Chapter 1

Alex curled her fingers around the stem of the shallow glass as the loud, happy voices of her associates bounced off the restaurant’s walls.  She’d been looking forward to this margarita since this afternoon, when the jury found her client not guilty.  Now, most members of her small firm gathered around a large table, toasting and celebrating the victory.

She lifted the drink and her stomach rolled as the smell of tequila washed over her.  She set the glass carefully on the table just as someone bumped her chair, jolting her and sending bright flashes of pain through her already-aching head.  Green margarita slush landed on her plate of chips.

Irritated, Alex swiveled and saw the back of a tall, dark-haired man in jeans and a sweater stumble away and lurch toward the bathroom corridor.  Drunk and clumsy.  She sighed and turned back to the table.

Fifteen minutes later, she pushed her plate of enchiladas away.  Her head throbbed, and her stomach churned.  Thank God this had waited until after she’d delivered her closing argument.

She leaned close to her partner Sierra.  “I’m heading home,” she said.  “I feel awful.”

Sierra turned and studied her.  Frowned.  “You’ve been sick a lot lately, Alex,” she said quietly.  “Are you pregnant?”

“God, no,” Alex said.  “I’ve been on birth control since I met Jerry.  He’s not father material.”

Sierra settled back in her chair.  “You don’t want kids?”

“Yeah, I’d like to have kids someday.”  She fiddled with her fork instead of looking at Sierra.

“So are you gonna divorce that loser and find someone who is father material?”

Alex drew in a deep breath.  “Yes.  I am.”  She wadded her napkin into a tiny ball, then tossed it onto her uneaten enchiladas as her stomach once again churned.  “Remember I told you I was taking some time off after this case was over?  I’m going away this weekend.  Thinking through my options.”

“What options?” Sierra asked, shifting closer to her.  Alex glanced around the table, but none of their paralegals were paying attention.  “Jerry?  Or a decent guy?  I’d say that’s a no-brainer.”

“You’re right.”  Alex rested her head against the back of the chair.  “I shouldn’t have married him,” she finally confessed.  “He was… easy.”  She nudged her partner.  “You remember how it was in law school.  Total focus.  On top of that, Mary had just died, and I was grieving for her.  Jerry didn’t require a lot of my emotional energy or attention.  We sort of drifted into marriage.”

“And now you’re drifting out?” Sierra asked sharply.

“No.  Definitely not drifting.  But I’m taking a few days to plot my departure strategy.”

Sierra snorted.  “Your strategy is get out.  Now.”  She nudged Alex.  “No wonder you’re sick all the time.  Living with that asshole has to be damned stressful.”

“I hardly see…”  Alex stopped.  Frowned.  Turned to Sierra.  “I haven’t seen Jerry much lately.  Just in the morning.  He makes my coffee and hands it to me when I’m on my way out the door.  So he’s not stressing me out.”

“Then you should go see your doctor,” Sierra said.  “Find out why you’re sick all the time.”

Alex nodded slowly, remembering Jerry’s smug smile that morning.  Had he looked pleased with himself every morning when he handed her the coffee?

Jerry wasn’t the type to do nice things for his wife.  So why had he been going out of his way to make coffee for her?

A cold ball of dread formed in her stomach.  “Yeah.  I’ll do that.”  Jerry’s thoughtful gesture should have been a flashing warning sign.  They hadn’t had that kind of relationship in a long time.  And Jerry had never been thoughtful.

She grabbed Sierra’s wrist.  “Could you do me a huge favor?  There’s a half-full cup of coffee on my desk.  Could you take it to a lab and have it tested?  Make sure there’s nothing in it besides coffee?”

Sierra’s eyes widened.  “You think Jerry might be poisoning you?”

Alex rubbed her forehead.  “When you say it like that, it sounds melodramatic,” she muttered.  “Forget it.”

As she spoke, the tall man in jeans and a dark sweater came around the corner from the restrooms.  As Alex watched him, he turned his head as he passed their table, as if scanning the restaurant for someone.  He looked a lot like the drunk who’d bumped into her chair.  But this guy was stone-cold sober.

He disappeared behind her, and she forgot all about him when Sierra leaned close.  “I’ll get that coffee cup tested.  And I’m going to draw up divorce papers for you,” she said quietly.  “Tomorrow.  No pressure, but you’ll know I have them.  When you’re ready, I’ll file.  Okay?”

Should she make this huge life decision in a Mexican restaurant, over a dinner she was too sick to eat?  No.  But she hadn’t had the energy to think about it during her trial.

And was there really a choice?

Her throat swelled and she nodded.  “Do it.”

