There were several computers set up on the second floor

The stations were all empty, and Audrey sat down in front of one, thankful that no one was here today.

She put one hand on the keyboard, anxiety making her nearly light-headed. She blinked it away, logged on to the account she had set up under a fake name, clicked on Write Mail and typed in the address she had memorized. Several minutes passed before she could bring herself to type the words. Doing so felt like jumping off a cliff, with no guarantee of ever hitting bottom.

Hello. I am told you might be able to help me.

Dear Reader,

Audrey Colby is a woman who took a wrong turn early in her life. Ignored that little voice of doubt that bid her to take a second look. We’ve all done it. It’s just that some bad decisions put us in worse places than others.

Like most of the choices we make, the picture isn’t black and white. Audrey has a son whom she loves heart and soul. And she’s determined to give him the life he deserves, a life free of the awful things he’s seen from his father.

I once heard someone living in a difficult situation asked why she stayed, why she didn’t leave. Her answer? “At least this devil I know.”

That’s the tough part. Prying ourselves out of the familiar, even when it’s bad, and flinging ourselves into the unknown.

I think of my own life as a tapestry, countless threads of good and bad woven together. It would be impossible to pull one thread without changing the landscape of the entire thing, making it something other than what it is. Maybe the challenge then is to find peace with the choices we’ve made, and go forward with experience as a beacon to light our path.

I love to hear from readers. Please visit my Web site at www.inglathcooper.com. Or write to me at P.O. Box 973, Rocky Mount, VA 24151.

All best,

Inglath Cooper

A Year and a Day
Inglath Cooper

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my husband, Mac, and my daughters, Kavvi,

Tatti and Nadia. You make my life complete.

CONTENTS

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

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

AUDREY COLBY HATED New Year’s Eve.

It was the one day of the year when people celebrated the old and ushered in the new, the turning of the calendar an impossible-to-deny reminder of another twelve months slipping by. One more year, and nothing had changed. Or rather, she had changed nothing.

She sat in front of the walnut vanity, the reflection in the heavy Venetian mirror barely recognizable. With one finger, she traced the now faded bruise just beneath her jaw. She opened a drawer and pulled out a tube of concealer, dotted some on and smoothed it in. The yellow-green shadow surrendered temporarily, nearly invisible.

“Audrey, are you ready?” Her husband’s voice echoed up from downstairs. Smooth. Cultured. Tainted by a hint of irritation.

The muscles in her stomach tightened. But outwardly she showed no emotion. She’d grown used to the bland stranger in the mirror. The woman who never smiled, whose eyes were flat and lifeless. She considered not finishing her makeup. Did it really matter how much she put on, anyway? She’d still hate the way she looked. She could see past the mask, after all. Even if the rest of the world couldn’t.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Jonathan appeared in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the frame. He wore a black tuxedo, his face tan against a starched white shirt, his expression placid. “What’s taking so long?” he asked. “We’re late.”

Audrey forced herself to meet her husband’s gaze, strove for a note of reason in her voice. “Why don’t you go without me tonight? I’m not feeling well.”

He crossed the room, lifted a strand of her hair and wrapped it around his finger. Something flickered in his brown eyes. “I can’t do that,” he said. “What would people think?”

“What does it matter what people think?”

“Ross and Sylvia are expecting us,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

A sudden furnace of anger ignited inside her. “And Laura?” Amazingly enough, her voice remained even.

He went still, raised an eyebrow, a half smile touching his mouth. “I believe Ross said she’s still in from school. Since when are you so interested in seeing Laura?”

Audrey’s fury collapsed as quickly as it had erupted. “I’m not,” she said, her voice neutral. Sammy was in his room, watching a DVD. She didn’t want him to hear their raised voices.

She rose from the stool and walked to her closet, a small room in itself, the light snapping on automatically when she opened the door. She closed her eyes and fought back the hopelessness pressing down on her. Again and again, they danced the same dance, their lives stuck on this one loop. Go along to get along.

But she had a plan. A way out. And for now, that was all that mattered. A plan. It would get her through. She clung to the thought of it like a drowning woman to a single buoy.

“Audrey?” Jonathan stood at the closet entrance, an edge to his voice now.

“I should finish getting ready,” she said, flipping through the dresses, taking one from the rack without looking at it.

Jonathan yanked it from her hand, tossed it on the floor like it was garbage, then pulled her to him. He lowered his head, kissing the side of her jaw where the bruise was now disguised, then the tip of her chin, and finally, her mouth. “So beautiful,” he said, drawing back to look at her. “I keep thinking that one day, I’ll look at you and see you in a different light. So far, no.”

Bird in a cage, she thought. What pretty feathers. A snap of the fingers, and the bird sings.

“By the way,” he said, close to her ear, “I thought you’d like to know I’ve made arrangements for Samuel to begin at the Cade Country School.”

The words hit her like a brick to the chest. For a moment, she felt as if all the air in her lungs had been forced out. She couldn’t breathe. A hand to her throat, she said, “What do you mean you’ve made arrangements?”

“A boarding school in Connecticut,” he explained rationally, as if there were anything even remotely rational in what he was saying. “They’ll have a room available for him mid-February. The school is completing new housing, and they’re willing to take him in to the semester. We’ll plan to fly him up after my trip to the Dominican Republic.”

Audrey stared at him, too stunned to respond. When she finally found her voice, it didn’t sound like her own. “Sammy isn’t going anywhere. He can’t. He’s too young—”

“He’s nine years old,” Jonathan said abruptly. “Cade starts with fourth graders. I think it would do him good to have some time away from you. You’ve made him far too clingy. It’s time he stopped being such a mama’s boy.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist, as if she could somehow hold back the sudden avalanche of pain tumbling through her. She had long ago learned that arguing with Jonathan was an exercise in futility. She bit her lip now to keep from screaming at him.

He stepped forward, pushing her aside. She stumbled, righted herself with a hand on the wall. He rummaged through the clothes, impatient, pulling a black dress from a hanger and throwing it at her. “Wear this,” he said. “The other one looks cheap.”

She took the dress into the bathroom, a too-familiar and equally impotent anger rising like bile in her throat. She forced it back, refusing to waste the energy. Instead, she would focus on the immediate future, on how to make her plan happen sooner, her mind suddenly buzzing with the steps that would need to be completed.

She had the e-mail address. All she had to do was use it.

Tomorrow. She would start tomorrow. This time, it would happen. This time, there was no other choice.

THE SURPRISE PARTY wasn’t much of a surprise.

Nicholas Wakefield supposed he should be grateful his colleagues in the Atlanta District Attorney’s office had chosen to send him off with good wishes instead of rotten apples.

The apples would have been more appropriate, considering how difficult he’d been to live with the past couple of months.

All the same, he wished they had skipped the party. Leaving this place was going to be hard enough without having to put a happy face on it.

From the hall just outside his office came muffled whispers mingled with laughter. The sooner he went in, the sooner it would be over. He sighed and forced his feet to move.

“Surprise!”

The greeting exploded in front of him, followed by a few grumbles about how long it had taken him to get back from the file room.

“A man could get arthritis stooped over for that long,” Kyle Travers said, shaking his head. Kyle had a barrel-size chest and a voice to match. As district attorney, he used it whenever he needed to play the intimidation card. “Get in here, Nicholas, and cut this cake,” he boomed.

Nicholas walked over to the table and picked up the knife. “You bake this yourself?”

“From scratch.” Kyle smiled, slapping him on the back. “Amy did. And she said to make sure you actually eat some of it.”

“You’re married to one of Atlanta’s best cooks. Anything she fixes, I’ll eat.” Nicholas looked around the room at the faces he’d grown to know so well over the past nine years. For the most part, they were a good bunch. Some, he’d actually miss working with. Kyle, most of all. The two of them shared a common philosophy on how the system should work, and a mutual disgust for the fact that more often than not, it didn’t.

“You shouldn’t have done this,” Nicholas said to the smiling group.

“So change your mind about leaving, and we’ll take down all the balloons, eat the cake and pretend this little surprise party never happened.” This from Eleana Elliott, Kyle’s secretary. She leaned against a file cabinet in the far corner of the office, looking out at him over a pair of the kind of sturdy black-framed glasses that made smart people look smarter.

