In the dressing area of her massive closet and connecting bath, Shana stripped off her tennis skirt and sleeveless tee to stand naked in front of the floor to ceiling mirror. Not too bad for a woman on the north end of forty, she thought, though she’d have to consider some boob work and a full face-lift in the next five years to add to her tummy tuck and lipo. She pulled her breasts up to a spot where they were perky again and thought she could use another cup size as well. B to C. That would be nice. Then she drew back the skin around her chin and mouth. The lines there weren’t too bad yet, but there was a bit of sag that would only get worse. At least Jennifer Bentz would never have to worry about laugh lines, age spots, or cellulite. Early death, though scary, in some ways was seductive.

Shana believed that Jennifer was dead and had been for twelve years. Whoever had sent Bentz those photos was just mind-fucking him.

So why had Shana thought it necessary to play with Bentz? True, she’d had her own doubts about Jen’s death, but come on, there was no way the woman was alive today.

It’s because you were attracted to him, her mind silently accused, though she would never admit as much. A cop? Come on. But, then, Bentz always had been and was still undeniably sexy, and lately Shana had been more than a little denied in the sex department. Leland had once been a wild man, insatiable, but with advancing age and a few health issues his interest in sex, along with his ability, had diminished.

No amount of talking would get him to go to a doctor and inquire about Viagra. It was as if even suggesting the idea were an affront to his manhood.

What manhood, she thought unkindly because, truth be told, she was losing interest in the man she once would have killed to marry. Hadn’t she seduced him away from his first wife, that imbecile Isabella?

And Rick Bentz, even with his uneven walk, oozed virility. He caused her mind to wander down twisted and darkly seductive paths she didn’t dare follow. Jennifer had hinted that he was a great lover. She’d insisted that she hadn’t strayed for sex so much as for forbidden sex, with a priest, no less. Her husband’s half brother.

But then Jen had been one messed-up woman. Shana had thought so when they’d hung out together.

God, that seemed like another lifetime.

It was ancient history, long before she noticed the strands of gray in her hair and the evidence of sagging in certain areas of her body that had once been firm.