“You learn those moves at Oxford?” I ask, and he smiles, mumbles something unintelligible. “Did you fuck lots of girls in Merry Ol’ England?” I ask, my voice laced with venom and sarcasm. I straddle him, my hair spilling forward again as his eyes go to half-mast. “Did the girls line up for you? Did you insist that they look at you when they took off their clothes? Did you make them admit to being wet for you?” I run my fingernails lightly along his throat. “You probably don’t think I’m special at all, do you?”

But now Lander’s asleep.

I smile, lean over, and whisper in his ear, “But I am special, Lander. I’m special because I know who you are. You’re the guy who stands by your daddy and brother even when it means destroying someone else’s family. Even when it means taking a mother away from her daughter and locking her up for a crime she didn’t commit. I’m special because I know that. And I’m special because I’m the girl who’s going to teach you and your whole fucking family what karma is. You think I get excited during sex?”

I roll off him and rise to my feet. “Just wait until you see me get off on vengeance.”

chapter five

Now that Lander’s out for the night I’m free to explore. I sit in his home office, in front of his computer, waiting for it to boot up. The keyboard is cool to the touch . . . just as the glass was cool against my skin when Lander pressed me up against the window.

I shake my head fiercely and turn my attention back to the computer . . .

The computer that is asking for a password before it will open up its desktop.

Fuck.

I try a few numbers, his birthday, the date of his college graduation. But they don’t work, and I can’t risk trying anything more. I turn the machine off. I hadn’t noticed a laptop in the place, and even if there was one, what were the chances that it wouldn’t be password protected too?

I stand up, walk over to a file cabinet. But it’s mostly filled with things like cable and water bills. I have to assume that all the important stuff is filed electronically. There are a few cell phone bills that might be useful. I use my Android to take photos of each page, vowing to try to decipher them later.

I start opening drawers. In the first I find a spiral notebook. Inside are notes from bank meetings, a few scribbles about new FDIC regulations, nothing that isn’t likely already public information. I sigh and look back to the open drawer . . . and that’s when I see it: a book that looks suspiciously like a journal.