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room.

Kyle held up a hand. “Let’s not start that again,” he said. “Nicholas is going civilian. Quit giving him a hard time about it. This is supposed to be a party. So cut the cake, Wakefield.”

Someone cranked the volume on a boom box, Outkast rattling the ceiling tiles, the mood of the party instantly lifting. A few people started dancing.

Nicholas made his way through the crowd, thanking everyone for their congratulations on his new job, reluctant though some of them were to see him leave. Part of him appreciated that most of the people here didn’t want to see him go. Another part of him knew he had to. For his own sanity, he couldn’t stay.

An hour later, someone blared a request for more cups. Nicholas volunteered to get them, glad for the momentary escape. In the hallway, the din of music and voices lowered a decibel or two. He went in the office next door, found the cups behind the desk, then sat in the chair and leaned back, closing his eyes. They wouldn’t miss him for a few minutes. In tying up the last loose ends of his responsibilities here, he’d averaged four hours of sleep a night for the past few nights, most of them on the couch in his office. He was bone-tired.

“Hey, you know I don’t really want you to go either.”

Nicholas looked up. Kyle stood in the doorway, one beefy shoulder against the jamb. “You’ll just miss my coffeemaking skills.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Anybody can do a to-go cup from Starbucks.”

“Yeah, but I get it the way you like it.”

“True.” Kyle came in and sat down in the chair across from the desk, his hands behind his head. “So what’s your plan? Find a good woman? Settle down?”

Nicholas propped one elbow on the side of the chair. “I’m not complaining about the status quo.”

“The status quo’s fine for a Saturday-night diversion, but that bed’s got to get a little chilly the rest of the week.”

“Hadn’t noticed.”

Kyle snorted. “One of these days, you’re going to.”

“I do better solo. And besides, I don’t want to be responsible for anyone except myself.”

“Sounds lonely if you ask me.”

Nicholas let that one go. He couldn’t deny that sometimes, it was.

Kyle was silent for a few moments, and then said, “Maybe it’s a good thing you’re getting out of this place. Since your first day here, you’ve taken the weight of every case that comes across your desk as if your own salvation depended on the outcome.”

“Maybe it did,” Nicholas said softly.

Kyle blew out a sigh, fatigue edging out the previous cheer in his expression. “We did everything we could for that little girl, Nick. You know that.”

The words hung between them. Since the verdict, this was the first reference either of them had made to the case. Nicholas sat up in the desk chair. “Yeah. So I keep telling myself.”

“We did.”

“I got too comfortable,” he said, his voice low. “Let myself think we had the case wrapped up tight. And because of it, that crazy bastard got off scot-free.”

“The jury didn’t buy it, man.”

“She was just a kid,” Nicholas said, suddenly weary. Fourteen. Even younger than his sister. He broke the thought off there, a batch of bad memories assaulting him.

Kyle sighed, his tone measured when he said, “You think it doesn’t kill me to see scum like Dayton slide through the cracks? I do all I can within the realm of the system, and at least that’s something.”

There it was. The implication that Nicholas was selling out. But then, wasn’t that exactly what he was doing?

Nine years ago, he had started out in the prosecutor’s office on fire with the need to make a difference. Just over a month ago, he’d finally admitted to himself that when it came right down to it, he hadn’t changed anything.

The disappointment of that clung to him, invisible, choking.

With the verdict in the Mary-Ellen Moore case, reality had hit him. He couldn’t do the job anymore. A switch inside him had been permanently shut off. He woke up every morning certain that all the old energy, the passion he’d once felt for his work would have returned.

But the more he yearned for that old fire, the more it seemed to evade him.

He couldn’t forget the girl’s face. The crime-scene photos revealing with sickening accuracy her innocence. Lips parted as if she had been shocked to discover that the world could end up so ugly. Her dress torn. One sandal missing. The last image of his little sister all those years ago flashed through his mind, sending a knife of pain through his gut. He ran a hand over his eyes.

“I promised that family,” he said. “I promised them that son of a bitch would pay.”

“Nicholas—”

“But that was my mistake, wasn’t it? Never make promises you can’t keep, right?” He grabbed the cups and stood. “We better get back out there. I’ve got another party to go to.”

“Yeah,” Kyle said, slapping his hands on his knees and pushing out of his chair. “Wouldn’t want to keep your new employer waiting.”

Nicholas attempted a smile. “First impressions and all that.”

Kyle squeezed his shoulder once. “Miss us a little, will ya?”

“I don’t think I’ll have a choice.”

AUDREY AND JONATHAN arrived at the Websters’ just after nine o’clock. She could think of nothing but Jonathan’s intention to send Sammy away, and she wished simply for the evening to be over, to be alone with her thoughts long enough to reassure herself that her plan would work.

A who’s who roster of cars—Bentleys, BMWs, Ferraris—lined the driveway outside the West Paces Ferry mansion. Spotlights held the enormous house captive in their glare. Thomas stopped the car in the circular drive and opened the back door of the Mercedes limousine. Jonathan slid out, offering her a hand. She ignored it. His frown lasted only a millisecond, replaced with a pleasant smile directed at the chauffeur.

“I’ll call your cell phone when we’re ready to leave, Thomas,” he said.

Thomas nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Jonathan put a possessive arm around Audrey’s waist and pulled her close, forcing her to walk next to him. This was the part he’d perfected. The Colbys. Happily married couple. Adoring husband. Pampered wife.

Ross and Sylvia Webster stood in the doorway. A former weight lifter who had let the muscle go soft, Ross wore suits that were a shade tight, as if he couldn’t quite admit to needing to go up a size. A couple of inches taller than her husband, Sylvia was a study in elegance, her dark hair loosely pulled back with a diamond clip, her red silk dress fitted to every aerobicized curve.

One of the premier houses in Atlanta, the Webster home contained an indoor pool, racketball courts and a huge ballroom in which the party took place. Proof that silence was lucrative.

“Hello, Jonathan. Audrey.” Ross shook Jonathan’s hand, then reached down to brush his lips across Audrey’s cheek. His gaze caught hers, but he quickly looked away, avoiding her eyes while Jonathan greeted Sylvia.

Sylvia laughed at something Jonathan had whispered in her ear, then turned to Audrey. “Let’s get you something to drink, and I’ll tell you all about the fabulous new designer I found. I think his stuff would look great on you.”

“I’ll watch for you,” Jonathan called out, his voice low and even.

Audrey followed the other woman through the foyer. Red poinsettias lined the stairway. Garlands of magnolia leaves hung from the banister, draping the entrance to the ballroom. Bottles of Dom Perignon and crystal glasses caught the light from the chandeliers suspended overhead. A tuxedo-clad singer crooned a Sinatra tune, an orchestra set up behind him.

“Love the coat,” Sylvia said, rubbing a hand across the sleeve of Audrey’s mink.

“Thanks.” Audrey handed it to a hovering butler. She despised it. Despised herself more for wearing it when the thought of killing an animal for its fur had always repulsed her. But she mostly hated the coat because it had been one of Jonathan’s extravagant apologies. One of many.

Sylvia passed her a glass of champagne. “Missed you at the League fashion show yesterday. Some of the cruisewear was simply to die for.”

Audrey took a sip, not meeting the other woman’s eyes. “Really?”

Sylvia made a sound of disapproval. “I wish I could afford to be as unconcerned as you. But then you could put on a sack and look great in it.”

Audrey wondered what Sylvia would have said if she told her what she saw when she looked in the mirror. “Did you find anything for your trip to St. Barts?” she asked, forcing herself to make an effort at polite conversation.

Sylvia brightened. “A few things, but I’m really excited about the Martin Hospice show on the second. You’re still planning to go, right?”

Actually, she’d forgotten about it. Jonathan had brought home the invitation, suggested she go with Sylvia. It was good to be seen at such events. She would have preferred to make an anonymous donation, but that would have been wasting an opportunity for public credit. “I—yes,” she said.

