SEVENTY-SEVEN

Heather could hear the kids arguing from down the hall, but she paid them no mind. The last thing she wanted to deal with tonight was Piper and Ashton’s brattiness. She wasn’t happy that she would have to deal with them entirely on her own for the next few days—and that included Halloween, much to her regret—since Consuela was off visiting her ailing sister in Rochester, New York. In a burst of generosity, Heather had let her faithful housekeeper-assistant take her car for the six-hour trip. Her Beemer was certainly more reliable than Consuela’s old Nissan.

In the interim, Heather could use Bryan’s car. His Porsche Panamera had been sitting in the garage ever since he disappeared. Wherever Bryan was, he didn’t seem to need wheels.

Heather passed the door to Piper’s room. She heard a loud crash from inside, and then her daughter’s shrill voice: “You broke the lamp!”

Then her son’s: “No, you broke it!”

Heather just sighed and continued down the hall.

Before Consuela had left, the kids had squirted dish detergent all over the slick marble floor in the foyer, causing the housekeeper to slip and fall hard on her butt. Piper and Ashton had run away laughing hysterically. Consuela, used to such pranks, had just gotten up and continued on her way, her dignity unruffled. Heather had observed the scene from the living room. She really should punish the brats, but she was too exhausted to deal with it at the moment. She’d get on their case in the morning. Right now all she wanted to do was get to bed.

In her room, Heather undressed, trying to block all unpleasant thoughts from her mind. She wouldn’t think about the kids, or Bryan, or John, or that damn Jessie. She would just think of herself tonight. No one had it as hard as she did. She ran this house, raised those incorrigible kids, ran a successful business, and dealt with an unfaithful pervert of a husband. She would have loved a bubble bath this evening, but Heather was too tired even for that. So she slipped into her black satin negligee—which John had once so admired on her—and stood looking at herself in her bathroom mirror. She figured she still had what it took. She’d forget John eventually, and once she was free of Bryan, she could get another man easily.

Heather smiled. Maybe, in fact, she was already free of Bryan. Maybe John had taken care of that.

It galled Heather to think that John and Jessie were involved. That was the only explanation for why John had so abruptly ended his and Heather’s relationship.

“I could get him back,” Heather whispered to herself, lowering her eyes to gaze upon her full breasts in the negligee. “I could definitely get him back.”

She giggled a little, then turned and shut the light off in the bathroom.

Her bedroom was dark. Heather had pulled the light-blocking curtains tightly so not even a hint of moonlight might penetrate the room. The only light in the entire place came from the small clock on the bedside table, with the numbers 9:59 glowing green. From down the hall Heather could still hear the muffled voices of her kids. She should really tell them to get to bed, but at the moment she just didn’t care. Feeling around on her bureau, Heather found the remote for her iPod, which was docked across the room. She powered it on. Instantly the sounds of Stevie Wonder filled the dark room. Isn’t she lovely. . . . Isn’t she wonderful . . . .

Heather smiled and slipped into bed.

She wondered briefly if Bryan and Jessie had ever had sex right here, in her own bed. The thought revolted her, but she figured it was unlikely. Despite what she had told Chief Walters, Heather didn’t really believe that Jessie and Bryan had been carrying on an affair. That photograph wasn’t recent. It probably came from their college days, and Bryan, the perv, had probably snapped it while Jessie was asleep. But if Heather could stir up trouble for Jessie, she was only glad to do so. The bitch deserved it after stealing John away from her.

Heather yawned, stretching out in the bed.

Her right arm touched something.

What was that?

The room was so dark that it was difficult to see even a few inches in front of her face. Heather stretched her arm out again across the king-size bed. She felt nothing but air. Maybe she’d imagined it.

But there was a warmth. . . .

And . . . movement.

And . . . breathing!

Someone was in the bed with her.

“Who—?” Heather blurted, reaching up with her left hand to find the lamp.

But she never did. The next thing Heather knew there was someone right beside her, breathing in her ear. The darkness prevented her from seeing a thing, but she certainly felt the cold blade that was suddenly pressed against her throat, and then the warm blood that splattered all over her face and filled up her lungs, leaving her unable to cry out, or even breathe.