eorgie awakened around three on Saturday morning and couldn’t fall back to sleep. One week ago just about now, she’d been standing next to Bram saying her wedding vows. She wondered exactly what she’d vowed.

The bedroom was stuffy. She kicked off the sheet, slipped into an old pair of yellow Crocs, and padded across the rug to step out onto the balcony. Palm fronds clicked in the breeze, and the gentle splash of the waterfall drifted up from the pool. Lance had left another phone message this afternoon. He was worried about her. She wished he’d leave her alone or that she could hate him. Except frequently she did, and it didn’t make her feel any better.

The clink of ice cubes interrupted her thoughts, and a voice drifted through the dark. “If you’re going to jump, wait until morning. I’m too drunk to deal with a dead body tonight.”

Bram sat by his open bedroom doors, just off to her left. He’d stuffed his feet into an ancient pair of sneakers and propped them on the railing. With a drink in his hand and a sickle-shaped shadow slicing across his profile, he looked exactly like a man contemplating which of the seven deadly sins to take on next.

She knew all the back bedrooms opened onto this same second-floor balcony, but until now she hadn’t seen Bram out there. “No jumping necessary,” she said. “I’m on top of the world.” She curled her hand over the railing. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Because this is the first chance I’ve had all week to drink in peace.” He took in her sleepwear, which was a far cry from the tiny teddies and flyaway baby-dolls she’d worn for Lance. Still, he didn’t seem overly critical of her comfy boxers printed with pink and yellow pop art lips.

As she observed the slouch to his spine, the lazy droop to his wrist, she had the feeling she was missing something, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. “Has anybody told you that you drink too much?”

“I’ll think about quitting after our divorce.” He took another sip. “What were you doing poking your nose in my office on Wednesday morning?”

She’d wondered when Chaz would get around to ratting her out. “Snooping. What else?”

“I want my video camera back.”

She ran her thumb over a rough place on the railing. “You’ll get it back. Aaron’s buying me one of my own.”

“Why do you want it?”

“Mess around.”

He set his glass on the tile floor. “Other than walking off with my stuff, what else were you doing out there?”

She debated how much to say, then decided to come right out with it. “I needed to know whether the reunion show was real or a figment of your imagination. I found the script, but the box was taped up nice and tight. Not that I would have read it anyway.”

He rose from his chair and wandered toward her. “You should have asked me. Trust is the foundation of a good marriage, Georgie. I’m hurt.”

“No, you’re not. And I won’t do a reunion show. Ever. I’m sick of being typecast. I want parts I can sink my teeth into. Playing Scooter again would be the worst career decision I could make. And you hate Skip, so I don’t get why you’re so set on this. Well, I do get it, and I’m sorry you’re broke, but I’m not sabotaging my career to help you solve your cash flow problems.”

He slipped past her and poked his head in her bedroom. “I guess that’s it, then?”

“Definitely.”

“Okay.” He ran his hand along the doorframe, as if he were examining it for dry rot, but she wasn’t buying his easy surrender.

“I mean it,” she said.

“I get that.” He turned to her. “And here I thought you were trying to snoop into my love life.”

“You’re married to me, remember? You have no love life.” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she wanted to snatch them back. She’d given him a mile-wide opening to delve into the subject she most wanted to avoid. “I’m going to bed.”

“Not so fast.” He touched her arm before she could make it inside, and that’s when it hit her. The nagging feeling that she’d been missing something…“You don’t smoke anymore!”

“Where did you get that idea?” He released her and walked over to retrieve his drink.

She’d noticed the way he smelled, like soap and citrus, but until this precise moment, she hadn’t jumped to the logical conclusion. They’d only been together for seven days, but still, how could she have missed something so obvious? “You’re always talking about cigarettes, but I haven’t once seen you light up.”

“Sure you have.” He flopped down in his chair. “I smoke all the time. I just finished a cigarette before you came out.”

“No, you didn’t. You don’t smell like smoke, and I’ve never tasted tobacco when I’ve had to endure one of your pathetic kisses. In our Skip and Scooter days, kissing you was like licking an ashtray. But now…You really have stopped smoking.”

He shrugged. “Okay, you’ve got me. I stopped, but only because my drinking has gotten out of hand, and I can’t deal with more than one addiction at a time.” He tipped the tumbler to his lips.