Sierra squeezed her hand.  “Go home,” she said quietly.  “Pack a bag and get out of town.  I’ll hold down the fort.”

“Thanks Sierra,” Alex said, plucking her Tumi business tote from the back of her chair and slinging it over her shoulder.  “I’ll probably see you Monday or Tuesday.”

Grabbing her wrist, her partner said, “Take as much time as you need.  You worked your ass off on this Clinton case, and brought a huge chunk of money into the practice.”

Alex nodded.  “Tell everyone goodnight and thank them for me,” she said.  “I’ll talk to you soon.”

She waved at their paralegals as she hurried toward the door.  Exiting the restaurant, Alex took a deep breath of the crisp spring air.  Another.  Her stomach settled a little, and the throbbing in her head eased.

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.  With any luck, she’d feel better in the morning.  She’d get up early and take off.  Maybe she’d go to the American Club in Wisconsin.  She’d been to a small conference there, and she’d loved everything about the place.

She drove home with the windows open, and by the time she turned onto her block in the north shore suburb of Evanston, she was feeling a little better.  As she reached her house and began to turn into the driveway, she saw a dark car in front of the garage.  Right in the middle.  Scowling, she jerked the steering wheel straight and pulled to the curb.  Jerry had a friend over.  Why hadn’t Jerry told his buddy to park on his side of the driveway?

Because Jerry wouldn’t have thought of it.  It wouldn’t have occurred to him to make sure she could get into the garage.

Sighing, she rested her head against the back of the seat for a long moment.  Jerry had been short-tempered lately.  Edgy.  Distracted.  She’d ignored him to focus on the trial, but Sierra hadn’t told her anything she didn’t already know.  It was time to end this sham of a marriage.

She’d spend this trip planning.  Look for another place to live.  Transfer her money into new accounts, just in case Jerry’d gotten hold of her account information.  When she got home, she’d tell Jerry they were over.

She grabbed her tote and slid out of the car, resisting the impulse to slam the door.  Scowled at the garage, which didn’t have a keypad opener because Jerry didn’t think they were secure.  As she walked toward the garage’s side door, she fumbled for the key she seldom used.  Shoving it into the lock, she walked through the garage and opened the door to the mudroom.

After she toed off the damn stilettos, she dumped the business tote in her office, then padded through the kitchen toward the staircase.  A hum of male voices came from the front of the house.  Jerry and his visitor were in his office.  Not a buddy, then.  A meeting of some sort.

She’d just reached the stairs when the unknown man said in a soft, New Orleans accent, “How do you want it to happen?”

The question was so odd that Alex paused, her foot on the bottom stair.

Jerry asked, “What do you mean?”

Southern Accent said, “We can go two ways with this.  I can make it an accident.  Or it can be a ‘do not fuck with me’ statement that sends a message.  You know?  Warning people who might want to screw you over to think twice.”

Jerry said immediately, “It’s gotta look like an accident.  I took out a life insurance policy on her.  A huge one.  If her death is at all suspicious, the insurance company won’t pay while they investigate.  And I need that money now.  I’ve got some guys on my ass.”

Alex slapped her hand over her mouth to hold in the gasp.  Had she really heard what she thought she’d heard?  Was Jerry hiring someone to kill her?

After he’d taken out a huge insurance policy on her?

Her heart pounding, her breath tight in her chest, Alex gripped the railing so tightly her fingers ached.  Frozen in place, she listened as Southern Accent said, “Got it.  An accident it is.  Simple, easy, no blowback on you.”

“Good,” Jerry said.  “That’s good.”

“Why have her killed?” Southern Accent asked.  He sounded genuinely curious.  “Just get a divorce and move on.”

“I made a mistake,” Jerry said, and his voice wobbled.  Jerry was afraid.  “Took some money I shouldn’t have touched.  I was cleaning it for some… associates and I skimmed a little off the top every week.  I’m pretty sure they figured it out, because they cut the amount they gave me in half.  These are not nice people, and I need to disappear.  Can’t do it without that insurance money.”

“She’s your wife.  Why not explain the situation and ask her for the money to pay those guys back?” Southern Accent asked, as if they were talking about buying a car instead of murder.  “Get those guys off your ass, then worry about the money.”

Jerry snorted.  “You don’t know what she’s like.  If she knew what I’d done, she’d kick my ass, then kick me out of the house.  She’d make sure her bitch partner knew all about it.  Then she’d go to the police.  No.  She’s gotta die.”

“So a big life insurance policy.  You’ve been planning this for a while, then,” Southern Accent said, no censure or shock in his voice.

