The woman gave her a conspiratorial smile. “You’re not quite as stupid as Austin thinks you are.”

This time when Molly glanced at the panties, the passenger seat didn’t seem quite empty. An indistinct, transparent form of a woman appeared to be sitting there, although she wasn’t the tall, leggy blonde Molly had been envisioning. She got the impression of a small, curvy figure, dark hair, and a bright gaze.

Her heart kicked hard. Blinking rapidly, she dug the heels of both hands into her dry, burning eyes. When she looked again, the strange hallucination had vanished. The seat was as empty as it had always been.

What the hell is happening to me?

Shaken, she wiped her face. When she had composed herself, she found her phone. Ignoring the multiple text and phone messages, she called roadside service.

It took them almost an hour to arrive. As she waited, she slipped out of the car, and ignoring the light rain, she walked the path alongside the pond while keeping the Escalade in her line of sight.

The wind was chilly, but she barely noticed. She felt like a walking bruise.

Everything in her life had been about Austin’s career. Every decision they had made had been carefully plotted out.

They had met in college, and after graduation they had moved to Atlanta where Austin’s father had a small law firm. Then his father’s firm had been bought out by a larger one. Austin had been made a partner in the new, larger firm while his father had retired.

So they had settled here, making more money as the years rolled by, increasing in influence and reputation, developing important connections, and buying a showcase house with an open floor plan that was perfect for throwing frequent dinner parties for powerful people.

Out of the corner of her eye, bright red flared. Turning, she watched as the lights of a tow truck appeared at the end of the street. While the mechanic parked, she walked back quickly and stuffed the panties into her cardigan pocket.

She waited in the Escalade as he changed the battery. Afterward, she paid with her credit card, and he handed her the paperwork. “That car is less than two years old,” he told her. “The battery should have been fine. If I were you, I’d contact the dealership. This is probably still under warranty.”

“Understood. Thank you.” She watched him climb into his truck.

While he had worked on her SUV, the last of the afternoon light had faded. She was horribly, unforgivably late.

When she arrived home, the house was ablaze with lights. Austin had fixed the tripped electrical circuit. High-end cars lined the side of the long driveway and the street.