At least he was aware of it. Even in the morning, she’d see him with a glass in his hand, and last night he’d had wine with dinner. So had she, but that had been her only drink of the day. “When did you stop smoking?”

He muttered something she couldn’t make out.

“What?”

“Five years ago, I said.”

“Five years!” That made her furious. “Why couldn’t you have just said you’d stopped smoking? Why do you have to play all these mind games?”

“Because I like to.”

She knew him, and she didn’t know him, and she was worn out from keeping her guard up. “I’m tired. We can talk in the morning.”

“You know we can’t go on like this much longer, right?”

She pretended not to understand. “Neither of us has killed the other one yet, so I think we’re doing pretty well.”

“Now you’re the one playing games.” His glass clinked as he set it on the tiles and uncoiled from the chair. “You have to admit I’ve been patient.”

“We’ve only been married a week.”

“Exactly. An entire week without sex.”

“You’re a maniac.” She turned toward the door, but once again he stopped her.

“I’m not bragging, just offering up information. I don’t expect sex on a first date, but it usually seems to happen that way. Second date max.”

“Fascinating. Unfortunately for you, I believe in establishing a relationship first, but, hey, marriage is all about compromise, so I’m willing to compromise.”

“What kind of compromise?”

She made a play out of thinking it over. “I’ll have sex with you…after our fourth date.”

“And exactly how do you define ‘date’?”

She waved her hand breezily. “Oh, I’ll know it when I see it.”

“I’ll just bet you will.” He ran his thumb down her bare arm. “Frankly, I’m not too worried. We both know you won’t last much longer.”

“Because of your overwhelming sexiness?”

“That, but also because—let’s be honest—you’re ripe for the picking.”

“You think so?”

“Baby, you’re an orgasm waiting to happen.”

Her skin prickled. “Oh, really?”

“You’ve been divorced for a year. And the Loser is half girl, so nothing will make me believe he was any kind of lover.”

She predictably—pitifully—jumped to Lance’s defense. “He was a great lover. Gentle and considerate.”

“That’s a bummer.”

“Naturally, you’d say something sarcastic.”

“Fortunately for you, I’m neither gentle nor considerate.” He slid his thumb into the crook of her arm. “I like my sex rough and dirty. Or does the idea of getting it on with a full-grown man scare our little Scooter?”

She pulled away. “What man? All I see is an overgrown pretty boy.”

“Cut the crap, Georgie. I’ve given up a lot for you, but I’m not giving up sex, too.”

She’d known she could only ignore this for so long. If she didn’t give him what he wanted, he’d have no qualms about dialing up someone who would. She hated feeling trapped. “You cut the crap,” she retorted. “We both know the odds of you staying faithful are smaller than your bank account.”

“I’m not Lance Marks.”

“That’s right. Lance only cheated with one woman. With you, there’ll be legions.” She pointed her finger at his perfect face. “I’ve been publicly humiliated once. Call me overly sensitive, but I don’t want it to happen again.”

“I can stick with one woman for six months.” His eyes drifted to her breasts. “If she’s good enough in bed to hold my interest.”

He was deliberately baiting her, but his words stung just enough so her sarcastic comeback didn’t sound sarcastic at all. “Then obviously we have a problem.”

He frowned. “Hey, I’m the only one who gets to put you down. It takes all the fun out of our relationship if you do it to yourself.”

She hated having him witness even a moment of self-doubt. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

He looked annoyed. “I can’t believe you let that jerk-off do such a number on you. It’s his problem. Not yours.”

“I know that.”

“I don’t think you do. Your marriage fell apart because of his character, not yours. Guys like Lance will always gravitate toward the woman they think is the strongest, and the Loser decided that was Jade.”

Georgie’s control snapped. “Of course it was Jade! She does everything! She’s beautiful, she’s a great actress, and when it comes to giving back, she walks the walk. Jade is out there saving lives. Thanks to her, little Asian girls are going to school right now instead of being forced to sell their bodies to sexual perverts. She’s probably going to win the Nobel Peace Prize one of these days. And she deserves it. It’s a little hard to compete.”

“I’m sure Lance is starting to figure that out.”

All the emotions she tried so hard to control boiled to the surface. “I care about people, too!”

He blinked. “Okay.”

“I do care! I know there’s suffering in the world. I know, and I’m going to do something about it.” She told herself to shut up, but the words kept tumbling out. “I’m going to Haiti. As soon as I can arrange it. I’m getting medical supplies, and I’m taking them to Haiti.”

