media is camped outside my building, my phone has been ringing off the hook.”

“I called at least twenty times.”

“I was just going to call you.”

A beat passed. Then my sister asked, “How are you?”

Wow, genuine concern. “I’m…okay. As okay as I can be, I guess.”

“Is Rayna sleeping?”

“Yes. She went down a little while ago.”

“Good. So you can talk.”

I sipped more wine. “For a bit.”

“I’ve got to tell you, Vanessa,” my sister began, “when I saw the news earlier, I nearly crapped my pants.”

How did you respond to that? I decided not to.

“It was so disturbing—seeing the cops all over the crime scene, hearing the gruesome details, hearing your name in association with that creep…I had to turn the TV off. I didn’t want my boys seeing that.”

“Right,” I said absently.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Nikki demanded. “Didn’t I tell you that Eli was going to hurt you sooner rather than later?”

“Nikki—”

“Not only did the jerk have a girlfriend on the side, he still had a wife.”

I reeled backward, caught off guard. “What?”

“I turned on the TV five minutes ago and there was a news crew outside Eli’s wife’s house in Atlanta. They were hoping to get a comment from her or something.”

Suddenly, I understood what was going on. And leave it to my sister to find a way to rub salt into my wound without trying to decipher fact from fiction. Nikki had a way of getting under my skin without much effort. She never approved of any guy I dated, nor most of my decisions as a parent. When I got pregnant and found myself alone, she’d chastised me for having dated Byron in the first place, instead of offering me comfort over my predicament.

Nikki married the only man she’d ever slept with, her high school sweetheart, had two children with him, and was a stay-at-home mom. I was single, parenting without any help, and couldn’t find a decent guy to save my life.

Compared to her, I was a failure. At least that’s the way she made me feel.

“Eli’s ex-wife,” I corrected her.

“Why would they be at her house if she’s his ex?” Nikki asked.

“You know the damn media. The juicier they can make this story, the better. Besides, Eli was married while he played for the Braves. I’m not surprised they would want her comment, given what’s happened.”

“You sure he didn’t lie to you about her?”

I felt a surge of anger, but drew in a deep breath to keep it under control. “Of course I’m sure. I did an Internet search when Eli and I got serious. I saw with my own eyes the articles about his marriage breaking up. Apparently it was a bitter split. And that was back in 2002.” The various archived article headings in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution had all proclaimed the same thing—that Eli Johnson and his wife of six years were headed for divorce court. The headlines were all I could scan without paying a fee to read the full stories, but that had been enough. I wasn’t interested in seeing the entire articles and reading about Eli’s love affair with another woman, even if it had gone sour.

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure, but my sister sounded disappointed. “Even if he didn’t lie about being married, I knew he was a player as soon as I met him. That’s probably why he and his wife got divorced. Former professional athlete. Did you need a bigger clue than that?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Do you know how many women guys like that sleep with?”

“Nikki—”

“You remember that one basketball player—the one who bragged about sleeping with more than ten thousand women? Vanessa, you’d better get an AIDS test. Like, yesterday.”

“Nikki!”

“I say we go together tomorrow. If you’ve got AIDS, you need to know.”

“Nikki!”

She finally stopped. “What?”

I exhaled sharply. “Why can’t you just call and tell me you’re sorry that Eli’s dead? Sorry that I’m going through this? Why do you have to preach to me like you’re my mother? I’m a grown woman.”

“A grown woman who keeps making colossal mistakes with men. You worry about penis size and pretty-boy looks. That has gotten you nothing but heartache.”

“Ahh, now I get it. Morris has got a small penis. No wonder you’re so damn uptight!”

I couldn’t help the words that came from my mouth. My sister’s phone call was doing more to send me into a deep depression than to help me out of my funk.

“Fine. Lash out at me. I’m not the one who screwed around on you.”

“Do you take special pleasure in telling people ‘I told you so’? Because my fiancé just died. My fiancé. I don’t need a lecture from you. I need…” My voice broke, croaking with emotion. I did my best not to cry; she’d probably get some warped sense of satisfaction from it.

I heard her sigh. “You’re right. And I’m sorry. I…I was out of line.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s just that I love you so much. And when I see you heading for disaster—”

“Nikki,” I said firmly.

“Right. Okay, no more lectures. And I am sorry this happened to you. I might have had my doubts about him, but I really was hoping that Eli was the one.”

“So was I.”

“What have you told Rayna?”

“Nothing. I don’t know what to tell her.”

“The good thing is she’s young. She’ll bounce back from this in no time.”

