Lynn Arlow. If she looked down, she would see. But she didn’t look down, only watered the pots of flowers and greenery on the terrace, singing all the while. Then went back inside.

Jessica took it as a sign, and ran.

She saw the bridge, but no one on it. The lawn mower engine became just an echo as she ran full out for the cover of the orchard.

Oranges and lemons and limes, bold colors, strong scents. Among them, she dropped to her knees to catch her breath. She checked her watch. It had taken her fully twenty minutes to get this far.

She had to be faster; she had to be braver.

Moving through the trees, she oriented herself. The hills rose to her left, the sea spread to her right. The cottage sat to the right and below. But before the cottage, the pool, more open ground.

She heard voices again, had to slow, move carefully.

Through the trees, she saw the pool below, the sunlight on its water. And the people sitting at a table, under a bright red umbrella.

The Sullivans. The old man, the father, the grandmother. And Cate. All of them, in their fluffy white robes, having breakfast, smiling, laughing while her Grant suffered in prison.

Maybe they should all die, she considered. Maybe they were all just as guilty as Charlotte Dupont. She couldn’t get past them. No, one of them would surely see her if she moved out of the trees, started down toward the cottage.

Why should they sit there, enjoying the morning together with their coffee and omelets and fresh fruit when Grant had to endure the slop disguised as breakfast in San Quentin?

She imagined shooting them all where they sat, and found it didn’t turn her stomach. Not at all. In fact, she found the idea, the images of it, immensely satisfying.

But it wouldn’t help Grant.

She sat under the lemons and oranges and limes to wait.

“Two o’clock.” Lily wagged her fork at Cate. “That gives you plenty of time to work before you indulge me.”

“Who’s indulging who?” Cate countered. “You’re the one who commissioned wedding dress designs.”

“And who can’t wait to look at them with you. You’ve given me a good idea of what you want, but if nothing else, the sketches will give you a springboard for the most important wardrobe of your life.”

Lily glanced at both men. “The two of you are excused.”

“Good.” Hugh lifted the coffeepot, and at Lily’s warning eye, limited it to half a cup. “I have a script I want you to read, Aidan.”

Cate put a hand to her ear. “Is that the sound of retirement shattering again?”

“Could be. Man doesn’t live on water aerobics alone. Thank God.”

He started to offer Cate more coffee, but she shook her head. “No more for me. I’ve got a couple of commercials to do this morning, and a video game character to study before I get to play with wedding dress designs.”

“What do you say to dinner on the terrace tonight?”

She smiled at Hugh as she rose. “I say I’m in, and I’ll let Dillon know.” Circling around, she hugged Aidan from behind. “After all, I only have a couple more days before my dad’s off and running again.”

“Not far. And not for long.”

“Two o’clock,” Lily reminded her.

Holding up two fingers, Cate started toward her cottage.

“It’s good to see our girl happy.” Leaning back, Hugh sighed. “Through and through happy.”

“It is.” Aidan looked after her. “I’ll be happier when this investigation’s over. I’ve stretched things so I could stay a little longer. I can stretch them again.”

“One minute I convince myself Conrad Buster’s death has nothing to do with Cate, with us.” Hugh pushed his coffee aside. “The next I’m convinced it has everything to do with her.”

“She’s a smart, sensible woman.” Lily laid a hand over Hugh’s. “We’re smart, sensible people. We’ll do what we always do, and look after each other.”

“Spoiling the mood.” Aidan pushed the coffee back toward his father. “It should be about wedding talk and scripts. Just what’s this one about?”

Willing, Hugh picked up his coffee again. “Well, I’ll tell you.”

They lingered another half an hour before strolling back to the house.

Then nothing and no one stood between Jessica and the cottage. Excitement built as she covered the ground—but she covered it carefully. She had to avoid the sea-facing side and that impressive glass wall. So straight in the front door. Unless someone looked out from high in the main house, in just the right direction, at just the right moment, she was home free.

After one glance back, she walked to the front door. She took out the gun, turned the knob.

Nice she left it unlocked, Jessica thought. But why not? Secure estate, security cameras, staff all over. She took one big breath, leaped in.

Despite knowing about it, the sight of the Pacific rolling through that wall stunned her. Ordering her pulse to level—and being ignored—she crossed the empty living room, the open kitchen, trying to move with her gun the way they did in movies.

Competently, but carefully, sweeping from side to side.

She glanced at the stairs, but heard nothing. Absolutely nothing but the sound of the sea.

She saw the door, closed, with a sign on it that read: RECORDING IN PROGRESS

Angling toward it, she kept an eye on the stairs, just in case. Unlike the front door, this one was locked. Frustrated, Jessica stepped back, considered shooting the lock—they did that in the movies, too.

But she wasn’t sure if it would work, and if it didn’t, it might give Cate time to call for help.

Trembling a little, she checked the time. She’d eaten up more than an hour, might need that much time to get back to the car. That meant she still had plenty of time to do what she’d come to do.

Once again she waited, and as she waited scanned the cottage to decide just how to set Caitlyn Sullivan’s final scene.

Cate completed two thirty-second spots. Edited them.

A productive hour, she thought as she sent them. She intended to have fun with the video game work and thought she had the character voice nailed down. But she wanted one more read-through, one more rehearsal. She decided half a Coke would set her right up, give her a little pump before the read-through.

And unlocked her studio door.

She didn’t see the woman or the gun until she’d taken two full steps out.

“Stop right there.”

Instinct had Cate throwing up her hands.

“I want you to walk right to the center of the room. Slow.”

Two steps back, she thought. Could she make it? Then what? She didn’t have a phone inside the studio. Out the window? Maybe, maybe.

“I can shoot you where you stand. I’d rather not.”

The voice shook, but Cate couldn’t tell, not yet, if it was nerves or excitement.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Grant Sparks’s fiancée, and I’m here to pay back the woman who ruined his life.”

Nerves, Cate decided. And some pride. “That wouldn’t be me, since I was ten when they kidnapped me.”

“Not you. You’re the same as you were then. Useful. I’m going to kill you, and Charlotte Dupont’s going to get the blame. She’ll finally pay. Now walk over here.”