“Yeah, but I have to move up the schedule.”

“How long have you been married?” Southern Accent asked.

“Seven years.  We got married during her third year of law school.  She’s smart as hell.  I figured she’d make a shitload of money after she graduated.”

Hurt bubbled up inside Alex, followed by rage.  He’d married her because he wanted a meal ticket.

Alex didn’t wait to hear any more.  Anger and terror twisted into a painful knot inside her, and she swallowed hard to prevent vomiting.  Ignoring the choking lump of panic in her throat, she ordered herself to think.

She could freak out later.  When she was safe.  Right now, she had to get out of the house without being heard.  Go to the police.”

She would not lose her cool.

She slipped silently into her office and retrieved the tote, then hurried back to the mudroom.  Southern Accent’s soft voice reassured her.  He and Jerry hadn’t heard a thing.

Sliding into her stilettos, wishing she’d worn something more comfortable today, she stepped into the garage, closed the door silently, then exited through the side door.

She knew Jerry cut corners in his business, but she hadn’t realized he’d been laundering money.  Stealing some of it.

She’d been smart to pay attention to the tiny voice that had whispered keep your money separate when he’d wanted joint accounts.  She had her own checking and savings accounts.  They both contributed to the household account.  Thank God she’d resisted his attempts to make him the beneficiary in her will.

Instead of running to her car, which every instinct screamed to do, she walked.  Got in, set the tote on the seat beside her, and pressed the button to start her car.  Drove back downtown and pulled into the police station parking lot.

Gripping her tote, she hurried inside.  Stopped at the desk and waited until the grey-haired officer looked up.  “Help you?”

“I need to speak to a… to a detective,” she said.  “About a crime I witnessed.”

The officer nodded.  “Who’s the detective on the case?”

Alex shook her head and swallowed the ball of fear in her throat.  “I just need to speak to a detective.  Please.”

The cop’s gaze swept over her, taking in her expensive suit.  The leather bag.  Her pricey haircut.  Thank God she hadn’t had a chance to change out of her ‘court’ suit.

“Your name?” he asked, his pen poised above a piece of paper.

“Alexandra Conway.”

His pen scratched across the paper.  “Address?” he asked without looking up.

She rattled it off.

After entering it in his log, he nodded.  “I’ll buzz you in.  Up the stairs behind the doors.  Bullpen’s on the left.  Should be a detective there.”

“Thank you, officer,” she said, then grabbed for the door as soon as it buzzed and ran up the stairs.

The bullpen was deserted except for one detective wearing a sports coat, shirt and tie.  Drawing a deep breath, she walked over to his desk.

He looked up at the sound of her heels hitting the wooden floor.  Smiled.  “Can I help you?”

She didn’t like his smile.  It wasn’t friendly or welcoming.  It was assessing.  And as his gaze lingered on her chest, it turned smarmy.

“Yes, Detective…” she glanced at his name tag, “Detective Summers.  I need your help.”

He waved his hand toward the chair on the side of his desk.  “Have a seat.  What can I do for you?”

“I got home late this evening, and my husband was in his office.  Talking to someone whose voice I didn’t recognize.”  She drew in a shaky breath.  “He was hiring a man to kill me.”

“What?”  The detective’s smirk vanished and he leaned in.  “You sure you heard right?  Didn’t misunderstand?”

“Positive.  They were discussing accidents.  Jerry said it had to be an accident, so the insurance company would pay out quickly.”

Summers leaned back in his chair.  “You sure they weren’t joking around?  Kidding about something else?”

“Didn’t sound like kidding to me,” Alex shot back.

Summers sighed.  “Okay.”  He pulled a form from a stack of papers.  “What’s your name?”

“Alexandra Conway.”

“Your husband’s name?”

“Jeremy Trotter.  Goes by Jerry.”

Showing no reaction, Summers wrote the names on the form.  “Did you get the hitman’s name?”

Why would a hitman toss his name out there?  Especially to someone who was hiring him?  “No.  He never said his name.”

“You live in Evanston, right?  What’s your address?”

She rattled off the address.  Pressed her palms on her thighs to stop her legs from jittering.

“I’ll have a uniform talk to Mr. Trotter tomorrow,” Summers said.  He set his pen on his desk and studied her for a long moment.  “Maybe you misunderstood,” he finally said.  “Coulda been a business conversation about an upcoming project.”

“Yes,” Alex said evenly.  “It was a business conversation.  About my murder.”

“We’ll check it out, Mrs. Trotter.”

“It’s Ms. Conway,” she said.

“Sorry, Ms. Conway.  One of our officers will get your husband’s side of the story.”