“You think so?” I asked. “Because I’m so worried that she’s going to be scarred. One minute, she’s got a daddy. The next, he’s gone, and she won’t understand why.”

“She’ll be fine,” Nikki said. “Not that she won’t be upset at all, or confused, but this won’t have a lasting effect on her. She’ll grow up and not even remember Eli.”

Such a blunt statement, and yet a valid one. “I guess that’s a good thing,” I said. “Even if it doesn’t exactly sound like it.”

“I’m not trying to be crass. Just letting you know that she won’t be scarred emotionally because of this. And hopefully you’ll meet someone great who’ll become a fabulous daddy for her.”

“I can’t even think beyond the moment, much less consider the idea that I might meet someone else.”

“I know. I’m just saying—”

“I know what you’re saying. You’re actually trying to make me feel better.” Score one for Nikki.

A moment of silence passed. Then Nikki asked, “You had no clue he was stepping out on you?”

“You think I’d stay with him if I knew he was?” Nikki didn’t answer. “Honestly, that was the most shocking news I learned today, more so than finding out he was dead. Eli was always so romantic, so thoughtful, so great with Rayna…It’s so hard to believe that any of this has really happened.”

“It’s quite the salacious story. And that woman—she was quite the looker.”

Not what I needed to hear.

“The worst part,” I said, “is that we had a fight last night. It was a stupid fight, but he walked out on me. Maybe he met this woman at a bar and this was the first time he cheated. You know, because he was angry, and stupid. Obviously stupid. But I keep thinking, if I hadn’t gotten mad at him, maybe none of this would have happened, and he’d be here right now.”

Nikki was silent, and I could imagine her biting on her bottom lip to keep from speaking. No matter who I dated, she believed the guy was a no-good loser.

“It’s possible,” I told her. “Neither of us knows for sure.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she grudgingly agreed. “But however it happened, it doesn’t make this any easier. You’re living in a lavish penthouse. How are you gonna keep up the payments?”

“I was worried about that, too, but my boss pointed out that we must have had mortgage insurance when we bought the place. And if not that, then Eli must have had a will. I know you think I’m irresponsible when it comes to those kinds of things, and maybe I am, but wills and insurance aren’t things I pay attention to. Anyway,” I quickly said, “there’ll be a record of them somewhere. I’ll call the bank tomorrow and see if I can find some papers here regarding his lawyer.”

“That’s one less headache.”

“Yeah, thank God for insurance.”

“If you need to,” Nikki continued, “you can come over here for a while. Even if it’s just for a change of scenery.”

“Thank you,” I said, meaning it. The offer surprised me—and touched me. However, in my wildest dreams, I couldn’t imagine myself taking my sister up on that offer. I loved her, but I could handle her only in small doses. She had endless advice about my love life that I didn’t ask for and never appreciated. Not to mention her thoughts on how I could improve myself as a mother.

In my sister’s defense, she had become a surrogate mother to me after our parents had died in a boating accident when I was twelve. Seven years my senior, Nikki had naturally fallen into the role of caregiver, even though we’d moved from Detroit to Miami to live with our aunt Lola.

“Or even bring Rayna over for the weekend,” my sister continued. “You know I love having her.”

“That might be an idea,” I told her, but again had no intention of following through on that. Now more than ever, I wanted Rayna close to me. She was the one person who had the capacity to get me through the coming rough days.

“Oh, hello,” I heard Nikki say, and it took me a moment to figure out she wasn’t talking to me. “I didn’t realize you were going to be coming home this late.”

“Nikki?”

“Sorry. Morris just got home.”

“I’ll let you go then,” I told her, more than happy to get her off the line.

“Yeah, I’d better warm his dinner for him. He puts in such long hours, it’s the least I can do.”

There was a smugness in Nikki’s voice as she spoke—or was I just imagining it? Maybe I was, since I was supersensitive to the fact that I’d just lost my future husband and would never be making any meals for him again.

As I hung up, I thought about turning the television to CNN. I wanted to, but the idea of seeing pictures of Eli’s lover had me changing my mind. I couldn’t handle that. At least not yet. It was hard enough to deal with his death, much less his infidelity.

Still, I couldn’t help wondering if what I’d said to Nikki wasn’t true—that after our fight, Eli had ended up at a local South Beach hot spot, and then found his way into this woman’s bed.

It could have very easily been the first time he had cheated on me.

It would certainly be the last.

chapter six

I decided not to call the police after I spoke to my sister. Emotionally, I was drained, and needed a night’s rest before I dealt with that awful task. I was a little surprised that I hadn’t heard from them; it would be so much easier if they contacted me, as I didn’t have the first clue as to where to start.

