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The hardest part was not racing back to her car after she rang the bell. Erica glanced at her watch. Five-thirty. Both her aunts were usually home by now. Unless, she thought in sudden alarm, one of them had died. Or they’d moved away after she’d left. Neither possibility had occurred to her the entire trip south.
“What you don’t like to think about, you shut clear out of your mind,” Aunt Constance had told her often enough. Maybe her aunt was right. To avoid further speculation, she jabbed the doorbell again.
As though responding to the emotion behind the ring, Aunt Constance’s voice began bellowing from inside. “Coming, coming. Hold your horses. I’m—” She opened the door, puffing from her exertions, then stared, mouth agape, at the sight of her unexpected visitor.
“Hello, Aunt Constance.” Erica’s calm voice belied her racing heart.
“Why, Erica!” She remained riveted to the floor, her arms reaching out from her large and shapeless figure.
“I hope you don’t mind. I should have called, I suppose.”
In answer, Erica was engulfed in her aunt’s fierce embrace. At fifty-eight, Aunt Constance looked more like seventy. She’d grown grayer and wider, her features encased in wrinkles.
“I knew you’d come back. I just knew it! Why, I was just telling Betty the other day—”
“What were you telling me? And who are you—Erica!”
Aunt Betty hadn’t changed. Determined, clawlike hands grasped Erica to her scrawny bosom, then held her away so the shrewd blue eyes behind their steel-rimmed glasses could scrutinize her.
“My dear, you look wonderful! I love your hair short. But that pullover.” Betty clucked like a hen. “Beige does absolutely nothing for you.”
Erica felt as though she were in a dream. It was all so familiar, yet strange at the same time.
“My God, Betty, let her be,” Constance remonstrated. “She just got home. Come into the kitchen, Erica. You’ll have a cup of coffee while I make dinner.”
They each grabbed an arm and escorted her inside.
The coffee revived her. All through dinner, her aunts babbled and chattered about who had died, gotten divorced, married, or remarried in the three years she was away. Erica told them she’d been working as an editor upstate and was thinking of changing her job. She didn’t mention that she was married.
After dessert—Aunt Constance’s famous apple pie—Erica got her things from the car and followed her aunts upstairs to her old bedroom.
Standing in the doorway, seeing the familiar desk, the narrow, virginal bed she’d slept in for twenty-two years, she felt the grip of panic.
I'm back. They’ll keep me a prisoner here until I die. Don’t be ridiculous, she chided herself. You’re only staying for a day or two. Besides, you’re a married woman, remember?
“We left your room exactly as it was,” Betty chirped. “We always hoped you’d come home after you grew tired of being away.”
Erica entered the room only far enough to drop her suitcase beside the bureau. It was still covered with miniature dolls and snapshots from high school and college.
“If you’ll excuse me a moment, I have to make a phone call. It’s very important.” Damn it, they were making her feel like a child again.
“But, Erica, dear,” said Aunt Constance, a whining tone replacing her earlier high spirits. “You just got home. Who do you have to call first thing?”
“Now, now,” soothed Betty. “Leave her be, Connie. Erica’s all grown up now and has her own life to lead. We don’t want to chase her off, do we?” She smiled knowingly at her niece, who blushed with embarrassment and cursed herself for ever coming back to this house.
“Look,” Erica blurted. “I have to call Sherman Hartley. It’s about...business.”
Aunt Constance brightened. “I’m afraid whatever it’s about will have to wait. The Hartleys are away now. In England.”
“France,” Betty corrected her. “England was Christmas vacation.”
“All right then, France,” Constance conceded ill-naturedly. “What difference does it make? They’re always away, hopping from one country to the next. Not that I begrudge them,” she added quickly.
“When are they getting back?” Erica asked. “I must speak to Sherman.”
“Let’s see.” Constance sank onto the bed. “They left three weeks ago on a Friday—”
“Tomorrow night!” Betty supplied, as pleased with herself as if she’d answered an important question on a quiz program. “I remember Monica saying they had to cut their trip short because Sherman has to be in court sometime this week.”
“Oh, no.” Erica sank onto the bed and covered her face with her hands. “I must see him immediately.”
Aunt Constance put an arm around her. “Can’t it wait until Monday?”
“Is it about your inheritance?” Betty asked softly.
