“No. I’m fine, thank you. You could take that,” she added, indicating Gloria’s empty glass.

Her stomach rebelled at the thought of food, but she ordered herself to pick up her fork. For five minutes she toyed with the salad, poking at it while her gaze drifted regularly toward the rear of the restaurant.

She must be ill again, Sybill thought wearily. Now she would have to go back, hold Gloria’s head, listen to her whining, and mop up the mess. One more pattern.

Battling both resentment and the shame that trickled from it, she rose and walked back to the ladies’ room.

“Gloria, are you all right?” There was no one at the sinks and no answer from any of the stalls. Resigned, Sybill began to nudge doors open. “Gloria?”

In the last stall she saw her own wallet lying open on the closed lid of the toilet. Stunned, she snatched it up, flipped through it. Her various identifications were there, and her credit cards.

But all her cash was gone, along with her sister.

TEN

WITH HER MIND jumbled with pain, her hands unsteady, and her system begging to shut down for the night, Sybill keyed open her hotel door. If she could just get to her migraine medication, to a dark room, to oblivion, she would find a way to deal with tomorrow.

She would find a way to face the Quinns, alone, with the shameful sting of failure.

They would believe she’d helped Gloria run away. How could she blame them? She was already a liar and a sneak in their eyes. In Seth’s.

And, she admitted, in her own.

With slow deliberation, she turned the bolt, fixed the safety lock, then leaned back against the door until she could will her legs to move again.

When the light switched on, she stifled a yelp and covered her eyes in defense.

“You’re right about the view,” Phillip said from her terrace doors. “It’s spectacular.”

She lowered her hand, forced her mind to engage. He’d removed his jacket and tie, she noted, but otherwise he looked just as he had when he’d confronted her at the police station. Polished, urbane, and bitterly angry.

“How did you get in?”

His smile was cold, turning his eyes a hard, chilly gold. The color of an icy winter sun. “You disappoint me, Sybill. I’d have thought your research on your subject would have included the fact that one of my formative skills was breaking and entering.”

She stayed where she was, supported by the door. “You were a thief?”

“Among other things. But enough about me.” He stepped forward to settle on the arm of the sofa, like a casual friend making himself comfortable for a chatty visit. “You fascinate me. Your notes are incredibly revealing, even to a layman.”

“You read my notes?” Her gaze swung toward the desk and her laptop. She couldn’t quite find outrage through the prickly blanket of pain enveloping her head, but she knew it must be there. “You had no right to come in here, uninvited. To break into my computer and read my work.”