I had enough to cope with heading to bed—the bed I had shared with Eli for three months in this apartment. The reality that he wouldn’t be joining me was too overwhelming to contemplate. It required me having a second glass of wine before I dared to get under the covers.

The stress of the day had clearly worn me out, because I fell asleep almost immediately. The sound of the ringing phone woke me up. Startled, I first glanced at the bedside clock and saw that it was 12:04. Then I rolled over toward the night table and checked out the illuminated call display.

PRIVATE NAME.

Falling back onto my pillows, I groaned loudly. Damn it! A friggin’ reporter! My God, did these people never give up?

After I’d hung up with my sister, there had been no calls at all, giving me the false confidence that the media had given up—or at least had gone home for the day.

No such luck, clearly.

A few minutes passed and sleep wouldn’t come to me, so I crawled out of bed and went to the window and peered outside. My building had only six floors, and even being on the top one, I had a good view of the street below. To my chagrin, I saw that there were still camera crews and vans parked out front. As if they expected me to leave the building and go out partying in the wake of my fiancé’s death.

“Morons,” I muttered.

I lay back down, trying once again to sleep, but failing. The bed was too big and Eli’s presence sorely missed. Damn those vultures for waking me up. Wasn’t there some movie star doing Ecstasy in a local club that they could go and harass?

The minutes ticked by. A quick look at the digital clock told me it was 12:48. Nearly one in the morning, and I was wide awake.

I needed to fall asleep again. Because, come morning, bright and early, Rayna would be up—and I needed to be rested to deal with her.

I forced myself out of bed and went to the kitchen. There, I opened another bottle of white zinfandel. I’d already had two glasses, but if I was ever going to fall asleep again, I needed another one.

Or two.

Or even three.

I opted for one. I might have wanted to drown my sorrows in alcohol, but I had a two-year-old in the next room who needed me sober and alert in the morning.

I curled up on the sofa, the first piece of furniture Eli and I had bought after putting the down payment on this place. The leather was amazingly soft and supple, the nicest I’d ever felt.

I could still smell Eli in the leather, could still remember how we’d enjoyed lying together on this sofa and watching a movie after Rayna went to bed.

It was irrational, but a huge part of me expected him to walk through the front door, a lazy smile on his face. I even kept glancing in that direction.

Waiting.

And waiting.

As I finished off the third glass of wine, it hit me anew that Eli would never walk through that door again.

I’d never share a bottle of wine over dinner with him.

Never watch him tickle Rayna as she climbed on his lap.

Never have a chance to find out what had sent him into another woman’s arms.

It was that last thought that was the hardest to deal with.

“It doesn’t matter why,” I told myself as I went back to the bedroom. “All that matters is that he did cheat on you. He doesn’t deserve your tears.”

But as I climbed back into the big empty bed, I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. I buried my face in the pillow and cried like a baby.

When the tears ended, anger took over. I gripped the pillow as if it were Eli’s neck and squeezed hard—like I wanted to break it with my bare hands.

My emotions spent and my breathing ragged, I finally sat on the edge of the bed and rested my toes on the cool floor. “Damn you, Eli. Damn you for destroying all our dreams.”

This time, when I lay back against the pillows, sleep claimed me quickly.

Something hard landed on my stomach with the force of a cannonball, immediately jarring me awake.

“Eli, what are you doing?” I asked, my eyes flying open. But instead of Eli, I saw Rayna.

And in that moment, I remembered.

Rayna’s smile was as bright as the morning sun as she beamed at me, pushing any sadness from my heart. “Hi, Mommy.”

Easily, I returned her smile. Oh, to have that childlike exuberance at simply greeting another day.

“Hi, baby.”

“Go Carwa?” Rayna asked.

I glanced at the digital clock on my bedside table. Seven-fourteen in the morning.

Normally, I’d be up and getting ready for work. But my head throbbed from fatigue and a hangover, and all I wanted to do was close my eyes and sleep for another couple hours.

I pulled Rayna close. “How about lying down with Mommy for a while?”

“It’s morning,” she replied, as if the idea of sleeping in was a crazy one. Then she wriggled free of my arms and eased her body off the bed.

So much for sleeping in.

Groaning, I forced myself to sit up. Coffee was the first order of business.

I trudged out to the kitchen. Rayna was dragging a chair from the table toward the fridge.

“No, no, no.” I hurried to her and lifted her into my arms. “Let me get what you need, okay?”

She pointed to the freezer. “Popsicle.”

“Popsicle? Honey, you need breakfast.”

“Popsicle,” she reiterated.