Alex studied the detective for a long moment.  Trial lawyers needed to be able to read people.  Clients.  Witnesses.  Judges.  Juries.  Summers wasn’t going to help her.  And when he or another officer talked to Jerry, her husband would realize she knew about his scheme.

“You know, Detective, maybe you’re right.  Maybe I misunderstood Jerry.  Don’t bother sending someone to talk to him.”

“You sure, Ms. Conway?  It’s not a problem.”

“No, they were speaking quietly.  I guess I misunderstood.”  She stood up to leave.  “I apologize for wasting your time.”

Alex ran down the stairs.  As she pushed through the doors, the desk cop’s phone rang.

He listened for a long moment, then said, “Sounds like you had a live one, Summ… uh, officer.  Shift change report is in five minutes.  You can tell everyone about it.  We all need a laugh.”

Her face burning, Alex exited the building.  Summers hadn’t believed her.  And now he was going to tell the rest of the cops on his shift about the crazy broad who thought her husband had hired a hitman.

At least he wouldn’t be talking to Jerry.  If Summers had taken her seriously, Jerry would realize she’d overheard him.  He’d tell Southern Accent to speed up the plan.

If the police didn’t believe her, she had nowhere to go for help.  She wasn’t safe.  She had to disappear.

After leaving the police station, she drove around downtown Evanston until she found an all-night convenience store.  She parked, hurried in and bought a burner phone.  Drove to the lakefront park near downtown Evanston.

She sat in the car and transferred her contacts from her phone to the burner.  Then she trudged into the woods.  Hidden in the shadows of the trees and bushes, she hunted for a large rock.  When she found one, she pounded her iPhone into an unrecognizable mass of twisted metal and plastic.  Then she dumped it in a garbage bin.  With any luck, it would disappear into a landfill in a few days.

* * *

Gideon Wolf slid the thick envelope of bills into the inside pocket of his jacket and stood up.  “Don’t call me,” he told Jerry Trotter.  “I’ll let you know when it’s done.  And don’t expect it to happen immediately.  I’ll do extensive surveillance before I make my move.  In the meantime, act normal around Alexandra.  If she’s at all smart, she’ll suspect something’s up if you get squirrelly.”

“That’s the problem,” Trotter said, his mouth turning down in a sulky pout.  “She’s too smart.  Can’t get a damn thing past her.”

Then why’d she hook up with a loser like you?

As if he’d heard Gideon’s thoughts, Trotter smirked.  “The sex was off-the-charts-hot, though.”  He scowled.  “Back when we actually had sex.”

Okay.  Question answered.  Sex could make even a smart woman blind.  Gideon let himself out the front door as Trotter took one more look at Gideon’s hands.  He’d worn nitrile gloves, and they freaked Trotter out.  His gaze had kept dropping to the blue gloves, and Gideon had deliberately kept them in Trotter’s line of vision.

Making sure the guy was afraid of the hit man suited Gideon’s plans perfectly.

Sliding into his rental car, Gideon started it and backed out of the driveway.  Once he was a few blocks away from Trotter’s place, he pulled to the curb and grabbed his phone.  Opened the app for the GPS tracking device he’d dropped into Alex Conway’s bag earlier at the restaurant.  Just in case.

He always had back-up plans for his back-up plans.

He’d known her car and license plate, and Trotter had told him she’d be at a Mexican restaurant with her team.  She was the only redhead in the large party.  Easy to single her out.  He’d put a tracker on her car, as well.

According to the app, she wasn’t at the restaurant, but she was close by.  At a park?

He frowned at the screen.  What the hell was she doing in a park?

The dot began to move toward the downtown area again, and he followed her progress.  Tilted his head as she stopped.  Didn’t move for ten minutes, then she began moving once again.  Not on any roads, though.  What the hell?

He planned very carefully, and he expected things to go as planned.  When they didn’t, he needed to understand why.

The logical move, the one he’d expected, was that Alex Conway would go home after her dinner.

Why hadn’t she?

Gideon stared at the screen until he realized what was going on.  She was on the El.  Heading south.  Going to the Loop?  To a friend’s house?  A lover’s?

Or she was running.  If she’d somehow found out about Trotter’s plans, maybe she’d panicked.  Taken off.

He drove a little too fast down Dempster, then pulled into a fast food restaurant near the Edens Expressway.  If she was visiting a friend, he’d drive to where she’d stopped.  Wait to see what she did next.

If she was heading for an airport, or simply driving out of town, he could jump on the Edens.  This late at night, with a little luck he’d get to either airport ahead of her.  Then all he’d have to do was intercept her.