She won’t tell Adam. Or that awful DC Waterhouse. I can explain everything, persuade her. She’s understanding, Sergeant Zailer. She’ll listen to me. I’ll tell her: I will never, ever cheat on Adam again. Not physically, not online, not in any way. I’ve learned my lesson this time—how could I not?

I will be good. I was good for more than three weeks, so I know I can do it, but only if Adam doesn’t find out any more than he already knows.

The best of both worlds—that’s what I need. Usually when someone wants the best of both worlds, it’s some kind of con, but this isn’t. I don’t want to keep Adam in the dark so that I can continue to deceive him. I want to be so much better from now on—a good wife and mother. How can I do that if I have to live with a man who looks at me every day with eyes full of memories of Bad Nicki and everything she did wrong?

I need the best of both worlds. Please. For the best of reasons. Sergeant Zailer will understand. I’ll make her understand.

CHAPTER 16

Thursday, July 11, 2013

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL me you’d hired someone to follow Nicki Clements?” Simon asked Paula Riddiough.

“Jared Uskalis, my slavishly devoted private detective?” She smiled.

They were in the Rose Lounge at the Sofitel St. James in London. It was the only place Paula had been willing to meet him, the place where she and Damon Blundy had first met. She’d also flirtatiously insisted on meeting at twelve minutes past twelve rather than twelve o’clock. Simon hadn’t been happy about her attempt to embarrass him by recreating the exact conditions of the beginning of her and Blundy’s affair, but he’d had no choice. He needed to talk to her, to hear her tell him that his theory about her and Blundy was right. His ego needed it, after he’d been wrong about Reuben Tasker. No matter how many times Charlie said, “But it was Tasker! It was his idea. He planned it and ordered his slave wife to do it!” Simon’s despair was left untouched. For the first time in his professional life, he’d told his team the name of the killer and that person had turned out not to have committed the murder. All the pointers had seemed to point to Tasker, and Simon had allowed himself to be seduced by the neatness of it. He’d forgotten to think about the things that didn’t quite fit: Gibbs waiting outside on the pavement because Reuben Tasker, for some reason, couldn’t or wouldn’t come down and let him in. No, it was his wife, Jane, who had to put herself out to open the door . . .