“Of course, it’s a charity show, but I understand Neiman’s has held back some of their spring items to donate.”

“How nice,” Audrey said.

Sylvia went on to tell her about the Dolce & Gabbana swimsuit Carol Estings had all but ripped from her hand last week at Saks.

Audrey made the appropriate sounds of interest, all the while wishing she could fast-forward the next few hours. Get past the night’s inevitable conclusion. Even if she stood in a corner by herself, there was always a trigger. A passing waiter who smiled her way. A married man asking directions to the bathroom.

It didn’t have to make sense. It rarely did. The conclusion was inevitable.

CHAPTER TWO

NICHOLAS STOOD on the fringe of the Websters’ party, reminding himself he needed to mingle. As the most recently hired partner at Webster & Associates, working the crowd for future clients was the reason he’d been invited here tonight.

But he was out of his element. And then some.

Surrounding him were the elite of Atlanta society. CEOs lamenting the Dow-Jones. A lawyer bragging about the workhorse of a paralegal he’d just hired. A local actress touting her most recent chemical peel.

He’d left the surprise party at the office and driven home to change. He glanced down at his newly purchased tuxedo, wondered if it looked as wrong on him as it felt. He’d never been a tuxedo kind of guy, but then he’d never imagined himself going to work for one of the biggest corporate law firms in the city either.

Things changed.

People changed.

He let his gaze wander the room, noticing two women who, like him, stood at the edge of the crowd, talking. On the left, Sylvia Webster. They’d met a few days ago in Ross’s office. Nice enough, if a little eager to please where her husband was concerned.

The woman beside her looked familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen her. Beautiful. But there was something else in her face that made him look closer. The impression that like him, she might be tolerating the party rather than enjoying it.

He glanced at her left hand. A wedding ring gleamed in the light.

“There you are, Nicholas.” Ross Webster wound his way around a few people, leaving space for the man who followed closely behind. “I want you to meet one of our most important clients. Jonathan Colby, this is Nicholas Wakefield, our newest partner at W&A.”

Colby stuck out his hand, his grip firm, authoritative. An inch or two under six feet, he had the stature of a man clearly used to having other people’s attention. He reminded Nicholas of a stallion he’d seen with a group of mares on a trip out west when he was a boy. With a look, that stallion had made his position clear to any would-be encroachers. Dared them to challenge him.

“Good to meet you, Nicholas,” he said, his voice smooth and welcoming.

“Pleasure, Mr. Colby. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Jonathan, please. I would say you’re in for a big change from high crimes and misdemeanors.”

“I’m counting on it,” Nicholas said.

“We’ll have plenty to keep you busy.” Colby held his gaze for a moment, then smiled and mentioned some of the things they had in the works, a pending lawsuit with a company out of Savannah and a couple other things that sounded tame enough. But then that was exactly what Nicholas had signed on for, wasn’t it?

Tame.

AUDREY STOOD at one end of the Websters’ massive living room, an upbeat Cole Porter tune plucking at her sensitized nerves.

Sylvia had excused herself to check with the caterer on the champagne levels, and Audrey was glad to escape her questioning eyes.

She glanced around for Jonathan.

A few minutes ago, he’d been standing by the bar talking to Ross and a younger man she did not recognize.

She caught sight of Jonathan at the foot of the curved marble staircase. He adjusted his bowtie, then took the stairs two at a time.

Her lungs seized with the need for air. She weaved her way to the back of the house and pushed out the French doors into the night.

LAURA WEBSTER STOOD in the middle of her childhood bedroom, halfway through her second glass of wine. Ridiculously enough, the room was still pink and white, her old toys neatly arranged on the shelves next to her bed.

She glanced at her watch. He was late. They’d agreed to meet at ten-thirty. Nearly an hour ago.

Patience had never been one of her strong suits.

Laura hated to be kept waiting. As an only child, her life to date had been one of immediate gratification, and she wasn’t very adept at handling anything less. Both her parents generally fell over themselves making sure her every need was met.

And she had a lot of needs. Most recently, a fondness for Prada, which she’d indulged during a weekend trip to Manhattan, maxing out her platinum Visa.

Her dad obviously hadn’t gotten the bill yet. All of his blood vessels were still intact.

But then giving her stuff made her parents happy. They were the ones who’d set it up that way. No, Laura, we can’t make it to your horse show this weekend, but if you do well, we’ll talk about that new pony.

They’d taught her the payoff system early in life. And she had always been a good student.

She moved to the dresser, picked up a sable powder brush and flicked it over nose and chin, studying herself in the mirror, liking what she saw. Small nose, full mouth, chin-length dark hair with subtle highlights courtesy of Madison Avenue’s Jean-Paul. When she walked by, men looked. A date tonight would have been a non-issue, and yet here she stood, waiting.

A knock sounded at the door.

Laura picked up her wineglass, and cleared her expression of everything but indifference. “Come in.”

The door opened. She hadn’t turned on a lamp, and for a moment, Jonathan was illuminated by the light from the hallway. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him. “I’d given up on you.”

“Sorry,” he said, but didn’t look it.

She tamped down her irritation, refusing to let it show. She’d wanted him since she was sixteen years old. Had started flirting with him at her parents’ parties, a brush of the arm here, a lingering look there. Teasing him had been like tossing a match at the edge of a streak of gasoline, hoping it would strike and yet clueless as to how to put the fire out if it did.

It had taken six years for her efforts to finally burst into full flame. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure if she could handle what she’d gotten herself into. But she did like trying.

She crossed the room, slipped her hand inside his white shirt.

“I don’t have long,” he said, looking down at her with a flare of heat in his eyes.

Laura liked that.

She slid the strap of her dress off one shoulder, then the other. It fell to the floor. Beneath, she wore nothing.

His mouth found the curve of her throat, teeth nipping just behind her ear.

There were no lights on in the room, but the curtains were open, and noise drifted up from the party. He backed her closer to the window, kissing her so hard that she felt a bruise bloom on her mouth.

Anyone who looked up could have clearly seen them.

Laura liked that, too.

NICHOLAS’S SOCIAL SKILLS could be classified as rusty at best, and, with another half hour to go before midnight, he headed out one of the doors at the back of the house, intent on a few minutes of solitude. A slate terrace took up much of the yard. Round white tables with matching chairs were scattered across the expanse of it, umbrellas planted in the center of each one. A set of wide stone steps led away from the lit-up house.

Three-quarters of the way down, he saw her. Her hair was a pale blond, straight, parted in the middle. It grazed the curve of her shoulder. Diamond earrings matched the one on her left hand in size.

Compared to the plunging necklines most of the women had worn here tonight, her dress rated conservative. Understated though it was, it failed to conceal the curves of her body. She had a quiet elegance that was undeniably appealing.

He recognized her then. Recalled a newspaper photo of her at some fund-raiser.

Colby. Audrey Colby.

He should go back inside.

Nicholas had always trusted his intuition. It was almost never wrong.

But he ignored the voice of reason now. Something stronger pulled him across the terrace, as if he’d been drawn by some magnetic force field.

She looked up and took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I didn’t hear you,” she said, one hand at her throat.

He slid one finger around the rim of his shirt collar. “It was getting a little stuffy in there. The air feels good.”

“Yes, it does,” she agreed after a few seconds. She watched him for a moment, then said, “Excuse me,” before stepping past him toward the steps that led to the house.

Again, that voice. Let her go. “You’re Jonathan Colby’s wife, aren’t you?”

She stopped on the third step, her back to him, pausing before she half turned, silent.

“I’m Nicholas Wakefield,” he added. “Ross just hired me. I’ll be working with your husband.”

She stared at him for another long moment during which he saw something in her expression he couldn’t quite identify. Disapproval? A quick in-take of breath, and the look disappeared to be replaced with blankness. He thought he might prefer the disapproval, even though it made him curious as hell. He filed that alongside his initial impression of Colby. Interesting.

“Congratulations, Mr. Wakefield.” She started up the steps. “I really have to go now.”