Erica stared at her. It was the first time either of her aunts had ever mentioned her monthly allowance.
“I need a large sum of money.” Erica looked from Aunt Betty to Aunt Constance. “That’s why I’ve come here. To see if Sherman can advance it against my allowance. Or lend it to me.”
“So that’s why you’re back! I might have known.” Constance sighed mournfully. “Are you in trouble, Erica?”
“How much do you need? I could manage a few hundred dollars,” Betty offered, her keen eyes studying her niece’s face.
“Thanks, Aunt Betty. I need more than that.” Erica’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “Much more, in fact. But I appreciate your offer.”
“Just how much?”
“Let’s let Erica unpack and rest now, Connie,” Aunt Betty interrupted, her tone sweet but firm. “I’m sure she’ll feel a lot better after a good night’s sleep.”
Grateful, Erica closed the door behind them. She lay down on the pink quilt. In seconds, she was asleep, her glasses still perched on the bridge of her nose.
She awoke hours later, the pale moon shining through the gauzy curtains. Where was she? Her heart beat wildly, but her knowing fingers located and switched on the bedside lamp.
She found her aunts downstairs in the family room. Constance was watching TV. Betty sat at the card table, grading papers.
“Ah, there you are,” Constance greeted her. “We were wondering if you were napping or asleep for the night.”
I simply must ignore their comments, Erica told herself. That’s the only way to deal with them. Besides, once they find out I’m a married woman, they’ll think twice before they treat me like a child. And now, she decided impulsively, was as good a time as any to tell them about Terry.
“I’m married.”
Astonishment, joy, and alarm flitted across her aunts’ faces, each emotion revealing itself so nakedly and in direct conflict with the others that Erica nearly burst out laughing.
“Well, where is he?” Aunt Betty demanded. “When are we going to meet your husband?”
The questions came nonstop, as she’d dreaded they would. She managed to remain vague, telling them that Terry was away on business, that they would be meeting him in a few days. And then she feigned interest in the inane program Aunt Constance had been enjoying before she’d come downstairs.
Here I am, she thought, perpetuating the same lie that Terry told me. I’ll be happy when all this is over.
When the show ended, Erica yawned, said she was exhausted, and had better turn in. Upstairs, she unpacked and showered, then lay down, welcoming the familiar contours of her old bed. She was about to turn out the light when a huge figure appeared in the doorway, startling her.
“Thought you could use a cup of hot cocoa. You always liked cocoa when you were growing up.” Aunt Constance placed the mug on the night table. “Good-night, Erica, dear. See you in the morning.”
Erica was touched. They mean well, she mused, sipping the hot, sweet liquid. If I can only manage to shut my ears to their prying questions and provoking comments, I’ll sail through the next few days.
She awoke late on Sunday morning, and was both flustered and pleased when Aunt Constance insisted on fixing her favorite breakfast of pancakes.
“Where’s Aunt Betty this morning?” she asked, reaching for her fourth pancake.
Aunt Constance snorted. “Out. Out for the day.”
Erica took note of her aunt’s disapproval and decided not to press for details. When Constance spoke again, a few minutes later, her tone was almost apologetic. “I hope you won’t mind, Erica, but I have to go out later, as well. The Civic Association is running a carnival, and I promised to help out.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Erica assured her before Aunt Constance could suggest she join her. “I’ll stay home and read the paper.”
As soon as Aunt Constance left, she called Terry’s cell phone and their home telephone, and was connected to voice mail. She tried a few more times during the day and got the same results. She held off until nine-thirty that evening, when Aunt Constance was watching TV and Aunt Betty was upstairs showering, to call Mrs. Bressler.
“Is that you, Erica?” her landlady shouted into the phone in response to Erica’s tentative hello. “I thought I recognized your voice.”
“How are you, Mrs. Bressler? Has Terry come back?”
The older woman chuckled. “Yes, indeedy. He walked through the door not half an hour ago. I reminded him about that phone call, just like you asked me to.”
“Thank God.” Erica sank onto the flowered seat of the kitchen chair. “And thanks, Mrs. Bressler. Is he upstairs? May I talk to him? Although I suppose I should—”
“Hang on a minute and I’ll get him. No need for you to make another call.”
Erica was about to tell her not to bother, but Mrs. Bressler was gone. No matter. Nothing mattered! Terry was back. He was safe!