I didn’t bother protesting, and opened the freezer door. In Rayna’s mind, freezies and Popsicles were an essential food group.

“You want red?” I asked.

She bobbed her head up and down.

I lowered her to the floor so I could find a pair of scissors, and cut the top edge off of the freezie. When I handed it to her, she grinned widely and wandered into the living room.

I followed her, sat her on the sofa so she wouldn’t make a mess, then turned on the television for her. Moments later, I was back in the kitchen pouring coffee grinds into a filter.

As the coffee percolated, I went to the bathroom and took two Advil. My head was throbbing, and I knew I’d need them.

I was back in the kitchen, opening the cupboard to retrieve a mug, when I heard, “Where Daddy?”

Glancing down at Rayna, I lowered the mug onto the granite countertop.

“Oh, sweetheart.” I lowered myself to her level and drew her close. “Mommy has to tell you something.”

She extended the empty freezie container to me, which I took and placed on the counter. Then I picked Rayna up and carried her to the kitchen table.

“Daddy gone?” she asked.

Sitting on a chair, I cradled Rayna on my lap. I pressed my lips to the top of her head, inhaling her clean scent. She was so innocent, so fragile. And I had to destroy her world.

“Oh, baby.” I closed my eyes and sighed before continuing. “Daddy is…”

Dead.

No, not dead. I couldn’t say dead. She wouldn’t understand what that meant, anyway.

I wracked my brain for something appropriate to say. “Daddy is…gone away. He didn’t want to leave, but he had to. And now he’s in a place called heaven.” I paused. Rayna was listening intently. “The thing about heaven is that when you go there, you can’t come back. It’s a very beautiful place, with lots of pretty waterfalls and animals. So it’s a place where Daddy is very happy. It’s just that, since he’s there now, he won’t be coming back here. When people go to heaven, they stay there forever. Which means we won’t be seeing Daddy again.” I ran my hands over Rayna’s hair. “But we can’t be sad, because Daddy is happy there. It’s just that we’re going to miss him very much.”

I steeled myself, waiting for Rayna’s tears, but she did something I didn’t expect. She wriggled out of my arms, then looked up at me and said, “Circle cereal.”

“You’re hungry?”

She nodded.

“And you want circle cereal?”

“Circle cereal!” she agreed enthusiastically.

That was her way of describing Cheerios. I stood up. “All right, then. Let’s get you some cereal.”

She ran to the cupboard ahead of me. My daughter hardly ever walked. If she wasn’t running, she was skipping. If she wasn’t skipping, she was galloping.

My sweet baby, I thought as I watched her. She’d just lost the father she adored, and she didn’t understand.

I guess it was a blessing.

At precisely eight o’clock, the telephone rang. I plucked the receiver off the kitchen wall and put it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Vanessa Cain, this is Dean Musselman with CNN. I was wondering if I could schedule—”

“No comment,” I quipped, and hung up.

Dean’s call was only the first of many—six more from reporters, and three from acquaintances who’d heard the story and were calling to offer condolences. Soon, the constantly ringing phone had my head pounding. I took the receiver off the hook and went to the bathroom to down another Advil.

Then I got my cell phone from my bedroom, turned it on and dialed Carla’s number.

“Carla,” I said, relieved when she answered.

“Sweetie,” she said warmly. “How are you doing?”

“I’ve been better,” I replied. Then added, “Understatement of the century.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I told her. “Please don’t apologize.” I finally understood why some people hated pity after they’d suffered a tragedy. It left you feeling even more helpless in the wake of their sadness.

“Will you be home today?” I asked.

“Yeah. Why? You want to do something? Maybe take the girls to the park?”

“Actually, I was hoping that you could watch Rayna, same as always.”

“Watch Rayna?” she repeated, sounding surprised.

“Yeah. I’m gonna head to the office.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Your boss expects you to go to the office today?” Carla asked, and I’d never heard her sound more mortified. “You know what, that woman is a total—”

“It’s not her,” I interjected. “It’s me. I want to go to work.”

There was a pregnant pause, and I could easily picture Carla’s face—her mouth slightly ajar, her eyes narrowed in confusion.

“This was your idea?”

“I can’t stay here,” I said. “Stay here all day and think about what happened. Plus, have you looked outside your window? With the Jerry Springer media circus downstairs, how long before our building becomes a new South Beach attraction? And how long will it be before the reporters get brave and come knocking on my door? No, I’ll be far better off at work, away from all this.”

“If you’re sure,” Carla said, but she didn’t sound convinced that I was making the right decision.

I groaned softly. “I have no clue what’s right. I’ve never been in this situation before. I don’t know what the protocol is.”

