FORTY-SEVEN

MIKE

“FILL the thermos, would you?”

“Of course, sir.”

After years of drinking Clare’s blissful brews, Mike never thought he’d find a coffee shop as good as the Village Blend, but he’d been driving for nearly ninety minutes since his last stop, and he needed a break.

Like a caffeinated beacon, the bright glass windows of the Hampton Coffee Company beckoned him off Montauk Highway. Skeptical of the quality, he ordered a small take-out cup of their Water Mill blend. Why not? It was the name of this location. After a few beautiful sips, he went right back to his car to retrieve the empty Village Blend thermos.

After paying the bill, Mike hit the restroom, and headed back out to the parking lot. It felt good to stretch his legs. The cold air felt good, too, bracing him awake. Frigid and fresh, it smelled faintly of salt water. No surprise, given the roiling Atlantic was less than ten minutes south, the placid bay nearly as close in the other direction.

Nice address, Allegro . . .

Mike knew many of the residential properties around the South Fork were worth millions. Clare’s ex-husband had done well for himself with his coffee importing and trading, but not this well. Sure, the guy had recently inherited some money, but it was his talent with the ladies that got him this address.

As Mike drank the coffee, he mused about the punch in the nose Allegro would give him if he recited that truth to his face—

“What you did, Allegro, was remarry and divorce well.”

With a resigned sigh, Mike checked his mobile.

No texts, no messages. Thank goodness.

The DC badges weren’t likely to follow up with Joy until business hours tomorrow. In the meantime, he would locate Clare tonight, and try to make some sense of this bizarre situation.

Mike had great affection for Clare’s Village Blend family, especially Madame Dubois, but he couldn’t stop mentally smacking himself in the forehead over their conduct.

What the hell were they thinking? Breaking her out of that hospital, like the Scooby-Doo gang. And here I am, playing right into it . . .

What else could he do? He couldn’t let Soles and Bass apprehend her like some criminal. They’d just drag her back to Lorca. He’d rather take his chances on keeping her free. With a little luck, they could dodge the badges long enough to crack her blocked memories—and the Annette Brewster case.

Mike drained the paper cup and headed for his car. The streets around here were darker than an MTA subbasement. Most of these houses wouldn’t be marked or even visible from the road. He’d have to rely on his GPS to locate Allegro’s lair—and that’s exactly what it was.

For years, Clare’s ex-husband had tried to get her back. It was no secret how much he wanted her. How could he resist this attempt to manipulate her back into his bed—or, God forbid, his life?

Well, buddy, not without a fight.

Mike slammed the car door and started the engine. He might make some wrong turns and U-turns, but he was determined to take his own turn at fixing this mess and winning Clare back.