It was minutes before he came to the phone, his voice still groggy with sleep. “Erica, honey, how are you? I only got in a while ago and was trying to get some shut eye, when Mrs. Bressler came pounding on the door.”
“Oh, Terry, it’s so good to hear your voice! I’ve been so worried about you. I was beginning to fear I’d never see you again!”
“Come on, babe.” He sounded embarrassed as he always did when she became emotional. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened yesterday. Really sorry. I read your note. Sean had no right dragging you into this.”
Erica took a deep breath and pulled herself together. “It’s better that I know. You should have told me.” She stopped herself. Now wasn’t the time to get into it. “Right now, I’m just so happy to hear your voice.”
“Me, too,” Terry mumbled. He spoke so softly she had trouble catching all his words. “I miss you. Can’t talk. Mrs. Bressler. Come on home, Erica. You shouldn’t have run off like that.”
Her heart sang. At least she was certain of one thing—Terry loved her. “I can’t,” she said. “I’m here to try to raise the money you owe.”
“That damn marker.” His voice was flat. “All I could borrow was a lousy five hundred and now that’s all gone.”
She bit her lip. No need to ask how the money had disappeared.
“Look,” she forced herself to remain calm, “I’ll try to have the money for you tomorrow.”
“Erica, stay out of this. You don’t know what you’re—”
But she was too carried away by her own plans to be stopped. “No, Terry. You listen to me, for once. I’ll help you out this time, but then we’re going to sit down and have a serious talk about your gambling. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know if I have any success. If I do, it might be better if you come down here. Then you can go meet that...that gangster or whatever he is in the city and pay him back.”
“Erica, you’ve no idea what’s involved here.” Terry sounded sad. “Come home and I’ll explain everything. I should have leveled with you a long time ago.”
She paid little attention to his words. She was too busy making sure she’d covered everything.
“The directions to the house are in the envelope. And don’t forget to call him. He was very definite about that.”
“Yeah, I'll call Sean. In fact, I'll probably be seeing him tonight."
Terry didn't sound frightened, at all. Suddenly, Erica didn’t understand. Maybe Terry was right. Maybe she was completely out of her depth.
“Look,” he went on. “I appreciate your trying to help me, babe, I really do. And it would be great if you could borrow the money. I’ll pay you back. I swear, I will. But I don't want you getting involved. You’re like a kid. You don’t understand the first thing about gamblers and guys like Sean and Andy.”
“I’m not a kid!” she retorted.
“I gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow. You’re staying at your aunts’ house?”
Her frustration flared. Damn it, why did everyone see her as a child? “It’s my house, not my aunts’!”
Aunt Constance chose that moment to knock on Erica’s bedroom door. She was too busy saying good-bye to Terry to notice her aunt’s face was stricken with pain caused by the thoughtless remark.
“Talking to someone, dear?”
“To Terry. My husband.”
“I certainly hope we’ll be meeting him soon.”
Erica was too preoccupied to realize her aunt’s voice was quivering.
“Maybe tomorrow.”
And maybe not. Terry was more unpredictable than ever. She had expected him to welcome her help. Instead, he’d tried to persuade her not to get involved. But that was silly. He needed the money.
And she needed him. Erica was beginning to wonder when she would see her husband again.
***
MONDAY MORNING COULDN’T come soon enough for Erica. She’d called Sherman Hartley’s office at nine, and was told by Miss Fitzroy—Monica’s homelier and more efficient replacement—that she could squeeze Erica in at noon. “For ten minutes, no longer,” the brisk secretary warned. Erica assured her that was all the time she needed.
She arrived promptly at twelve and was told there’d be a slight delay. She sat for fifteen minutes, then incurred Miss Fitzroy’s displeasure by pacing up and down the plush beige carpet.
“Mr. Hartley will see you just as soon as he’s free,” she told Erica with a sniff. “He’s a very busy man, especially today. You’re lucky I was able to fit you in on such short notice.”
And you’re lucky I won’t tell you what I think of you, Erica thought. She sat down.
At last, Sherman came out to greet her. “Welcome home, Erica. What a lovely surprise!” He kissed her cheek.
She almost gagged on his overdose of aftershave.
