The silent phone mocked her from the nightstand as she struggled to unzip the back of her dress—a job she’d planned for Burke. Her skimpy new black lace teddy, along with the black satin sheets on the bed, were to be part of his birthday gift. She’d imagined letting him unwrap her like a present, then pulling him down onto the pillows for a night of slow, sensuous loving.

Not tonight, dear, I have a headache . . . After wiping off her makeup, Allison let the dress collapse around her ankles, stepped out of her shoes, unpinned her hair, and slipped between the watery layers of satin. Burke might not be home until tomorrow—there was a room above the agency office for when he had to stay in town. But, damn it, the least he could do was call and give her a chance to make things right—if they could ever be right again.

She slept fitfully, distracted by the rain outside, the slithering sheets on the bed, and her own warring emotions. What should she do when Burke came home? Confront him and demand an explanation? Apologize and melt in his arms? Play innocent and hope he’d decide to be honest with her? There was no good resolution to this kind of betrayal.

At eleven fifteen, with her nerves in tatters, she reached for the phone, punched in the first six digits of his cell number, hesitated, then changed her mind and hung up. Trying to talk with Burke at a bad time would only make things worse. Wait for his call; that would be the smart thing to do. Sooner or later it would come. He almost always phoned her when he was going to be late.

But then, they’d never parted the way they’d parted tonight.

It was almost midnight, and Allison was beginning to drift, when the ringing phone shattered the silence. Her eyes shot open. She groped wildly, catching the receiver as the phone went crashing off the nightstand.

“Burke?”

“No, Allison, it’s Garrett.” His voice was calm. Too calm. Allison went clammy with fear.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” she croaked into the phone.

“The ambulance just took Burke to the hospital. I’m on the road now. I’ll be by to pick you up in about twenty minutes.”

She fought the creeping numbness of denial. “What—happened?”

“He rolled the Porsche on the way to town,” Garrett said. “After I left your place I went to the American Heartland. Nobody there had seen him. When he wasn’t at the agency, and his cell didn’t answer, I got worried and called the highway patrol. The troopers finally found him down the slope from the road, pinned under his car.”

“Oh, God, is he—?”

“He’s alive. But he was still unconscious when the paramedics arrived. We’ll know more when we get to the hospital.”