Nicholas didn’t think there would have been much of anything left in the world that could bother him. For the past nine years, he’d had crazies traipsing through his office, calling him obscenities that would curl most people’s hair. Why then was he bothered by this woman’s tone? Maybe because there was judgment in it. And he wanted to know why. “Did I say something to offend you, Mrs. Colby?”

His question stopped her again halfway up the stairs. She turned around, slowly retracing her steps. She glanced quickly over her shoulder at the house. “I don’t know what would make you think that.”

“Why don’t we try this again?” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Nicholas Wakefield.”

Reluctantly, she offered her own. “Audrey Colby.”

Her voice was Southern-soft at the edges. Even in the shadowed light, her eyes ensnared him. Wounded eyes. As if they held scars that ran deep.

She glanced again at the doorway, then stepped deeper into the darkness close to the rock wall behind them. “All those people…it gets a little close.”

He couldn’t have said why, other than the fact that she was married to his new firm’s biggest client, but he was uneasy being here with her. It had been a long time since he’d felt awkward around a woman. “Yeah,” he said finally. “That crowd can get a little—” He broke off, deciding she wasn’t the person to whom he should reveal his real feelings about the party.

“Presumptuous?” she finished, surprising him.

He tilted his head to one side. “Your word.”

“Yes. My word.”

“Good music, though.” Jill Scott floated out from the speakers at the back of the house, the band apparently taking a break.

She glanced again in the direction of the door.

He leaned a hip against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. “So. Made any resolutions for the New Year?”

A stretch of silence and then she replied, “Only one.”

When she failed to ask the same question of him, he volunteered the information anyway. “I made one or two, despite my cynicism. Think you’ll stick with yours?”

She looked back out into the darkness, her face set, unsmiling. “Yes,” she said.

A door opened behind them. Laughter flowed out from the party into the night. Audrey took a startled step farther into the shadows.

A man crossed the terrace, stopped by one of the carriage lights and lit a cigarette.

“Are you all right?” Nicholas asked.

“Yes. Thank you. But I have to go,” she said.

He couldn’t explain the disappointment he felt. There was nothing logical about the instant connection he had with this woman. He knew nothing about her, and yet, inexplicably, he wanted to know everything there was to know.

She stepped around him and ran back up the stairs.

He lifted a hand. “Wait!”

But she kept going. And did not look back.

THE RIDE HOME was silent.

But in the back of the limousine, the air hung thick as a Georgia summer afternoon before a storm. Audrey kept her face averted, staring out the window at the passing night.

How easy it would be just to open the door and throw herself onto the pavement. Coward’s way out, though. That would only be ending her own misery.

And if it could have been as simple as that, she might have done so long ago.

But there was Sammy.

When the car glided to a stop at the front of the house, the driver opened the back door. Jonathan slid out and waited for Audrey to follow.

“Good night, Thomas,” Jonathan said.

“’Night, Mr. Colby. Mrs. Colby.”

“Good night.” Audrey headed for the front door without waiting for Jonathan. He was right behind her. She tried to stick her key in the lock, but he jerked it from her hand, stabbing it inside the hole and opening the door with a brutal shove.

Marsha Lynch, the sitter, appeared in the hallway, one hand to her throat. “Oh. Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Colby. I wasn’t sure that was you at first.”

Audrey forced a smile. “Is everything all right, Marsha?”

“Just fine. He’s been asleep for hours.”

Jonathan pulled out his wallet, paid the girl, his abrupt “Good night,” a clear dismissal.

“Call me anytime,” Marsha said, her face stiff with uncertainty. She left then, closing the heavy front door behind her.

Jonathan dropped his keys on the entrance table with a clatter that shook Audrey’s nerves and rang out in the otherwise silent house.

“Jonathan, please,” she said in a quiet voice. “Sammy’s—”

“Sammy!” he exploded. “Can you think about anything besides Sammy?” He said the boy’s name with a sneer. He’d always insisted that she call him Samuel. It infuriated him when Audrey slipped and called her son by the name she preferred. Jonathan moved toward the living room, jerking his overcoat off and throwing it across the back of the leather couch.

Audrey stood in the foyer for several seconds, her eyes closed, a knot in her stomach. She headed for the stairs then. This could still be avoided. If she just left him alone, maybe it would blow over. She repeated the same rationalizations she always did, even though these episodes were like a storm moving in from the sea. She could do nothing but wait out its arrival.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he said, his voice louder now. If she ran upstairs, he would follow, knock down the door, if necessary. And then Sammy would wake up…

She stopped with one hand on the rail, then turned and made her way back to the living room, each step a force of will.

She paused in the doorway. “Jonathan, let’s just go to bed. I’m tired, and—”

“Was your little meeting on the terrace so exhausting?” He stood behind the wet bar, pouring scotch into a glass, his voice eerily calm.

She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He took a swallow of the liquor, added another shot from the decanter and crossed the room, the click of his shoes on the wood floor menacing. “I’m not in the mood for games, Audrey.”

“I went out for some fresh air. That’s all.”

“Fresh air,” he said, sarcasm tainting the words. “And Webster’s new partner just happened to be out there at the same time.”

Audrey hesitated, her mind racing for an answer that would defuse the situation. But there was no answer. It wouldn’t matter what she said. She tried for a note of reason. “He came outside for a couple of minutes. He introduced himself and told me he would be working with you. That’s all.”

Jonathan moved closer, his eyes narrowed. “I’m aware of how long you were out there.”

She met the hard look in his eyes, defiance flaring inside her. How? The view from Laura’s room? She pressed her lips together to keep from asking the questions.

“Why would you think he’d look at you, anyway?” His eyes scanned the length of her body. “I was embarrassed to be seen with you. There wasn’t a woman there who didn’t look better than you tonight. My wife. When are you ever going to develop any taste? You’re not in that backwoods family of yours anymore.”

She started to remind him he had picked out her dress, but he grabbed her arm and jerked her to him. Her shoulder wrenched at the socket. She bit back a gasp of pain. “Jonathan, stop!”

“It stops when I say it stops.” With the back of his hand, he slapped her across the neck. Pain shot through her left side. Excruciating. Reverberating. She moaned. But before she could right herself, he grabbed her and flung her backward across the couch. She hit the hardwood floor on the other side, her shoulder taking the brunt of her weight. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

Sammy. Think about Sammy. He was upstairs. Please don’t come down. Please.

Jonathan was in front of her then, pulling her up and flinging her against the wall behind him. She hit it with the same shoulder. But this time, she couldn’t hold back the half-scream of anguish. She slumped to the floor where she put her head between her knees and wrapped her arms tightly around herself, praying for oblivion.

“This wouldn’t have to happen if you would just listen to me. How many times have I told you that? And Samuel. He’s just like you. Neither of you ever listen to anything I say.”

Much to her shame, she was crying now. She’d vowed she wouldn’t cry anymore. Crying was weak. Gave him what he wanted.

He kicked her then, a hard fierce punt to her left thigh. She kept her arms wrapped around her knees, her head between her legs, praying for the end of it. I can live through this. One more time. Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, please make him stop. Please don’t make me leave my son alone.

Pleeeassse.

The word echoed once through her throbbing head, and then nothing.

CHAPTER THREE

THE CONFETTI had barely settled to the floor when Nicholas thanked the Websters for their hospitality and then ducked out.

He waited while the valet got his car, then pulled out of the driveway a little too fast in an attempt to accelerate past his preoccupation with Audrey Colby.

Two miles down West Paces Ferry, he let up on the gas, one elbow on the windowsill. What was it about her that had him so rattled? Her desire to be left alone could not have been more clear. And yet out on that terrace, he hadn’t been able to make himself walk away. He still felt as if everything inside him had been altered by the few words of conversation they’d had, shaken up to the point that all the pieces of who he had been didn’t fit back in their old places.

It was the look in her eyes. A look he’d seen too many times in the eyes of people who had lost a loved one to a senseless crime. A glimpse into the soul of someone who’s been broken.

But Audrey Colby? He didn’t think so.

He ran a hand over his face. Told himself to leave it alone.

As of tonight, by his own proclamation, he had started over with a career he could accept. No more crusades. No more families looking to him for justice. No more trying to fix in himself what could never be fixed.

