As she stepped into the parking garage, the truth struck her like the flash of sunrise coming up over the hills. It wasn’t just Garrett. In her small circle of people who mattered, there was no one she could count on for support. Burke was wounded and defiant. Brianna hated her. She had no family, and her single friends, even the close ones, had moved on after her marriage. There was no one she could confide in, no one who would offer so much as a comforting shoulder when she felt beaten and bloodied.

Her safe, pretty little world was falling apart, and there was no one to help her pick up the pieces.

* * *

Allison rolled the windows down and opened the sunroof for the drive back to Peaceful Lane. She drove with the wind in her burning eyes and Mick Jagger’s raunchy baritone blasted “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” from the stereo. Fighting the black undertow that threatened to drag her down, she sang along at the top of her lungs.

By the time she’d parked the car in the driveway, left a message on Brianna’s cell phone, showered, dressed in gray slacks and a black T, and twisted her hair up with a silver clip, it was after 7:00 A.M. She would find the missing contracts, then force down a bite of breakfast. After that it would be back to the war zone that Burke’s hospital room had become. The day was bound to be hellish, but no matter how much he tried to hurt her, she would be there for him.

Burke’s study had not been greatly changed by the remodeling. He’d allowed Allison to replace the curtains with shutters and the worn-out carpet with colorful kilim rugs over hardwood flooring, but he’d refused to part with the battered walnut veneer desk, the shabby leather chair, or the outdated brass reading lamp that hunkered beside it. The bookshelves lining the inner walls were stocked with a lifetime of treasures—books, photos, travel souvenirs, and models of boats and planes. These Allison had known better than to touch.

Burke had tactfully boxed up the pictures in which Kate appeared. Still it was here, in this very masculine room, that Allison most strongly felt the woman’s presence.

Walking to the desk, she glanced around its cluttered surface for the manila envelope containing the contracts. There was no sign of it, nor could she find any loose pages that matched Garrett’s description. Allison sighed. She had hoped this task would be simple. She was in no mood for a long search.