“Yes.” Should I tell her about my sense of foreboding? Libba would not pat my hand or call me silly. Instead, she’d worry. There was no reason to ruin her weekend over a feeling. I clinked the ice cubes melting in my gin and tonic and stared at the rag rug.

“How many did you hit?”

I looked up from my study of the rug. “I wasn’t part of the bet.”

“How many?”

“I didn’t miss with the .410 or the 20-gauge.”

She grinned. “I bet they loved that.”

“They seemed more interested in jabbing at each other than the number of clays I hit.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, duh.”

“Why, duh?”

“Thatch is managing partner at their law firm. Has been for several years. Now Graham has thrown his name in the hat for the position.” Libba stood and studied her reflection in the tiny mirror above the dresser. “From what I hear, he has a good chance of unseating Thatch.”

Now, those potshots made sense.

“Also…”

I waited for more.

Libba’s lips curled into an evil smile. “Jinx told me Willa Cooke and Graham were spotted having drinks.” Jinx, our dear friend, was a world-class gossip. She was also unfailingly accurate.

“Where?” The answer mattered. The club or one of the restaurants frequented by our set could be entirely innocent. A hotel bar? Not so much.

“Nabil’s.”

“No one would plan an illicit rendez-vous at Nabil’s.” Nor could I imagine Thatch’s wife, who was willowy and graceful and vague, having enough guile to carry on an affair.

“Maybe they were trying to trick people into thinking their rendez-vous was innocent.”

I stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Why not be sneaky?” There were plenty of places a couple could go without being spotted. Nabil’s wasn’t one of them. I’d never darkened its doors without seeing a handful of people I knew.

“Maybe Willa picked the place. She’s not sneaky.” Libba had that right.

Throw cheating spouses into the weekend’s mix and we were guaranteed disaster. The icy finger poked at me again. I squared my shoulders. “Here’s a question for you.”

Libba lifted her brows and twisted so she could admire the reflection of her near bare back.

“Why does Graham want to be the managing partner? It’s not as if he’ll make more money. If anything, the time he spends managing the firm means he’ll bill fewer hours.”

Libba turned toward the mirror and patted a stray hair into place. “Are you serious?”

As serious as a heart attack. Or a shotgun blast. “Yes.”

“Ego. Prestige. Bragging rights.” Fair points. Especially when it came to Thatch. I remembered Graham’s smirk. Those points applied to him as well.

Now I could add professional rivalry to all the reasons this weekend was a bad idea. “Remind me again why we're here.”