Audrey Colby was married to one of the wealthiest men in Georgia. Probably had a life most women would sign up for in a heartbeat.

His problem? He needed to quit imagining that the whole world needed his help.

He turned into his driveway and hit the remote for the garage door.

Something darted out in front of him, seeking cover under the hedge of boxwoods separating his driveway from his neighbor’s.

A light above the garage illuminated the center of the driveway, but the bushes were shadowed, making it difficult to see anything.

He rolled down his window, then cut the engine. A soft whimper drifted from under the boxwoods.

Nicholas got out, walked over to the hedge and dropped to his knees. Two unblinking eyes stared back at him.

Black as the night sky, the dog wasn’t wearing a collar. It inched backward, making another whimpering sound.

Nicholas sighed. He just wanted to go to bed. Sleep for at least a dozen hours. He lifted the lower branches of the bush. “Hey,” he said. “Are you hurt? Come on out. Let me take a look.”

But the dog wasn’t budging.

Food. He needed a lure. The only thing he had in the car was chewing gum. He grabbed his keys from the ignition and let himself into the house, heading for the kitchen. It looked like a mini shrine to pizza takeout. Four empty boxes sat on the table. One sink was stacked high with coffee cups.

On Mondays, a cleaning service came in and got rid of the boxes, washed all the cups. It was a little like living in a hotel. A place to eat and sleep. Temporary.

He found a loaf of bread in the pantry and removed a couple of slices from the bag. He went back outside, dropped to his knees again, moisture seeping through his tuxedo pants. He held the bread out, tried some coaxing words. The dog sniffed, but didn’t move. Nicholas waved the bread around. No interest. He sat for a minute or so, tried again. Still not budging.

Finally, he stood. What else could he do? Drag the dog out from under the bush? He’d tried. He could go with a clear conscience. “Okay. I give up. I’m going in.”

But no sooner had he stepped away than the food won out. The dog crawled forward far enough to reach the bread, and gobbled it up in a single bite.

Medium-sized, it appeared no more than three inches wide at its thickest point. In the light, he could see white markings on its legs and chest. The dog’s coat was matted in places, dull by malnutrition or maybe parasites. It looked up at him, instantly shrinking to a crouching position. Nicholas’s stomach turned. He dropped to his knees again. “It’s not like that. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

The dog scooted away from him, then jumped up and trotted off toward the street.

Headlights flashed from the intersection at the corner. The dog sent an anxious glance over its shoulder. The car was almost in front of them now. Nicholas sprinted after the dog and lunged. The dog dropped flat, looking as if it wanted to melt into the driveway.

“Hey, it’s okay. I just didn’t want you to get on the road.” He reached out to rub the dog’s head. The animal quivered.

A clinic a few miles away stayed open all night. He could drop the dog off there, and they could figure out what to do with it.

He picked the animal up, carried it to the car, placed it in the passenger seat and eased the door closed.

He reached the clinic within five minutes, grateful to see lights on when he pulled into a parking space. He got out and jogged to the front door. A small plaque gave instructions to ring the bell. Someone would be right with him.

Thirty seconds later, a young woman appeared. “May I help you?”

“Yeah. I have a dog outside. It’s hurt,” he said.

“Do you need help bringing it in?”

“No. I’ll be right back.” He walked to the car and carefully opened the door. In the front seat, the dog had tucked itself nose to tail. He rubbed its back once, then picked it up as gently as possible. It whimpered again. “Sorry,” he said.

The young woman held the door for him and then led him to a waiting area and through a set of double doors into a large examining room. “I’m Dr. Filmore, the vet on call tonight.”

“Nicholas Wakefield.”

The walls were lined with large cages in which a few dogs were sleeping. A dark-brown cocker spaniel raised its head and whined.

“It’s all right, Bo,” Dr. Filmore said. “You can go back to sleep. On the table here,” she directed to Nicholas.

He placed the dog on the stainless tabletop as gently as he could. “I found it outside my house.”

The vet dipped her head, then looked back up. “She.”

“What?”

“The dog is a she.”

“Oh,” Nicholas said, nodding.

“She’s starving for one thing.” The vet was young, but she spoke to the dog in a soft, reassuring voice and ran her hands over her in a way that suggested she knew what she was doing. “I think her left hind leg is broken. It feels like she has a couple of busted ribs, as well. We’ll have to get some radiographs.”

“Could she have been hit by a car?”

“Maybe. More likely kicked from the way she’s acting,” the doctor said, her voice flat as a Kansas plain.

A sick feeling settled in Nicholas’s stomach. “You see this often?”

“Too often.”

He didn’t know what to say. What kind of person would kick a helpless dog? “Doesn’t it get to you?” he asked.

She sighed. “Yeah. It does. But the only alternative is to quit.”

He’d once said the same thing about his own profession. He admired her dedication. Wished for a moment that the fire of his convictions hadn’t burned out.

“So you’ll fix her up?”

She nodded. “The best I can. You could wait, or go home, and I’ll call you when I know something.”

“She’s not my dog.”

The doctor frowned. “Are you saying you don’t want to treat her?”

“No. I mean, yes, treat her. But I can’t take her home with me.”

The young woman dropped her gaze, then looked back up, her jaw a hard line. “Would you like to treat her first and then call Animal Control?”

He heard the disapproval in her voice, and yet he balked at the implication that he was somehow responsible just because he’d happened across the dog. “I can’t have a pet,” he said. “I work long hours. I’m not set up for—”

“Leave your information with the receptionist out front,” she interrupted, then turned her back to him in dismissal.

Nicholas glanced at the dog. She was stretched out with her head on her paws, eyes closed as if she could shut out everything around her. He swung back through the double doors, filled out the forms at the front desk in handwriting that was barely legible. He couldn’t get to his car fast enough.

But once he was there, he stared at the building.

Animal Control.

He slapped a hand against the leather steering wheel, got out and rang the after-hours bell again. The receptionist let him in this time and pointed at the doors leading to the examining room. “Go right on through.”

The vet was still busy working on the dog. She didn’t look up when Nicholas came in. “Yes, Mr. Wakefield?”

“Call me when she’s ready to go.”

The young doctor glanced up, her smile instantly removing him from her loser’s list. “Did you leave your number?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Have a good night then.”

IT WAS AFTER 3:00 a.m. when Ross Webster pulled on his robe and headed downstairs where he poured himself a stiff shot of scotch. He tossed half of it back, coughed a couple of times, then collapsed onto the closest chair, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

He was tired. The kind of tired that didn’t go away after a night’s sleep.

His life was making him tired.

Ross was old enough to recognize he’d taken some of the wrong forks in the road. The choices he’d made were the kind that turned things around permanently. Once, he had been a different man. Or at least he liked to think so.

He’d started out in the public defender’s office, hard as that was to believe now. Like his new partner, Wakefield, he’d had his own ideals. Villains to conquer.

Wakefield still had that light in his eyes. Oh, he was convinced it was gone. Had left the prosecutor’s office with his tail tucked between his legs because he’d lost one too many cases to the bad guys.

But what Ross had finally figured out—what Wakefield obviously hadn’t—was that being one of the good guys didn’t get you anywhere. It had started out innocently enough. A little gray bleeding into the black and white.

And then Jonathan Colby had walked into his office. Showed him how he could have the kind of life he’d always wanted. He’d signed on. Just like that. Too late, he’d realized he’d shackled himself to the devil. If he wanted to go anywhere, he had to take Jonathan with him.

And that meant closing his eyes to things that weren’t any of his business. Like Colby’s treatment of his wife.

How a man could have such a woman and not treat her like fine crystal was beyond his imagination. Things had gotten bad enough to bring the police into the matter a couple of times. With the help of a detective saving for early retirement, Ross had cleaned those up for Jonathan, and he had not been able to look Audrey in the eyes since.

He took another swig of scotch.

Laura appeared in the doorway, tucked inside a fluffy white robe. Without makeup and her high-end clothes, she looked enough like the little girl she had been not so long ago that he felt an actual pain in his chest for his inability to turn back the clock.

“What are you doing up, Daddy?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Still wired from the party, I guess. You?”