He cocked his head. There was a long pause. When he finally spoke, he displayed an unusual degree of gentleness. “Don’t you think that’s a little…cold? Using a country’s misery for a press op?”

She buried her face in her hands. He was right, and she hated herself. “Oh, God, I’m horrible.”

He turned her by the shoulders and drew her to his chest. “I finally get married, and I pick the biggest nutcase in L.A.”

She was mortified, and she didn’t trust his sympathy. “You’ve always had lousy taste in women.”

“And a one-track mind.” He tipped up her chin with his finger. “As sympathetic as I am toward that embarrassing nervous breakdown you just had, let’s return to more pressing matters.”

“Let’s not.”

“As long as you’re wearing my fake diamond, I promise there’ll be no cheating.”

“Your promises are worthless. The minute the challenge is gone, you’ll be on the prowl, and we both know it.”

“Wrong. Come on, Georgie. Put out.”

“I need a little more time to adjust to the idea of being a slut.”

“Let me speed things along.” He crushed his mouth to hers.

This kiss was real, with no photographers watching or directors ready to call “cut.” She began to pull away only to realize she didn’t feel the need. This was Bram. She understood exactly how duplicitous he was, exactly how little his kisses meant, and that kept her expectations comfortably low.

He slid his tongue into her mouth in a sensuous exploration. He’d turned into a great kisser, and she’d missed this intimacy more than she wanted to admit. She slipped her arms around his shoulders. He tasted of dark nights and treacherous winds. Of youthful betrayal and heartless abandonment. But because she knew him so well, because she was beginning to trust herself, she wasn’t in any emotional peril. Bram wanted to use her. Fine. She’d use him, too. Just for a moment. Just for the lifetime of one kiss.

He splayed a hand across the small of her back, bringing their hips together. He was hard, and she was going to say no, and possessing that power freed her to indulge. His hand curled over her hip. If only the man who smelled so good, and felt so good, and kissed so well weren’t Bram Shepard.

Night and the dim light from her bedroom turned his eyes from lavender to jet. “I want you so damned much,” he said.

A dark, erotic thrill swept through her punctuated by a flash of blue-white light.

Bram’s head shot up. “Fuck!”

It took a moment for her brain to function. By the time she processed the fact that the sudden light had come from a strobe, he’d already sprung into action. He swung his legs over the balcony railing and dropped to the roof of the veranda below. She gasped and leaned over the rail. “Stop! What do you think you’re doing?”

Ignoring her, he scrambled over the roof tiles, just like either Lance or his stunt double had done in a dozen films. The flash seemed to have come from the big tree that draped the property between Bram’s house and his neighbor’s. “You’re going to break your neck!” she cried.

He lowered himself over the edge of the veranda roof, hung by his fingers for a moment, then dropped to the ground.

All the security lights in the rear of the house came on. He clambered to his feet, shot off across the yard, and disappeared behind a thicket of bamboo. Seconds later, his head and shoulders emerged as he climbed the high stone wall that divided his property from next door.

Of all the stupid…She rushed downstairs and ran out into the backyard, which was lit up like midday. The idea of having such a private moment exposed to the world made her sick. She hurried along the path to the wall, her Crocs slapping her heels. The wall rose a good two feet above her head, but she found some footholds in the stones and began pulling herself up. A sharp edge scraped her calf. Finally, she climbed high enough to brace her arms across the top and see what was happening on the other side.

The neighbor’s yard was bigger and more open than Bram’s, with formally clipped shrubbery, a rectangular swimming pool, and a tennis court. Here, too, the security lights had come on, and she could see Bram racing across the lawn, chasing a man who was gripping what could only be a camera. He must have climbed the tree to spy on them, but he had to be using some kind of high-speed film, so the flash must have gone off accidentally. Who knew how many pictures he’d taken before he’d given himself away?

The photographer had a long head start, but Bram wasn’t conceding. He jumped over a row of shrubs. The man hit an open space of lawn. He was small and wiry, no one she recognized. He disappeared around a cabana.

A woman flew out of the neighboring house. In the light flooding the yard, Georgie saw long, light hair and a silky peach robe. The woman rushed down a set of semicircular stone steps into the yard, which didn’t seem like the brightest thing to do with an unknown intruder on the prowl. As she stepped into a pool of bright light, Georgie realized two things at once.

The woman was Rory Keene…and she had a gun.