“How do I know you won’t come back? What’s to stop you from bleeding me forever?”

Roux scoffed, and now she was insouciant book-club Roux again. “What would I come back for? Your signature necklaces from Chico’s? Your copper-bottom pans? Pay me and what you’ll have left is plain old middle-class equity. That shit won’t call me or attract anyone else like me. Once you pay me, something magic happens. You become a regular lady, with no secret money, no secret plans. You’ll even have bought the right to keep pretending you have no secrets.” Her tone was light, condescending, even. Like she was explaining to a toddler how to use a spoon. Even so, her words felt as invasive as her hands had felt last time, when they’d gone rummaging around my body and my baby. She was watching my face, closely, and now she gave a sly little smile. “Speaking of secrets? Mine aren’t on that computer.”

“What computer?” I said, to cover my blush.

“Luca’s. You were ogling it inside,” Roux said. I hadn’t even realized how hard I’d been staring at the computer, and, sweet God, she didn’t miss a trick. “It’s strictly his. We homeschool, I told you. If you don’t believe me, stick your head in the door, ask if you can borrow it. You can read his civics paper. Maybe do some algebra.”

“Or play shooters during school time?” I said, tilting my chin up, but I could feel heat flood my cheeks. I had to be better at this. I had to get better, fast. But how? Most of my lies, my whole life long, had been lies of omission, keeping silent when I should have spoken. I needed to learn to lie like Roux did, with my words and my body language, maybe even my thoughts. Yesterday had gone better, when I’d been running on instinct and adrenaline. Now I was overthinking it. I made myself look her right in the eye, and I said a thing I hoped I didn’t mean. “I don’t care about the computer. I thought everything through, and I don’t see an alternative. I can’t go to jail. I can’t leave my baby. I’ll give you the money.”

It came out so plain, so resigned, that even I believed me. I wanted to keep Roux focused on her legal threat, as if that were the thing that scared me most. I had to keep her believing she had read me right, that she truly owned the worst I’d ever done. So I gave her this partial truth, and something in my demeanor must have telegraphed as honesty, because she leaned back, smiling.

“When can we do the transfer?”

“It’s a trust. It’ll take a couple of weeks to dissolve it,” I said, lying on instinct again. I was surprised she’d asked. It seemed like something she would know. But I needed time, and she’d just handed me an opening to buy some.

Her eyes kindled, and she leaned forward, bracing her forearms on her knees. “Goddamn it, Amy! You’re playing.”

“I’m not,” I said, letting my anger cover my dismay. “There’s all these stipulations—”

She was laughing outright now, and I felt my voice fade to nothing.

“Jesus, you are all the way in. And you’re pretty good. You snapped right to that. But you are not in your league, kid. I know my way around an investment account. There are no restrictions anymore. Not since you turned thirty-five. You can get it liquid in three days.”

My face had gone so hot I was likely cherry-colored. She’d laid a trap to see if I was as resigned as I seemed, and I’d gamboled right into it, dumb as a fawn.

She threw her head back and ran her hands through her hair, shaking it out. “You’re going to make me work for it, aren’t you.” Not a question. “We’ll do the transfer Friday.”

I made myself meet her eyes. “You’re off by a little. Liquidating takes three full business days. I won’t have it until Monday.”

She leaned forward, agitated, studying my face again. Now her cheeks flushed, too, but with temper.

“Bullshit,” she said.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket. “You want to see the e-mail confirmation?”

She regarded me with hooded eyes. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

We sat in uncomfortable silence while it booted, Roux leaning forward, tension in her body. I navigated to my e-mail. Boyce had sent one, exactly as I’d requested. Roux scanned it. It was only a few lines long, Boyce confirming he was liquidating my account and estimating that it should yield just over two hundred forty thousand, after fees and taxes. Lastly the e-mail said the funds would be available on Monday, by noon. What the e-mail didn’t say was that I’d instructed him to hold off on starting the process until after noon today, to buy myself the weekend. Roux took it at face value, though. She lost her temper.

“You should have fucking done this yesterday.”

I felt my pulse quicken. I’d gotten something past her.

I hit back. “You should have told me you were on a deadline.”

Instantly she dialed it down. Her body relaxed, softening, but too quickly. I could see it was an act of will.

“My rental on this place is up on Sunday,” she said.

That might be true, but it hardly explained her overreaction. Roux had stumbled. Just a little, while I’d been crashing and flailing around like a bull moose. But still. Now I knew that she was on a timeline, and I’d learned it by reading her, same as she’d been reading me. All my years of lying by omission, lying so deep that I even believed me, had schooled me in dishonesty. I knew it when I saw it. Perhaps I wasn’t as far out of my league as she believed.

“Gee, sorry,” I said, using sarcasm to cover my excitement. Now I knew she had a deadline, some threat she had to counter or avoid. Could I find it? Could I speed it up? “I guess you’ll have to shell out. Buy yourself a few more days in paradise.”

She shook her head, so very casual, almost perfect, but I could see a hint of effort at the edges on her smile. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m not the kind of woman who pays her own rent.” That was interesting as well. Did she have a lover, or a friend, or an accomplice who paid for the house? Maybe the mysterious absent husband. He or she could be a soft place in her armor, just like Luca. Or it could be another of her “clients,” someone caught in her net, like me. A possible ally against her.

She stood up, paced away a few steps, staring through the screen out at the yard. It was unkempt, a balding patch of grass with a lot of hard, dark earth showing. No flower beds, just more overgrown azaleas near the windows and a stand of tall loblolly pines near the far end. When she finally turned back, her anger had been packed away. But it was still there, inside her. I could see it in the lines of her, even as she made her voice sound casual and calm. “Monday, then. On the bright side, you can take Luca for his open-water dives over the weekend. I thought you’d only have time for the coursework and the pool dives.”

I crossed my arms even tighter.

“So you want a quarter mil and free scuba lessons for your kid?” It seemed so petty, as if she were robbing me and then putting out a tip jar. “Would you like anything else of mine? A stick of gum? A kidney?”

That made her laugh. “I wish I didn’t like you,” she said. “To be honest, Amy, I just want you busy. You get ideas. Idle hands and all that. Getting Luca certified will eat your time. Plus, he really wants to do it.”

“We can do the classroom work. I have the DVD, and I can get him a book and administer the tests.” I was negotiating. If we did the full course, I wouldn’t just be busy. I’d be watched. “I can’t do his contained-water dives. The pool schedule at the shop fills up weeks in advance.”

This was true, but it didn’t faze her. “Borrow Tate’s pool.”

That made me almost laugh. “Have you met Tate? She’s not going to do me any favors.”

“I’ll ask. She likes me,” Roux said, smiling blandly.

That was patently untrue. Tate was a natural queen bee; she didn’t like beautiful women. I bit my lip. Unless Roux had dirt on Tate? Was my possibly ally Tate Bonasco, of all people? If so, then my gut was right; Tate was having an actual affair with Phillip. Because what else could Roux’s leverage be? I didn’t want to get distracted, but I had promised myself I would find out, for Char’s sake.

“What do you have on Tate?” I asked.

The question caught her off guard. I saw surprise flash across her face. I didn’t think she’d expected me to be so blatant.

“Tate doesn’t owe me anything,” Roux said, but that was not an answer.