She leaned against the doorjamb and folded her arms across her chest, looking as if she had something on her mind.

“What is it, honey?”

She tipped her head, didn’t answer for a moment, and then said, “Do you think Jonathan and Audrey are happy?”

The question took him by surprise. “As happy as anyone, I guess. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. They don’t look happy.”

“That’s their business then, don’t you think?”

She shrugged. “I just wonder why people stay together if they’re not happy being with each other.”

“Human nature, I guess,” he said. “Hard to get off the train once it’s headed down the tracks.” He thought of his own marriage, his clear understanding of why Sylvia had stayed with him all these years. Nice enough meal ticket for a girl from rural Georgia. If he’d once thought it had to do with anything other than that, he’d been permanently cured of his disillusion.

“That’s a pretty dismal outlook. I don’t think people should stay together if it’s not working.”

“Probably not,” he conceded, too weary to argue.

“So why do you?”

He met her gaze, started to pretend he didn’t know what she meant, then surprised himself by saying, “Your mom and I have been together a long time.”

“So that’s a reason?”

“One.”

“How about another?”

“Something about age, I think. Things you couldn’t have imagined yourself doing, standing for, when you were younger just don’t really seem worth the battle.”

“Now there’s a life goal. Settling. You know, Daddy, I’m not subscribing.”

Ross heard the disapproval in his daughter’s voice. On the day she’d been born, his biggest hope was that she would grow up to be proud of him. There was something infinitely deflating in the realization that your child did not respect you. “Maybe your life will be completely different.”

A smile touched her mouth. “If I have any say in it.”

Her certainty was hard to refute. And he hoped she would be right.

“I’m headed to the kitchen,” she said, her tone lighter, as if she had decided to give him a reprieve. “Want something warm to drink?”

“Sure, honey,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Be right back.”

He watched her leave the room. Even her walk was marked with confidence. In Laura’s eyes, the world was hers for the taking. He had spoiled his daughter. That, Ross could not deny. But he loved her.

He wondered if Audrey Colby had a father who felt the same about her.

He could only imagine what he would do if Laura ever got involved with a man who mistreated her. Something in his gut tightened, needle-sharp. Laura might be spoiled, but she was the one good thing he’d done in his life. He’d die before she’d end up like Audrey.

He was sorry for her. Really, he was. But he wasn’t a white-hat guy.

He couldn’t save her.

Hell, he’d be lucky if he saved himself.

AUDREY AWOKE to a pain so intense it took her a moment to figure out what it was. Maybe she’d died. Maybe this was what death felt like when you’d failed to live your life to expectation.

She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. The room was nearly dark, the only light shining through from the kitchen. She tried to sit up. Something sharp stabbed her palm. Wincing, she yanked her hand away, blood trickling down her wrist. Shards of glass, the remains of a broken table lamp, lay around her, the shade resting on its side like an old hat someone had thrown away.

Moaning, she straightened and leaned back against the wall, fighting the wave of nausea threatening to overcome her. She touched her hand to her throbbing shoulder, then tried to move it. White-hot pain shot through her arm. She dropped her head back and wondered how many days she would have to hide from the world to cover this one up. Thank God it was winter. Thank God for turtlenecks and gloves.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wiping at the tears sliding down one cheek with the back of her hand. She despised herself for the tears. Tears were useless, would get her nowhere. They were weak and powerless and self-pitying. The last person she felt sorry for was herself.

She’d long since ceased to think of the poor excuse of a woman that she had become as someone she knew. The woman who now sat huddled on her living-room floor was a stranger. Someone she did not know, resembling in no way the woman Audrey had once thought she would become. This woman was a victim. Weak. Despicable.

Why hadn’t she walked away as soon as she’d seen Nicholas Wakefield standing on that terrace?

Maybe because he’d been a stranger, and there was anonymity in that, someone with no pre-drawn conclusions about her. At the party, she’d barely spoken to anyone, knowing that to linger too long would be to arouse Jonathan’s anger. Outside, in the darkness, some almost-forgotten part of her had been hungry for a few moments of uncensored conversation with another human being. A human being who knew nothing about her life, who might think she was as normal as the rest of the world.

“Mama?”

Audrey jerked up. Her nine-year-old son stood in the doorway, his face white with fear. Audrey glanced at the mess around her, the shattered lamp, the overturned coffee table, realizing what she must look like. “Oh, Sammy. It’s okay. Stay right there.”

Taking a deep breath, she slid across the floor, her back to the wall, each move agonizing. She hadn’t made it to the doorway before he launched himself at her, flinging his arms around her neck and gripping her as if he were about to drown. She winced at the spasm of pain that racked through her, but pulled him close and held him tight.

Sammy cried quietly, his chest shaking. She closed her eyes and pressed his face to her shoulder, soothing him with her voice and her hands.

“I thought you were dead,” he finally managed to say. “I saw you against the wall, and I thought—”

Audrey’s eyes welled with tears. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’m all right. Shh.”

“Why does he hurt you, Mommy?” Sammy asked, his voice breaking at the end.

Audrey drew back and brushed his hair away from his face, gently rubbing the tears from his cheek with her thumb. “Sammy, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Her son, her precious son, looked up at her with fear and anguish in his eyes. For that, Audrey hated herself most of all.

Despite the pain grabbing at her, she walked with him up the stairs, her arm around his shoulders, tucking him to her side.

In his room, she helped him into bed, smoothing a hand over his fine hair. Sitting there beside the son she loved more than she would ever have believed it possible to love, Audrey thought of what a different life she had once imagined for herself, for the children she might have. How had things turned out this way?

The truth? She had never seen it coming.

CHAPTER FOUR

AS A SENIOR in high school, Audrey took a job with the Colbys, the most affluent family in Lanier, Georgia. They could trace their bloodlines to the earliest records in the courthouse, and Martha Colby took great pride in running her home in much the same way her husband’s ancestors had. Even though Audrey had originally been hired to work two evenings a week and every Saturday, her hours had continued to increase when one of the housekeepers had to leave.

Audrey didn’t mind working extra. While she liked her actual classes, she didn’t enjoy the social aspects of school. Up until junior high, she had liked everything about it and had looked forward to running track.

But then her body had started to change, and along with it, the rest of her life as well. In her freshman year, her bra size went from 34 A to 36 C. At five-three, Audrey was small-framed, petite even, and the change was more than noticeable. Suddenly, boys treated her differently. She hated the look in their eyes, detested the snickers that followed her down the hall. But worst of all were the nicknames she heard bandied about behind her back, the suggestive remarks the boys made when she walked by. One day, she’d gone into biology class and found one of those nicknames carved into the top of the desk.

She’d left the class and called her mom to come and get her, claiming she had a stomachache. She’d spent the rest of the afternoon curled up on her bed, humiliated.

Her mother came into her room, smoothing a hand over her hair. “What is it, honey? What’s wrong?”

Audrey turned over, unwelcome tears welling in her eyes. “I hate school, Mama. I don’t want to go back.”

“It’s the changes in your body,” her mother said softly. “Am I right?”

Audrey bit her lip, before admitting in a low voice, “It’s awful.”

Sarah Williams took her daughter’s hand and squeezed it between both of hers. “Oh, baby, you’ve just matured faster than some girls. Do you know how many women would love to have your figure?”

“I’m not a woman. And the boys make fun of me.”

Her mother pressed her lips together. “That’s because they’re immature and don’t know any better.”

“Please don’t make me go back.”

“Audrey.” Her mother’s voice held a note of wistfulness as if she wished she could snap her fingers and take the pain away. But she couldn’t. And they both knew it. “It won’t last forever, honey. The older you get, the better things will be. I promise.”

In a way, she was right. Audrey wore clothing that helped to conceal her figure, loose-fitting blouses and jumpers. She never wore sweaters or anything that remotely emphasized her breasts. The nicknames ceased. At least where she could hear them. But the boys were still interested in one thing. And after a few dates that resulted in little more than fumbling and groping, she decided dating wasn’t for her.