“I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”

“I know. And you’re probably wondering how I can even consider going to the office. But if I stay home and see Eli everywhere, what good am I going to be to Rayna? Not to mention the endless phone calls from the reporters, which is only making all of this worse.”

“I’m not judging you,” Carla said. “Obviously, you have to do what you feel is best. And you know I’ll be here as I am every day, more than happy to babysit Rayna.”

“Thank you, Carla. You’re the best.”

“Anytime.”

Fifteen minutes later, I dropped Rayna off at Carla’s place on the second floor and returned to my apartment to get dressed. My head still throbbed, and when I walked into my bedroom, all I wanted to do was collapse onto the king-size bed and let sleep take me away from my problems. It was tempting, but I feared that if I lay down, I’d spend the day in a catatonic state of depression, and that would get me absolutely nowhere.

So I drank a second cup of coffee, dressed in a smart blazer and skirt, and headed out of my apartment.

I was halfway down the elevator when the realization struck me that I had to drive out of the parking lot, and that the media likely had every conceivable exit or entry point of the building covered. And by now, I was certain they knew what I looked like.

Sunglasses wouldn’t cut it.

I made my way back to up to my apartment, where I found a colorful scarf in my closet that I’d purchased at a boutique on Ocean Drive, but had never worn. One of those impulse buys that had made perfect sense at the time, but not the morning after.

Well, it would be put to good use today. The media might snap off shots of me and get video footage as I drove away, but at least they wouldn’t be able to see my face.

“Why does it matter?” I asked myself as I opened the door to my car minutes later. It wasn’t like I had anything to hide. These reporters weren’t hounding me because they secretly thought I’d murdered Eli. So what if they caught me looking grief-stricken, or less than perfect? Wasn’t that par for the course when a person suffered a devastating and public loss such as I had?

As I planted myself behind the wheel of my car and started the engine, it instantly dawned on me the reason I was so mortified at being seen on TV.

Shame.

Sure, Eli’s cheating wasn’t my fault, but people could be tremendously cruel. They could—and would—form judgments of me without even knowing a single thing about me. They’d say, for example, that I was a pathetically hopeless romantic who should have known better. Or worse, that I was a gold digger for being involved with a man who’d been a well-paid athlete.

I didn’t even want to imagine what Eli’s ex-wife would say about him if she decided to talk, considering I knew their split had been nasty. If she was still bitter, she’d likely paint an ugly picture of him that would only make me look more desperate for having been with him.

Was it really the public’s opinion I was worried about, or my own sister’s? Nikki had told me that I was blind where Eli was concerned—in fact, blind where most men were concerned—and that she knew my relationship with Eli would fail.

Now it had.

And the last thing I wanted to do was publicize my shame and humiliation to the entire world.

Yes, I sucked at being able to choose the right man. But it wasn’t like I was the only woman in the world with that problem.

Slowly, I started to drive out of the indoor parking lot. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until my chest began to hurt. I let the air out of my lungs in a rush, then gulped in more as my car rolled outside.

Every member of the media surrounding the garage entrance came alive. It didn’t take more than a second for all of them to rush the car. Clearly, they’d done their homework. Probably had gotten my records from the DMV so they knew what I was driving. They swarmed my car like ants, and my heart lurched with fear. Then adrenaline took over, and I pushed my foot down on the gas. The car surged ahead, and I screamed when a Fox News cameraman had to jump out of the way to avoid being hit.

“Oh my God, oh my God!” My car hit the asphalt of the street, and still people converged on me. My hands shook, but I tried to control the steering wheel as best I could. I didn’t let up on the gas, though, determined to get away as fast as possible.

I drove right through the stop sign, nearly colliding with a Mercedes. Screaming, I jammed both feet on the brake. The driver swerved to avoid me, tires squealing in protest as he did. The man hit his horn and gave me the finger out the window.

For a moment, I was so terrified I thought my heart would implode. And I was suddenly wondering if I was up for the drive into downtown Miami. A quick look in the rearview mirror told me I had no choice, when I saw all the video and still cameras pointed my way, reporters racing down the street after me as if I were a fleeing felon.

Absently, I turned right on the first street I came to, my thoughts on what was happening rather than where I was heading.

“Good Lord, what is going on?” I asked aloud. Fine, Eli had been murdered. Yes, he had been murdered in a very lurid and juicy fashion. But why the heck were these reporters so interested in me?

Wasn’t the story intriguing enough with Eli’s background as a sports star? What did I, the clueless and unfamous fiancée, really have to add to make it more interesting?

chapter seven

As I hurried toward my office building from the parking garage, I realized that my nightmare was only beginning.

