As for setting up a hard-to-trace offshore account—that had been simple. Heck, they were offered on the internet like vacation packages. Pay your money, and voilà, you were incorporated in Seychelles, given a business address and bank account in Cyprus and Panama, and provided with a Manhattan address for mail forwarding to imbue a company with the ring of legitimacy.

But no one was supposed to die.

That was a game-changer.

Dave pulled out his handkerchief, mopped his brow, and turned on the engine, cranking up the air.

For the thousandth time, he asked the question that had haunted him since the first world-shattering call had come in on the burner phone.

Who could be behind this?

Lee had been his best hope of identifying BK. The leak had to be on her end. He certainly hadn’t told anyone about their trysts.

Yet she didn’t appear to have the faintest notion who could have taken the compromising photos that were ruining his life.

But she may not have told him even if she did. From the get-go, she’d made no secret of her animosity toward men, thanks to the philandering husband she’d divorced and a subsequent abusive ex-boyfriend.

Why she’d warmed to him remained a mystery. Perhaps she’d recognized a kindred emotionally broken spirit in search of comfort and consolation. Realized he was a decent, caring, honorable man.

Or had been, in a previous life.

The invectives she’d hurled at him when he’d broken off their relationship, however, suggested her simmering resentment toward men had never been far below the surface. And the final curse she’d flung at him before she’d stormed out of their breakup scene—the one he’d tried to banish from his memory—suddenly replayed in his mind.

“I hope you rot in hell, Dave Mullins. You’re scum. I had a feeling all along you’d end up being like—”

He sucked in a breath.

Wait.

All along?

Did that mean she hadn’t trusted him from the beginning? That throughout their brief but intense relationship, she’d laid the groundwork to extract revenge to ensure he did rot in hell if he deserted her?

Was she BK?

As the air-conditioning chilled the car, a shiver raced through him.

Maybe she’d paid someone to take those photos and kept them in reserve in case he proved to be as much of a scumbag as the previous men in her life.

Maybe Lee and an unknown cohort were behind the scheme he’d come here today to discuss.

If so, was she even now leering malevolently into the bathroom mirror, like the wicked queen in Sleeping Beauty, certain she was the smartest in the land? Relishing the fact that at least one deceitful male was getting his comeuppance?

Massaging his forehead, he leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

A few years ago, such a suspicion would have seemed preposterous. Back then, he’d been an eternal optimist, always believing the best of people. Always trusting that tomorrow would be brighter than today. Always certain God was in his heaven and all was right with the world.