Sherman Hartley tried and failed to conceal the truth about himself—that he was short and pudgy, and nearing sixty. His thinning hair was shoe-polish brown, considerably darker than it had been three years ago. His glasses were nowhere in sight, undoubtedly replaced by trifocal lenses. Today, he wore a three-piece gray suit that failed to hide a Santa Claus paunch. Erica controlled a shudder as he placed a moist palm on her arm and led her into his private office. She’d forgotten what an unappealing man he was.
He beamed at her from across his huge oak desk, his customary unctuous manner intact. “I must say, you’re looking beautiful.” He studied her carefully, as he would a painting. “More like your mother every day.”
“Thank you, Sherman.” She stumbled over his name. She had always called him “Uncle Sherman,” but had decided this morning she’d outgrown that childish form of address. “The office looks lovely.”
“Thank you, my dear. I had it redone last year.” The evident pride in his voice equaled that of a father of a newborn infant.
Erica glanced around her. The office did look lovely, if not out of place. The dark paneled walls covered with oil-painted hunting scenes belonged in an English country house rather than in this modern glass and steel building.
“What can I do for you, Erica?” Sherman leaned forward, his fingers forming a steeple.
His intense gaze startled her. Disconcerted, her words came out in a rush. “I came back to Manordale to see you, I suppose. Actually, I didn’t want to come here, but I had to.” She realized she was babbling, stopped, and took a deep breath. “I need money. A lot of money. Twenty thousand dollars.”
Sherman’s eyes widened, then he burst out in a guffaw. “You shall have it, my dear. You shall have it!”
“I will?” Erica was stupefied.
“Indeed, you shall. I was just about to track you down via your banking address.”
“You were?”
Damn it, he always managed to reduce her to a speechless five-year-old. She watched as he reached into a file cabinet and pulled out a sheaf of papers.
“Erica, dear, come May fifth, two weeks from tomorrow, you become a very wealthy girl—er—woman.”
Erica gulped. “I do?”
“Indeed, you do.” Sherman riffled through the papers. “Including all assets and investments, less taxes, you’re worth something over twenty million dollars.”
Erica simply stared at him. She wondered if Sherman could have heard of Terry’s trouble and was now playing some kind of cruel game. Then, she realized how ridiculous that was. Sherman was far from her favorite person, but lawyers didn’t make jokes about sums like twenty million dollars.
Twenty million dollars! As the reality of the situation began to sink in, a flicker of rage rather than joy stirred her to speak.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” she demanded. “I knew absolutely nothing about this money. Why didn’t my aunts tell me? We could have used it to—”
“Erica, Erica.” Sherman held up a ringed, well-manicured hand to stop her flood of words. “Let me try and explain. You know, of course, that your father and I were very close friends.”
“Yes.”
“I set up the trust for you many years ago, just before your parents were—died.”
Erica thought back. While her mother had always dressed well, she’d never owned furs or expensive jewelry. And her parents had always kept their cars for several years.
“But my parents weren’t wealthy,” she protested, trying to understand. “The house is far from a mansion. My aunts struggle to keep up with expenses. Why, just yesterday, Aunt Constance was saying she wished she could get a part-time job so that—”
“Erica, dear, do listen. Just before the accident, your father made some brilliant business coups.” Sherman gave a rueful laugh. “He asked me to go in with him on every one of them, but I was much more conservative then. I refused to take the risks, and so I lost out on the gains.” His mind seemed to wander for a moment, but he brought himself back to the subject at hand. “At any rate, your father came out a winner. Unfortunately, he and your mother never had the chance to enjoy their newfound wealth.”
“But,” she stammered, still unable to comprehend her ignorance of such an important matter for so many years, “my aunts! They never said one word.”
“They couldn’t. Because of his new financial status, your father drew up a new will, naming Constance and Elizabeth as your guardians, and me as executor of the estate. We were instructed, in no uncertain terms, to keep you uninformed of your financial situation until just before your twenty-fifth birthday, on which day the estate is to be turned over to you.” He coughed discreetly. “Of course, I would be happy to continue to advise you, but that decision rests with you.”
Her composure regained, she asked, “What would you have done if I hadn’t come back to Manordale?”
“As I said before, I would have gotten your address from your bank and written you a letter informing you of your inheritance. If you refused to come back here, I would have forwarded the necessary papers to be signed and witnessed, etcetera.”
