She would tell him everything when he got back from the bar. About the money, the house, the truth about who Alicia’s real father was. Then, once the check had cleared, they would head to Florida and start a new life together. Just the three of them.

Her thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a noise coming from the direction of the hallway. She strained to hear over the music. It sounded like a soft knock on the door. Brad had probably forgotten his key.

Eleanor got up from the couch and placed the wineglass on the coffee table. Swayed a little as she made her way across the room.

“Whoa.” She laughed.

She reached the door and opened it, expecting to find Brad standing in front of her.

It wasn’t Brad.

It was a stranger.

No, not a stranger, exactly.

Someone she had never met before but recognized from the photos in Lincoln’s wallet. Back in the days when he was more than happy to splash the cash on Eleanor, before he needed a little more “persuading” after Alicia had come along. Eleanor bit back a smile. It looked like old Lincoln was going to be paying up one more time.

Big time.

She said, “I wondered when you’d show up. I guess you’d better come in.”

Catherine Tavernier stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

36 JESSICA

36

JESSICA

Jessica perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed and drummed her fingers nervously against her thighs. She watched as Catherine Tavernier propped a wet umbrella next to the door and made herself comfortable on the chair by the desk.

The woman crossed her long legs and leaned back. She appeared relaxed. She was dressed all in black. Sweatpants and a hooded top and sneakers. Black leather gloves. Her hair was pulled back in a neat chignon. She looked like she’d just come straight from a Pilates session or a yoga class. Apart from the gloves.

“Driving gloves,” she said, following Jessica’s gaze.

Catherine opened a plastic bag she’d brought with her and took out a bottle of wine, holding the 2013 zinfandel aloft like a prize. “I brought a little something for us to drink.” She smiled. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Jessica smiled back. Her palms were starting to sweat, and she discreetly wiped them on the dress.

Catherine produced two fancy smoked-glass wine goblets. “I brought these too. I guessed a motel room might not be equipped with suitable glassware.”

Jessica looked around her meager lodgings, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, it’s not exactly the Beverly Wilshire, but it’s not too bad, I guess.”

Catherine laughed. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve seen much worse—I can assure you.”