Either the camera crews had hightailed it to my Miami office, or secondary crews had been there bright and early, hoping to cover all possible grounds to ensure that they’d get to me.

Damn, I should have stayed at home. Better yet, I should have headed to the airport with Rayna in the middle of the night and gotten on a plane to Timbuktu.

My only hope, of course, was that no one would recognize me. Which was a ludicrous thought if ever there was one. Still, I strode forward purposefully, trying my best to act unfazed. Of course, the colorful scarf on my head was not helping me look inconspicuous.

A man holding a microphone with CNN’s widely recognized logo was the first to rush toward me as I neared the doors to my office building.

“Vanessa Cain? I’m Dean Musselman from CNN.”

I sidestepped him and picked up my pace.

“Ms. Cain, the world wants to hear your story. Tell us how you felt when you heard the gruesome news.”

From everywhere, reporters stuck microphones in my face.

“I have nothing to say!” I yelled, then grabbed the heavy door and scurried inside the building.

My sigh of relief died in my throat when I saw the reporter from the Miami Herald standing in the lobby. Cynthia Martin had a book in her hand, as if she was simply hanging out reading, but the moment she saw me, she started in my direction.

I broke into a run, quickly flashing my pass to Edgar, the Hispanic security guard, who knew me well. Then I sprinted past him to the bank of elevators.

“Ms. Cain, why won’t you talk to me?” Cynthia Martin asked from behind the turnstile. “People want to hear your story. Especially now.”

There was a FedEx man standing at the bank of elevators, and at Cynthia’s comment, he looked at me quizzically. Thankfully, an elevator opened a moment later and I hurried inside.

The FedEx guy didn’t ask the obvious question, but I was certain he knew who I was. I hadn’t watched any of the late-night newscasts, but my picture had likely been broadcast alongside Eli’s. For all I knew, my face might be on the front page of the Miami Herald right now, with a caption I didn’t even want to imagine.

Which was the very reason I had avoided turning on my television last night. I didn’t want to hear what was being said about Eli, or even me. I needed to deal with my fiancé’s death in my own private way, not with the slant of public opinion.

When I stepped off the elevator onto my floor, my shoulders sagged with relief. “Holy crap,” I muttered, leaning against the wall to collect myself. “Is it really that slow of a news week?”

If I was lucky, some young starlet would check herself into rehab in the next few hours and save me from this madness.

About a minute later, my breathing had returned to normal, and I was ready to get to work. I walked through the doors to the agency and said hello to Alaina, who returned my greeting with wide-eyed shock.

“Vanessa?”

“Yes, it’s me,” I chirped. I pulled my scarf off my head so she would be one hundred percent sure.

“But—why are you here?”

“I work here,” I snapped. My tone was unnecessarily harsh, but I wasn’t upset with her. I was upset with the sudden drama plaguing my life. Eli hadn’t been hounded by the press when he was alive. What was with all the hoopla now?

The reception phone rang, preventing Alaina from asking me the next question on her tongue. She answered the phone with her standard greeting, and I took that moment to scoot past her to my office. I saw her hold up a finger in hopes of halting me, but I pretended not to notice.

Seconds later, I was stepping into my office when I suddenly stopped dead in my tracks.

A woman was sitting behind my desk.

“Good morning.” The greeting in a British accent threw me off. The woman had grayish-blond hair and appeared to be in her early fifties. She smiled warmly at me.

I took a quick glance around the room to make sure I was indeed in my office.

“Uh,” I began, walking forward cautiously, “who are you?”

“I’m Bonnie Bluegrass, dear.”

“Bonnie Bluegrass,” I repeated, the name sounding a little too…stagelike. Perhaps I was still at home in bed, dreaming about some British television show.

“Office manager,” she added, her tone far too chipper. “May I help you with something?”

At once, I understood what was going on. Someone—likely Debbie or her assistant—had called in a temp to replace me.

“Why did they do this?” I mumbled.

“Pardon me, dear?”

“Sorry—not you. I’m thinking out loud.” I moved farther into the room and placed my belongings on the floor beside my desk. “I think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding.”

“Oh?”

I nodded, then took off my sunglasses. “Yeah. This is my office.”

She looked confused. And then recognition flashed in her eyes. “Ohhh. It’s you. You’re the one in the picture with this darling little girl.” She looked momentarily at the framed photo of me and Rayna when Rayna was just nine months old. “But I thought…Aren’t you off on bereavement leave?”

“I decided to come in,” I replied cheerfully.

Bonnie looked—as I’d heard in the occasional British film—gobsmacked.