“That may still be necessary,” Erica said. “I have no intention of staying here for two more weeks.”
He shrugged. “Whatever you wish, Erica.”
“Just be sure to include all financial statements dating back to the year my parents died. I want to go over them.”
Sherman pulled himself up so that, short as he was, he seemed to be looking down his nose at her. “Certainly, Erica. That was always my intention.”
From his suddenly formal tone, she knew she’d insulted him. Impulsively, she leaned forward.
“Sherman, I’m sorry! It’s not that I don’t trust you. That goes without saying. It’s just that I want to become familiar with every aspect of my estate. I majored in accounting, you know, although I never worked as an accountant.”
“I’m afraid understanding the complexities of an estate involves a bit more than knowing how to prepare a tax form,” he told her coldly.
She flinched. She hadn’t meant to offend him, and now he was making her feel foolish and ignorant. Fortunately, her curiosity overcame her discomfort. She thought about Constance and Betty taking care of her all those years.
“Didn’t my father leave my aunts any money?”
“Several thousand dollars each. Also, what he then considered to be a generous monthly allowance to cover the house, your college expenses, and what have you. I needn’t tell you how times have changed and what inflation has done to the value of the dollar.”
“Couldn’t they get more money from the estate if they needed it?”
Sherman slammed down the pen he’d been fingering. “No, they couldn’t! Just as, for four years, you’ve been allotted fifteen hundred dollars each month and no more. Of course, if you were to die before your twenty-fifth birthday, your aunts each stand to inherit half of your estate.”
Thoughts eddied about in her head, churning up unpleasant memories. All those years of pinching and saving. Not being allowed to go away to college. But it was no one’s fault, she realized. Her parents had done their best for her, and they had succeeded. She’d forged her independence, won her freedom, and now she was rich! Everything was available to her now—to her and Terry.
She smiled. “Thanks, Sherman, for this wonderful news. As I told you, I need twenty thousand dollars. And now you can give it to me! As an advance against my inheritance.”
Sherman’s eyes narrowed. His manner suddenly became that of the shrewd lawyer facing a skilled opponent. “Twenty thousand dollars? Even in view of your pending inheritance, that’s a considerable sum of money, Erica. May I ask why you need to raise twenty thousand dollars on what appears to be very short notice?”
She faltered before those cold, critical blue eyes as she sidestepped his question.
“Can’t you advance it? Or lend it to me? I’ll pay it back.” She swallowed. “With interest, of course.”
He leaned across his desk. “Why do you need the money, Erica? As executor of your father’s will and a trustee of the estate, it is essential that I ask these questions.” His tone softened when he saw her lips purse together. “I’m only looking out for your interests.”
“It’s for my husband,” she blurted out defensively. “He needs it for—business expenses.”
“So, you’re married, eh?” He rose from his desk, pacing behind her, apparently deep in thought. “This does seem to complicate matters.”
Her common sense told her he had no choice but to lend her the money. Yet she could see that he intended to stall and delay, and time was running out.
Finally, Sherman returned to his desk and sank heavily into his chair. “Who did you marry, Erica? I don’t suppose it’s anyone I know.”
“No, he’s from upstate New York.” Actually, Terry was from Long Island, but she didn’t feel like going into all of that.
“I see.” He gazed at her. “Can you tell me a little about your husband and why he needs twenty thousand dollars so urgently?”
Pompous old ass, she thought. Just what Jason used to call him. A pompous old ass with a yen for that cow, Monica. Jason! Why hadn’t she thought of him earlier? His mother had come from a wealthy family, and she’d left all her money to him when she’d died. Erica could borrow the money a lot quicker and with fewer hassles from her old friend.
“Where’s Jason?” she asked abruptly.
“Jason? I suppose he’s still out at the cottage in Montauk.”
“What’s he doing there?”
“Trying to write the great American play, or so he claims.” Sherman gave a derisive laugh. “He hasn’t written anything since college. Or was it high school?” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not thinking of borrowing from Jason, are you?”
“That’s my business, isn’t it?” She tried to match his icy tone, but her voice cracked.
“Maybe he still has twenty thousand dollars stashed away. Maybe not. My son claims he’s penniless. I send him money each month, though God knows there’s nothing keeping him from getting a job.” Sherman shook his head. “How he squandered all that money away, I’ll never know. I offered to help him invest it, but he wouldn’t listen.”