Instead, she threw herself into her schoolwork and had so far maintained the highest GPA in her class. She spent her free time painting—mostly portraits, scenes from small-town life. She loved the mystery of a blank canvas, starting out with nothing but white space and capturing a moment of time there.

Halfway through her senior year she went to work for the Colbys, and although she got a little less sleep than before, it was worth it to have the extra money. She’d recently been accepted at Georgia State. Going to college was important to her. No one else in her family had ever been. Her mother and father were counting on her to be the first. Money was tight, though. Her father had worked in a lumber mill for the past twenty years, and her mother took in sewing and alterations in addition to her job at the local Rexall. Audrey wanted to help with her tuition so she took as many extra hours as she could.

One afternoon, Mrs. Colby asked her to dust in the library. With its walnut-paneled walls and inviting reading lamps, it was a room she could have spent weeks in without ever leaving. She wiped each of the frames positioned on the round tables, handling them with care. An eight-by-ten photo in a pewter frame caught her eye. A young man with glossy black hair and smooth, dark skin, smiled up at her, his eyes hinting at self-assurance. The Colbys’ only son, Jonathan. She’d heard of him through her older brother. Jonathan Colby was a local icon of sorts, the rich kid who went to boarding school and moved away after college.

Audrey rubbed at the glass on the photograph, then placed it back on the table. But her gaze lingered on his handsome face, and she wondered if he ever came home.

After that day, she found herself thinking about him. In school while the teacher was lecturing. At night when she turned off her lamp and lay in bed. She wondered what it would be like to go out with someone older and more mature, unlike the boys in school.

Jonathan Colby remained snagged in her thoughts, even though she’d never met him, even though he was older by ten years or so.

But on the following Tuesday, she forgot all of her arguments about putting him from her mind. She was in the kitchen helping Mary, an older woman who had been with the Colbys for years as a housekeeper. Mary touched a hand to the grey braid wound into a coil at the nape of her neck. “We’ll have to get the house extra clean this week,” Mary said. “Mrs. Colby says Jonathan is coming home over the weekend. She’s having a dinner on Saturday night for him. She asked me to check with you about working late.”

The dish in Audrey’s hand clattered to the floor. “I’m sorry,” she said, bending over to pick it up, grateful that it hadn’t broken. “I’ll be glad to.”

Mary sent her a knowing look and then said with a chuckle, “Jonathan always did have that effect on the girls.”

It was the slowest week of Audrey’s life. She thought the weekend would never arrive. On Saturday afternoon, she took extra care getting ready. Standing back and looking at herself in the mirror, she decided that she looked older, a little more sophisticated.

Once she arrived at the Colby house, Audrey was a batch of nerves, her stomach tightening every time the kitchen door swung open.

When it was time to serve dessert, Audrey followed Mary into the dining room where the din of conversation rose and fell around the twelve-person table.

She kept her eyes on the serving cart, too nervous to look up.

“Could you put one of these in each bowl, Audrey?” Mary asked, handing her some silver spoons.

“Sure,” she said, glancing at the head of the table and spotting him for the first time. To his right sat a dark-haired girl laughing at something he’d just said close to her ear. Audrey couldn’t look away from the two of them. He was every bit as handsome as his photo. More so. And the girl beside him was tall and striking in an off-the-shoulder black cocktail dress.

Audrey started to turn, but he glanced up just then and caught her gaze. Her cheeks went warm, the blush spreading across her whole body. He didn’t look away for several long seconds, and she could have sworn she saw a flicker of interest in his laughing blue eyes.

She moved toward his end of the table and placed the spoons in each bowl, feeling his eyes upon her still. Gripped with shyness, she could not bring herself to glance up again.

A few minutes later, she escaped to the kitchen. Once there, she wet a paper towel with cool water and pressed it to her cheeks. She’d spent the week fantasizing about a guy she’d never met, had only seen a picture of. And now that she’d seen him in real life, with an infatuated girl beside him, she felt… What? Disappointed. The ridiculousness of the admission did not escape her.

Mary returned to the kitchen a few minutes later. “So what did you think?”

“Of what?” she asked, continuing to scrub the pot in the sink without looking up.

“Young Jonathan, of course.”

“Oh. He’s very handsome.”

“And as usual, he’s got a new young lady with him tonight.” Mary shook her head. “I don’t think he’ll ever settle down. He’s too busy sampling.”

It was after 1:00 a.m. by the time the two of them had everything washed and put back in place.

“That should about do it,” Mary said, wiping her hands on her apron. “You go on home now. Will you be all right by yourself?”

“I’ll be fine,” Audrey reassured her.

“See you at eleven tomorrow?”

“Okay,” she said, letting herself out the kitchen door. Getting in her mother’s old green Falcon, she turned the key in the ignition. An awful grinding noise rang out like gunshots in the quiet neighborhood.

She tried it again, but this time the noise was worse. A knock sounded at the window. Audrey jumped, one hand to her throat. Jonathan peered down at her, smiling. Her heart started pounding in her ears.

“Mind if I give it a try?” she heard him ask through the closed window.

This wasn’t exactly how she’d envisioned the two of them meeting. But grateful for his help, she nodded and got out. He slid behind the wheel. When the same thing happened after two tries, he said, “I don’t think it’s going anywhere tonight.”

“I think you’re right,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze. His face had relaxed into a kind smile, and she noticed that he had a smudge of red lipstick on his collar. Apparently, he’d just gotten back from taking his date home.

“I don’t think we got properly introduced,” he said. “I’m Jonathan Colby.”

“Audrey Williams.”

He looked at her and said, “Audrey. I’ll be glad to give you a lift. You can leave the car here tonight.”

Something inside her thrilled at the thought. But she didn’t want him to feel obligated to take her. “I can call a cab.”

“It’s not a problem.”

She hesitated, before saying, “If you’re sure you won’t mind.”

“Not at all.” He smiled at her then, looking exactly like the man in the photograph she’d been fantasizing about all week.

AUDREY’S HOUSE was approximately twenty-five minutes away, on the other side of town. For once, she was glad of the distance. Sitting in Jonathan Colby’s BMW with late-night radio playing in the background was like something she might have dreamed. The tan leather seat felt like butter against her skin, and he had the sunroof open, leaving a square of stars visible above them.

“How long have you been working for my parents?” he asked as they backed out of the driveway and then sped down the tree-lined street.

“A few months.”

“I thought you must have started since the last time I was home. I would have remembered you.”

The words made her heart beat a little faster. It would be foolish to read anything into them, but his smile made her think he’d meant them as a compliment. “Your mother’s very nice,” she said, looking down at her lap.

“Yes, she is,” he agreed, the smile suddenly disappearing. “Are you in college?”

“I’m a senior. In high school,” she said, flattered.

He slowed for a stop sign, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift. “You could have fooled me.”

Again, the remark found its spot in her heart, and she smiled at him. “You live in Atlanta, don’t you?”

He nodded. “I’m running an arm of Dad’s business there.”

“Do you like it? Atlanta, I mean.”

“Yeah. It’s a great town. There’s a lot to do.”

She didn’t want to tell him that she’d never been even though it was only four hours away. Her family hadn’t traveled much. Neither of her parents liked to stray too far from home.

They chatted for the duration of the drive to her house. She told him where to turn when they reached her street. He stopped in front of the driveway, flicking the car lights off.

“Thank you so much for the ride,” she said.

“You’re welcome.”

Audrey wished for a reason to linger. None of the guys she’d dated came close to this dark-haired, confident man.

“You have a boyfriend, Audrey?” he asked.

“No one special.”

“That’s surprising.”

She shrugged. “I’m going to college next year. And I work part-time. There’s not much room for anything else.”

“You’re smart to keep it that way for now.”

In that moment, Audrey was glad there was no one else. She sensed that if she shifted in his direction, he would have kissed her. But she didn’t have the courage to try it.

Unnerved by the awareness between them, she looked down at her lap and said, “Thank you for the ride, Jonathan. I really appreciate it.”

He put a hand on the steering wheel, and said, “No problem.”

“I’ll get my dad to come over in the morning and take a look at the car.”

“Will you be coming with him?”

She nodded. “I have to be there for work at eleven.”

