As I drove through Palm Beach with Marty in the passenger seat, he surprised me by showing some nerves. It wasn’t about a confrontation, either.

Marty said, “Do I look all right to meet Brennan?”

I laughed and said, “You’re not going to date him. You look fine.”

“I mean, will I impress him the way you want me to?” He blew into his hand and smelled his breath. “God, I need a mint at least.” He dug in the glove compartment, then turned to the console. That was where he found the pistol I’d stuck in there the day before.

He reached down, pulled out the gun, and examined it for a second, then said, “We’ll take this, too. I hate to admit it, but somehow it makes me feel more confident.”

If Marty was hesitant to play this game, it didn’t show as he slipped the gun into his pants and pulled his shirt out over it.

By the time we were in front of my old house, Marty was looking around to make sure no one was on the street. This was Palm Beach and it was after nine o’clock, so that wasn’t even a worry.

Both the Bentley and the Jaguar were in the driveway, and I could see the downstairs den lights on. That meant Brennan was home. He was the only one who used the den; he’d sit in there when he was working late to keep up with the foreign stock exchanges. We sat in the car and watched the house for a few minutes. Then I saw Brennan’s silhouette as he stood up from the desk and walked to one of the file cabinets that were built into the wall.

There was no traffic this time of night, but I kept twisting my head from side to side just to make sure. I was nervous, and there was no hiding it. Not only was my heart still pounding, but I felt a thin sheen of sweat across my forehead. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

I turned to Marty and said, “Okay, when we get out, don’t slam the door, just close it quietly.” He nodded obediently.

I said, “You sure you’re still up for this, babe?”

“Anything for you.”

“Brennan can be a lot to deal with. For all his bluster, he does have a mean streak, and he’s not afraid to show it.”

“I can handle myself.” Marty sounded confident.

“I just want to say what I have to say and get out of here. Okay?”

“Okay, okay. I’ll behave.”

I looked up at my grand house and thought about how much my life had changed in the past six months. It made me angry.

Before I had time to dwell on my emotions, a splash of light fell across us. A car had just turned and was coming down the street slowly. We were parked awkwardly on the curb where there wasn’t supposed to be any parking. We stuck out like a sore thumb. Then I realized that at this time of night, it was likely a police car on patrol. I didn’t feel like answering questions in front of my estranged husband’s house.