Lily's mouth was dry. She sipped again, thinking Don't react, don't blush, don't give him any clue that Rose exists. Edward was the most instinctive person she had ever met. He had eyes in the back of his head and nerve endings that never quit.

“A girl with green eyes,” he said.

She felt the blood coursing through her body, a rush that made her feel dizzy. She stared at him, and with the eye contact, his face turned cold and hard.

“You know what's the most unforgivable? The cruelest thing anyone has ever done to me?” he asked. “It was when you pretended to love me, and then just treated me like dirt. You don't know what's coming, Lily. Just like I didn't know that you were going to walk out on me.”

Lily was shaking. Across the room, Patrick Murphy was coming through the door. He saw them and crossed the room in two seconds flat. At six-three, he towered over Edward. The tension between them was tight and ugly, but it gave Lily the first chance she'd had to actually study her onetime husband.

At five-eight, he was as muscular as ever. He was tan, and he wore chinos and a blue polo shirt with a New York Yacht Club insignia and the Rolex watch she'd given him while they were still together. His brown hair was longer, still wiry, gray at the temples. His hazel eyes were still bright and piercing, but there were bags and pouches underneath—he looked as if he'd done some drinking. He probably hung around with a swanky boating crowd, she thought. She thought of the lies he had told her about his sea captain great-grandfather.

“Well,” Patrick said. “Look who's here. How's life treating you, Edward?”

“Fine,” he replied in an absolutely clipped tone. He stared Patrick straight in the eye for no more than two seconds, then looked everywhere but at him.

“Doing a lot of golfing these days with all that free time? Sailing, maybe? Got yourself a big boat?”

“Big enough,” Edward said. Then he smiled, as if he'd just thought up the best joke in the world. “Bigger than yours.”

“Huh,” Patrick said, glaring. “What are you doing here?”

“As I told Lily,” he said, “I'm visiting Maeve.”

“No you're not,” Patrick said. “There's a police investigation.”

“But you're off the police force,” Edward said, smiling—with a hint of the old charm, the rippling delight he could bring to a statement. “I guess spending most of a decade trying to nail an innocent man for a murder that never happened didn't do wonders for your career.”

“Stay away from Maeve and her family,” Patrick said, staring steadily into Edward's eyes.

“Really? Do you plan to stop me?”

“Absolutely,” Patrick said, smiling now. “They found your prints on Maeve's hot-water heater. You're going to have to answer some questions.”