“Good. Then I guess I’ll see you at lunch?”

She smiled. “I guess so.”

THE NEXT MORNING, Audrey’s father drove her to work and called a tow truck for her mother’s car. The Colbys came in from church just before twelve-thirty. Audrey’s stomach fluttered at the sound of their voices in the foyer. She could hear Jonathan’s low tones and felt a fresh rush of anticipation at the thought of seeing him again.

She followed Mary into the dining room, carrying steaming bowls of mashed potatoes and cream-style corn. Her gaze immediately found him, seated again at the far end of the table. The same dark-haired young woman sat next to him. Audrey’s heart dropped to the floor.

She tried not to look at him again and went about the business of putting food on the table, wanting only to finish so she could escape back to the kitchen. Once there, she ran her hand under the cool tap water and splashed a little on her face.

It was after three o’clock when the kitchen door swung open. She looked up from wiping the counters. Jonathan stood in the doorway, and she could not deny the gladness she felt at the sight of him. “Hi.”

He smiled at her. “Did you get your car fixed?”

She shook her head. “Dad had a tow truck pick it up.”

“Will you need a ride home then?”

“I’ll call him when I’m through here.”

“I’ll be glad to take you. I’ll be on my way out of town anyway. I’m heading back to Atlanta in a little while.”

Audrey hesitated, recalling Mary’s earlier warning. But even though she knew the woman was probably right, she found herself saying, “If you’re sure it won’t be too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all. I’ll go upstairs and pack up the rest of my things. How much longer will you be?”

“Twenty minutes or so?”

“I’ll meet you back here.”

Audrey called her mom and told her she had a ride home.

Jonathan was back in exactly twenty minutes. “I already said goodbye to my folks, so if you’re ready—”

“All set.” She reached for her sweater where she’d hung it earlier on the hook behind the door.

“Here, let me help.” He took the sweater and held it for her while she shrugged her arms inside. His hands grazed the side of her shoulders, sending unexpected sparks of electricity through her.

“Thank you,” she said, not meeting his gaze for fear that he would see awareness in her eyes.

“Do you have to be home right away?” he asked, once they were in the car.

The question surprised her. “Not right away.”

“Want to take a walk in the park?”

“Sure. I’d love to.”

He pulled over at a 7-Eleven, coming out a couple of minutes later with two Cokes and a bag of chips. “Not much of a picnic,” he said, “but it’s the best I can do on short notice.”

She laughed, thinking it was wonderful that he’d thought of it at all.

They parked on the street beside the entrance. Jonathan opened her door for her and pulled a blanket from the trunk. By the pond, Jonathan spread out the quilt, tossed the chips and Cokes in one corner and motioned for her to sit. She did, pulling her knees up in front of her chest.

He sat down beside her, plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between his fingers. “Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“Hide yourself.”

She avoided his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“The clothes you wear. The way you hunch your shoulders. The way you’re hiding behind your knees right now.”

Face hot, she kept her gaze on the grass in front of the quilt.

“You’re beautiful, Audrey,” he said. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of in that.”

They stayed for a good two hours, talking about his work, her hopes for the future. Despite their age difference, they shared many of the same interests, good books, art.

He didn’t kiss her that day, but she knew in her heart that he wanted to. He took her home a little before six, and she hated for the day to end, knowing she’d probably never see him again.

“Thank you, Jonathan,” she said when he stopped in her driveway. “For the ride. And the afternoon.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, watching her with considering eyes. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out his wallet. Handing her a business card, he said, “If you ever need anything—”

“Thanks. Have a good trip back.” She got out of the car and ran up the walk to her house.

FOR THE NEXT WEEK, she looked at the card every night before she went to bed. She debated about writing to him, talking herself out of it at least five times before deciding there wouldn’t be anything wrong with a thank-you note.

She went to the drugstore and bought a pack of stationery cards with a pond on the front and ducks standing by the water’s edge. She kept the note brief.

Dear Jonathan,

I just wanted to thank you again for taking me home last Saturday night and for the picnic on Sunday. I really enjoyed our conversation.

Audrey Williams

She agonized over sending it, but finally forced herself to put it in the mailbox and push it from her mind.

Four days later, she heard back from him.

Audrey,

I’m coming home next weekend. If you don’t have to work Saturday night, I’d love to take you out for dinner. If you’d like to go, give me a call at the number on the card I gave you.

Jonathan

Audrey reread the note three times before letting herself believe it was true.

She ran to her room and pulled the card out of her jewelry box where she’d hidden it. She went downstairs to the phone in the kitchen and dialed the number.

THAT AFTERNOON, she went into the den where Mrs. Colby was having tea and knocked at the door. “Excuse me, Mrs. Colby?”

“Yes, Audrey?”

“May I speak with you for a moment?”

“Of course. Come in.” She put down her cup and motioned for Audrey to sit opposite her on the sofa. “What is it, dear?”

“I wondered if I might have next Saturday night off.”

Mrs. Colby smiled. “A young man, I presume? As pretty as you are, I’m surprised you don’t need every Saturday night off. Of course you may.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Colby,” Audrey said, smiling in relief. She wondered what the woman would think if she knew Audrey was having dinner with her son and felt a stab of guilt for not telling her. But maybe that was Jonathan’s place.

Mrs. Colby reached for the teapot, refilling her cup. “You’re welcome, dear. You’ve done an awfully good job for us. I hope you know we appreciate it.” She leaned forward to put the pot back on its tray. The neckline of her dress slipped aside, revealing an almost blackish bruise on her left shoulder. It was horrible looking, the worst bruise Audrey had ever seen.

“Mrs. Colby,” she said, before she could stop herself. “What happened?”

The older woman jumped, her cup clattering in its saucer. With her free hand, she hastily pulled the dress back in place, her expression closing like a door to a storm wind. “I slipped on the terrace steps the other day and landed on my shoulder. I’m afraid it left an awful bruise.”

“Oh,” Audrey said. “Are you all right?”

“Fine, dear. I’ve had worse falls than that,” she said. “Now, if that’s all, I’m sure Mary is wondering where you are.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Audrey said, then went back to the kitchen. She didn’t think about the incident anymore until that night after she’d gone to bed. There was no reason not to believe Mrs. Colby. But something about the way she’d acted hadn’t felt right, as if she were trying to hide something. She thought of Mr. Colby, the few times she’d passed him in the house, his face stormy, as if he were always angry about something.

For a moment, just a brief moment, Audrey wondered about their relationship, and whether Mr. Colby had anything to do with the bruise on his wife’s shoulder.

But that was crazy. Jon Colby was a highly respected member of the community. And Mrs. Colby didn’t seem like the kind of woman to put up with something like that.

Audrey put the questions from her mind and focused on her upcoming dinner with Jonathan.

It was a mistake she would live to regret.

CHAPTER FIVE

SAMMY WAITED until his mother had left the room and closed the door before he opened his eyes. She’d sat there a long time, not saying anything, just brushing her hand back and forth across his hair.

He’d kept his eyes shut so she would think he was asleep. If he’d opened them, he’d have started crying like a baby again. He didn’t want her to see him crying. And besides that, he couldn’t look at the ugly purple bruises on her neck. His mommy had the prettiest face in the world, and he hated his dad for hitting her.

Beneath the covers, he pressed his palms together, the tips of his fingers touching his chin. Squeezing his eyes shut, he whispered into the darkness the words she had taught him when he was little. He usually asked God to watch over his grandma and grandpa Williams. And sometimes he wished for a brother or sister so that when he felt scared they could huddle in the dark together instead of just him here alone. But then he always felt guilty for that part because he didn’t want a little brother or sister who had to be scared all the time.

Tonight he didn’t ask for either of those things. “Dear God, please take care of Mama. Don’t let Daddy hurt her anymore. Please make me strong so I can take care of her. Please make it fast, too, because I’m afraid he’ll hurt her really bad soon. Please, God. Amen.”

Sammy turned his face into the pillow and pulled his knees up against his chest. He didn’t want to cry. He’d asked God to make him strong. But the tears came anyway because it would be a very long time before he would be big enough to take care of her.

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