She stood. There was no time to waste. “Good-bye, Sherman. I may be going out to Montauk to see Jason. I should be back in a day or so. I’ll stop by and let you know where you can send me the necessary papers.”
She thrust her head high. “One thing is certain. I won’t be in Manordale on my birthday.”
“Good-bye, Erica, dear.” He clasped her unwilling hand between both of his. “I sincerely hope that you and your husband will be able to resolve your financial difficulties.”
With no help from you, Erica thought as she stormed past an offended Miss Fitzroy.
She returned home and found Aunt Constance in the living room, supervising the cleaning woman. Her aunt pulled her into the kitchen, amidst the cleansing foams and powders and sprays.
“Did you speak to Sherman? Did he tell you about your inheritance?” Aunt Constance’s eyes glowed with excitement. “Now we can finally fix up this house.”
“Yes, Aunt Constance. He told me.”
Disappointed by Erica’s reaction, Constance pressed on. “I thought you would be thrilled. Now you can do whatever you want, go wherever you please. What’s wrong, Erica?”
“He told me about my inheritance, all right. But he wouldn’t give me the advance I asked for.”
Constance nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s afraid you’ll spend it frivolously.”
Erica bristled. “Aunt Constance, I need that money. Immediately.”
“All right, Erica. I won’t ask why because it’s as clear as day you don’t intend to tell me. But if you like, I’ll call Sherman and see if I can persuade him to change his mind.”
Erica shook her head. She didn’t want Sherman telling her aunt that she needed the money for Terry. “No, don’t call him. I’m going out to Montauk to see Jason. Maybe I can borrow the money from him.”
She headed for the staircase, intent on packing a change of clothing.
Her aunt came trudging up behind her. “I wish you luck, dear. Will you be staying overnight?”
“I thought I’d stay at our cottage.” She searched for the most tactful way to ask what condition she’d find it in. “Have you or Aunt Betty been out there lately?”
“Betty went out last summer for a few days. Joe Kolowsky still keeps an eye on things. The water’s turned off and—”
“No problem. I’ll stop at Joe’s when I get there.”
In her room, Erica threw underwear, a few polos, a sweatshirt, and jeans into her canvas bag.
“Better take along an extra blanket,” Aunt Constance advised. “And some fresh linens. Whatever’s out there is as old as the hills.”
Erica went to the linen closet and pulled out what she needed. “I’ll bring some towels, too.”
Constance hovered behind her. She wasn’t finished. “Of course, the phone’s disconnected.”
“No matter. I have my cell phone.” Impulsively and partly to stifle her aunt, Erica turned and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Aunt Constance. For everything.”
The older woman beamed. “It’s nothing, Erica. Nothing at all. You know I have your welfare at heart. I always have.”
Terry! In her haste to pack and get moving, Erica had forgotten to call him. Her heart racing, she dialed his cell phone. It went straight to voice mail. She left a message saying she was driving out to Montauk and would probably spend the night. Then she tried Mrs. Bressler.
Her landlady sounded surprised to hear from her. “Terry just left. Didn’t he call you? I thought I heard him on the phone. Anyway, he’ll see you soon. He told me he was heading for your aunts’ house on Long Island.”
“Today?”
“I’m not sure.”
“But I’m leaving,” Erica practically wailed into the phone. “And I probably won’t be back here until tomorrow or the following day.”
“He seemed upset, Erica. I know he wants to talk to you about something.”
Now she was upset. What had happened since she’d spoken to him last? To cover all bases, she gave Mrs. Bressler directions to the cottage. On impulse, she added, “If you speak to Terry, tell him I love him.”
She also left written directions with Aunt Constance to give him when he arrived. “I can’t imagine why he hasn’t called me to say he’s on his way,” she told her aunt for the third time. “Are you sure he hasn’t called the house?”
“I’m positive, child!” was Aunt Constance’s exasperated reply. “I’m not senile, Erica.”
Erica kissed her cheek and started out for Montauk. Automatically, she made the necessary turns to the expressway as she worried about Terry. Had Sean threatened him when they’d talked last night?
She shivered, suddenly overcome by a desperate need to see Terry.
Come to the cottage tonight, she told him silently. You’ll be safe out there with me.