“You’ll still get paid for your trouble, of course, but we won’t be needing you today.”

I placed my sunglasses on the edge of my desk, straightened my blazer, then waited for Bonnie to vacate my seat. When she didn’t, I asked, “Is there a problem?”

“It’s just that the temp agency told me I’d be here for two days. Possibly more.”

“Fine.” I smiled pleasantly. “Two days’ pay. I’ll take care of it.” As the office manager, I oversaw the company’s finances and would authorize the expense.

Slowly, Bonnie rose. “You’re sure? You don’t need the time off to…”

“To what?”

“Well, to grieve, dear,” she replied. Her expression softened, becoming motherly and, oddly, I found myself missing my own mother.

How much different would it be right now if I had my mom around to comfort and coddle me? To hold me against her chest as she’d done when I was a child, and gently stroke my hair? In my mother’s arms, I could cry freely, without shame, without fear of being judged. I would have someone to hold me up, keep me from falling apart. I had supportive friends, but their comfort would never equal that of my mother’s.

My parents had died when I wasn’t yet a teenager, and I’d missed their presence hugely. I’d gone on, as I’d had to do, but I’d never quite been the same. My mother’s only sister, Lola, had become a surrogate mother, for which I was grateful, but there was still a big void in my world. A person wants her parents around for the key moments in her life. Like when I graduated from high school. My aunt had been there, and she’d assured me that my parents would have been very proud that I’d graduated with honors. But by the time I gave birth to Rayna, my aunt, who’d been single until her forties, was living in Hawaii with her new husband. My sister had been at the hospital with me, of course, but I’d still wept uncontrollably when the doctor handed me my little baby, knowing my parents had missed that monumental moment in my life.

Then I’d consoled myself with the thought that they were in heaven, watching and beaming with pride at the sight of their first granddaughter.

I needed to believe that.

“Oh, look at you.” Bonnie tsked. “I can see the sadness in your eyes, dear. I do believe you could use a hug. Do you mind if I give you one?”

It was a strange offer, but one that I welcomed.

She opened her arms in invitation, and I walked into her embrace. She gave me a warm, earnest hug, and I closed my eyes, imagining that my mother was channeling her energy through this woman to me.

After a few moments, we pulled apart. I looked at Bonnie and said, “Thank you.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to go home?” she asked, genuine concern for me evident in her eyes. “I came to work. I’m more than happy to stay.”

“I’m better off here,” I told her. “Thank you so much for coming in, though. And for the hug. It helped. Whenever we need another temp, I’ll be sure to call and ask for you.”

Bonnie Bluegrass nodded, got her things together and quietly left my office.

If I ever needed a nanny, I’d track the woman down. I had a feeling that Bonnie would be fantastic in that role.

With her gone, I settled in behind my desk. I did a quick scan to see if anything was out of place. I should have known that Debbie would hire a temp in my absence, but I hated anyone but me being at my desk. I was proprietary that way.

But everything was in order. Not even a pen in the wrong spot. And something good had come of me running into Bonnie. She had unexpectedly helped boost my spirits.

I went to the office kitchen to pour myself a third cup of coffee. A few of the office staff passed me, and they all gazed at me in astonishment, as though I had been the one to die yesterday, and they were seeing a ghost.

Trisha gaped at me as I passed Debbie’s office, but mumbled a hello. Debbie’s office door was closed, which meant she either wasn’t in or was on an important call. With Eli getting himself killed, I hadn’t even asked her the details about signing Lori Hansen. Lori was a fitness guru turned motivational speaker who had the utmost credibility when it came to inspiring people to lose weight and be their personal best. She had once weighed close to three hundred pounds and now was a lean and muscular one hundred and thirty. People were paying big bucks to hear her words of wisdom.

When I returned to my office, I closed the door because I wanted privacy. Then I sat down at my desk and opened a file on the computer that I hadn’t touched the day before. It was a spreadsheet of last month’s out-of-pocket expenses for the agency’s four agents, which I would verify before cutting checks to reimburse everyone.

My phone rang, and I snatched up the receiver. “Vanessa C—”

“Hello, Ms. Cain. This is Riley Baltimore with the Sun-Sentinel. Can you tell me—”

Click. I hung up before he could finish his spiel, then set my phone to go directly to voice mail.

Oh, hell. Remembering something else I hadn’t gotten to the day before, I quickly opened another file, a schedule of the events and seminars the clients were either booked for or considering. The University of Houston wanted to book Manisha Talbot for a one-day conference on women in business. It was my job to make sure I confirmed all the details of the event.

