tension in her shoulders and bile in her stomach.
She’d become a high-end prostitute almost by accident. At around nineteen years old, as a favor for a friend, she filled in as a ‘paid date’ and had known immediately this was the career for her. Because she was good-looking enough, because she liked sex enough, and because it was literally the easiest way to make money. A crazy amount of money. And so, she’d begun her career.
She saved virtually all her earnings—her clients had paid for most of life’s expenses—and by age thirty-three had an extremely well-feathered nest egg and a fully paid-for and furnished apartment. At that point, financially independent and getting a little bored of the game, she decided to take a break—maybe even retire for good—and a year later, she’d met Nate in the lobby of the hotel they were both staying. Nate was under the impression she didn’t have to work because she’d had a well-paid financial consultant job and had made a few excellent property investments. This was true, except for the finance bit. The consulting she’d done had been between the sheets. Not that there were always sheets involved. Or even beds. Often there weren’t.
It had been about eight years ago that Jack had interviewed her and Daphne had been a redhead named Diana back then. But her face was essentially the same and graduate students weren’t exactly known for being dimwitted and forgetful, were they.
Jack had been writing an essay about the world’s oldest profession and its different manifestations. At the time, it hadn’t occurred to Daphne to worry about how that night might affect her future life. Not only because she didn’t give Jack her real name, but because Daphne was moving to Vancouver the following week—a client had offered her a beautiful apartment so she would be closer to him. And in her mid-twenties, Daphne had still been young enough to not worry about how her current life might crash into her future existence. Not only had she opened up to Jack and given her a glimpse into her world in a figurative sense, she had also let Jack watch her screw a client.
The same client who’d died the following evening.
Jack hadn’t been invited to that show, of course, but if she had seen the news story about the man’s body found a week later, she might have recognized him as the client Daphne had serviced while Jack watched through the phone camera. At the time, Daphne had gotten off on knowing she had an audience.
How could Daphne have known the client would end up dead the next night?
It had been a mistake, an accident, her client choking to death during their session. That’s what he paid for, after all: to be choked and suffocated and sometimes things went wrong. But Daphne had panicked and handled it badly and heaving his body off the hotel balcony didn’t exactly make her look innocent.
She’d flown to Vancouver a few days early and spent a whole week in a hotel room feverishly checking the news for any reports of a body found in downtown Toronto. When they finally announced it, she’d continued to check for updates, almost making herself sick with it. Finally, she was able to breathe a sigh of relief when the police announced there was evidence the man had been killed because of his work as a criminal lawyer.
Over the past eight years she’d thought about him from time to time, of course she had. She’d even given up her dominatrix gig, continuing with more vanilla services. But by the time Daphne returned to Toronto about eighteen months ago, Jack and the client had virtually disappeared from her mind.
Until now.
She was trying to behave normally, but it was becoming difficult. Both Nate and Annalise had asked her what was wrong this morning. She’d blamed it on the heat and a burgeoning migraine—something she’d never suffered from but had learned a while ago they were a useful excuse.
Had Jack recognized her? A couple of quizzical glances and a few questions, it didn’t seem like it. But was it only a matter of time? Because Daphne didn’t only have her reputation to protect, her fledgling life with Nate. She could go to jail for what happened that night. She could lose everything over one stupid mistake.
Daphne continued pacing, grateful Nate and the kids were occupied on a video call with Nate’s ex-wife. If Nate found out about her past, everything would be over, for sure. He was kind and sweet but more than a little conservative. He thought she was a financial consultant. He thought she’d been raised Christian and had only slept with four men. And that was even without the manslaughter.
She shook her head and pressed her fingers to her temples. The growing heat wasn’t helping. They had the air conditioning going but the air seemed stilted, stagnant. She clawed at the neckline of her shirt. She needed to be outside. To walk, to move. To release the tension festering in her body. She grabbed her hat and her sunglasses and moved out into the hall to call out to Nate. But after she’d taken a couple of steps, she heard Annalise talking in urgent whispers behind her bedroom door.
“Dad,” Annalise hissed, sounding almost tearful. “We have to tell her. She needs to know she should be careful.”
“Annalise, I know—”
“But she might—”
“I know, I know. I’ll figure it out.”
Daphne leaned forward, knocking a photograph sitting on the hall table in the process.
“Daphne?” Nate called out.
“Just going for a walk. Back in an hour.”
She didn’t wait for a reply.
Within minutes, sweat was dripping down her back in a continuous stream, but it felt good, like a release. She walked and walked, her mind spinning and looping as it revisited old memories and potential solutions. But when she returned, she still wasn’t sure what to do.
She pushed open the door. “I’m back. Nate?”
“He’s with Ryan. Doing something to the Jet Ski,” Annalise shouted from her room.
Hearing Annalise’s voice reminded Daphne of the conversation she’d overheard earlier. Annalise and Nate had to have been talking about her, but what had they meant? She was a little curious but she had something else to think about.
“Okay. Taking a shower,” Daphne called back, moving toward the bathroom, but Gina appeared in the hall, blocking her way.
“Hi,” she said, looking up, blinking her large gray eyes.
“Hi.” Daphne stared back.
“The lady from next door came over and asked where you were.”
Daphne frowned. “Jack?” She pointed in the direction of Jack’s cottage. “From over there?”
Gina nodded. “She said, tell Daphne to come over for a drink after dinner. You, on your own. She wants to talk to you about something. Important.” Gina recited the words as if she’d been asked to memorize them.
“Was there something else?” Daphne asked, as Gina continued to stare at her.
A smile appeared. “No. That’s all.”
Daphne turned away, her stomach curdling. So Jack wanted to talk. It could be about only one thing.