“Dead serious,” Zee said. “Leave the car at work or someplace like that. Then you buy a bus ticket with cash. Get where you’re going and then get yourself a new car and a new life. But a quiet one, you know? Change your hair color. Tone down the way you dress.”

Colleen got a faraway look in her eye. “Atlanta. That’s what I’m thinking. One of my FSU sorority sisters is from there, and it’s a great place. There’s always something going on there. Not like this place. God’s waiting room. I’ll have to figure out a new kind of job, but that’s cool. I’m sick and tired of scraping crap off people’s teeth anyway.”

“Good for you.” Zee stood up. “Sounds like you’ve got yourself a plan, so I’m gonna shove off.”

He glanced meaningfully back at the bed. “Unless you wanna…”

“Dream on,” Colleen snapped. “And you can tell Brice Campbell for me that I hope he rots in hell. He could have at least had the decency to show up here tonight in person.”

Zee stood very close to her. So close she could smell the cinnamon gum he was chewing.

“Decency? You’ve been shacking up with a married man at a fleabag hot sheet motel for months. I don’t think you get to decide what’s decent or not. Donna.”

She slapped him as hard as she could across the face. He was so startled, he just stood there, stunned, as she swept from the room. Moments later, he heard the screech of tires on the wet pavement, and the Camaro’s headlights flashed past the flimsy sheer curtains.

He lit another cigarette. “Bye, Donna,” he said.

45

Drue almost felt guilty, sneaking in to her cube two hours late after her Friday morning meeting with Vera Rennick. Almost. For once, she thought, Wendy would be none the wiser. But when she turned on her computer she saw a lengthy email from her stepmother, outlining everything she expected Drue to accomplish that day. She would have to skip lunch to catch up.

Jonah paused at her cubicle on his way back to his own desk after lunch. He was freshly shaven and she could detect the faintest hint of aftershave. “How’s it going?”

If he was trying to act casual, he’d failed miserably.

“Okay,” she said, shrugging. “Wendy might be home on bed rest, but she’s still keeping an iron rein. I’m in callback hell, trying to reach out to potential clients who left messages over the past two days. Not a single person I’ve called has bothered to pick up the phone. I’m starting to get a complex about it.”