I lifted my phone to call the contact at the university, but didn’t get to punch in the number because my door burst open.

It was Alaina.

“Alaina—”

“I had to come talk to you,” she said. She closed the door behind her. “I have been fielding calls from the media all morning. Girl, it’s like you’re some megastar.”

“You’re serious?”

“Oh yeah.”

“How many calls?”

“CNN, ABC, CBS, NBC, FOX News—all the major networks. Some station from Atlanta. Not to mention all the local papers. And a reporter from USA Today.”

I gaped at Alaina as I settled back in my leather chair. “This is insane.”

“Tell me about it. Have you seen the Miami Herald yet?”

“No.”

“You should. There’s a picture of you and Eli at some—”

“Fund-raiser we attended to benefit Jackson Memorial Hospital,” I finished for her. Damn that Cynthia Martin.

“I thought you didn’t see it.”

“I didn’t. And I don’t want to. But that was the one time Eli and I posed for a picture when we went out publicly as a couple. He was very private when it came to the press.”

The pause that followed was ripe with all that was left unsaid. I stared at Alaina, who was pressing her lips together as though making a valiant effort not to speak.

I didn’t want to know, but I also didn’t want to not know. I finally asked, “What is it that you’re dying to tell me?”

She approached my desk. “Now, I don’t know what this means, and you and I know that the media gets things wrong all the time—”

“Just tell me.”

“The paper said there’s been a new twist to the story. That you were Eli’s mistress because—”

“Mistress?”

Alaina nodded, her expression grave. “Some lawyer in Atlanta said that Eli’s wife is going to give a statement later today.”

“Ex-wife.” I laughed without mirth. “What is this bullshit? My God, what these papers won’t do to sell a few copies. Understatement of the century.”

Once again, Alaina pressed her lips together.

“What?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.

“It’s just that…well, the paper didn’t say ex. What if Eli never got divorced?”

“Of course he was divorced,” I replied. “He was engaged to me, remember?” I wiggled my finger, flashing the engagement ring I hadn’t taken off. “Why the hell would he propose and buy a place with me if he was still married? You said yourself that the media gets information wrong all the time. I already went through this with my sister last night. And I did check that he was really divorced, okay? On the Internet. It happened back in 2002.”

Alaina nodded, but didn’t seem convinced.

“Eli said it was a really nasty split, and that he didn’t want to talk about the details. I respected that.”

“The paper also said—”

“Enough!” I pushed my chair back and stood. “Alaina, you know I love you, but I came to work to escape all the craziness.”

“I’m sorry. I just thought you’d—”

“Don’t think. Please. That’s the last thing I need.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “I didn’t mean to make you feel any worse.”

“I don’t think anything could make me feel any worse. I just want the reporters to go away.”

“I take it you don’t want me putting any more calls through?”

“Only if it’s business. Someone from Hewlett-Packard is supposed to phone me about that color copier, so if he calls, put him through right away. And anyone calling about confirmed bookings or enquiries, naturally. Everyone else, bump to voice mail.” This way, I could open my phone line up again and have Alaina screen my calls. I didn’t want to have to avoid the phone in my place of work.

“All right,” she said.

As soon as she was out the door, I locked it behind her. I had come in to work to avoid the shit I’d have had to deal with if I’d stayed at home. I wanted to lose myself in work, forget all about the real world and my problems for at least a few hours.

I went back to my desk, hoping to do just that.

chapter eight

I stayed locked in my office until after five that evening, having only a granola bar I’d found in my desk for lunch. By the end of the day I was starving, but staying inside had been a smart move, because when I finally ventured downstairs, the camera crews had gone.

I grinned widely. Thank God, they’d finally given up.

There were also no camera crews lining the entrance to my condo. Either the reporters had realized I was never going to speak to them, or the building management had asked them to leave, or a bigger story had broken sometime during the day.

Whatever the reason, I was grateful.

I was in a much better mood than the previous night when I went to Carla’s apartment, feeling for the first time since the news of Eli’s murder that I was going to get through this all right.

I did have to make sure I called the police—something I had been putting off all day. And I also had to search the condo for the name of Eli’s lawyer. There would be a funeral to plan, but I’d watched enough crime shows to know that couldn’t happen until the medical examiner released Eli’s body. Though the cause of death seemed clear, there was always an autopsy to be absolutely sure.

Calling the police and searching for Eli’s lawyer were tasks I could deal with tomorrow, I told myself, the sudden calm after the media storm making me want to put all things negative out of my mind.

As soon as I got to Carla’s door and she opened her mouth to speak, I said, “Not one word about Eli, okay? I don’t want to think about him right now.”

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