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of impatience, Cubbins slumped away and left the bedroom. Karen swallowed hard at the reprieve . Jameson, she was fairly certain , wouldn’t touch her himself, for fear of leaving DNA behind. He’d hired Cubbins for that purpose , in the event that authorities suspect ed third-party involvement.
    “What’s taking him so long?” Jameson threaded his gloved fingers through her short, russet hair.  
    “He’ll be here soon.” Her voice cracked. She wondered if she ought to try and reason with him. Talking clients off of ledges, both real and symbolic, was a common-enough task for her. “You know, it’s not too late to walk away,” she said, smoothing the tremor from her tone. “You have to know there’ll be consequences for your actions.”
    “No one will suspect me.” His nasty smile informed her that she was wasting her energy. Whatever conscience the man still had was overshadowed by his narcissism. It was simply inconceivable to him that he might lose at this game he was playing.
    Stepping toward the chair where he’d tossed her telephone, he retrieved it. “Find out where he is,” he demanded, tapping out Connor’s number a second time. “Tell him you’ve left the front door open. One more word and I’ll strangle you myself.”
    Encircling her neck in one gloved hand, he held the phone to her face. 
    Connor answered immediately. “ Karen . ”
    His feral tone sent relief flooding through her heart. He knew! Oh, he knew.
    “Are you almost here?” Her voice wobbled with desperation, and she glanced fearfully at Jameson as he tightened his grip.    
    “I’m picking up the brandy you asked for. How many bottles?”
    Her heart skipped a beat. Was he asking how many men were in the house? “Two,” she said. “Just get one expensive one , though . The front door’s open,” she added as Jameson slowly squeezed her windpipe.
    “I’ll be there soon. And, Karen?”
    The constriction of her throat made it impossible to answer.
    “I’m sorry for everything.” Connor’s voice seemed to come from so very far away , and for a heartbreaking instant, she considered she might never see him again.
    With a punch of his thumb, Jameson ended the call. He hurled the phone aside, closed a second hand around her neck, and squeezed harder. “You bitch.” He shook her by the throat. “You tried to tell him who I am ! ”
    Her words of denial were stuck in her throat, along with the air that could neither get out nor in. She fought to stay calm, to keep her racing heart from using up all her oxygen. He doesn’t want me dead yet. 
    At last, he released her and stepped back . Her lungs expanded with relief .  
    “Hey, boss,” Cubbins called suddenly from the front of the house. “I think I see a car coming.”
    As Jameson left the room to confer with him, Karen’s composure shattered. She released the sob she’d been holding in since Connor’s apology . I’m sorry for everything.
    Dear God, so was she. If she’d just accepted his compliment on the dance floor at Drake’s wedding, then maybe she wouldn’t be alone and vulnerable at this moment.
    If only he’d apologized to her then, instead of now. Funny how four simple words, I’m sorry for everything , could obliterate three decades of resentment. It didn’t even matter that he’d missed Drake and Lucy’s childhood because he was busy forging his career.
    Suddenly, ironically, she could see why he’d been so aloof , at least about his job. Who’d want to talk about the kind of fiends he dealt with on a daily basis? She’d spent less than an hour with two of them and she’d had enough to last her whole life. Connor had probably locked her out of his world to protect her, not to mention so he didn’t have to think about the bad guys in his off-hours.
    If anyone should apologize, it was she. For thinking another man could supply the emotional intimacy she craved. For being unfaithful to the only man she’d ever loved.
    Hot tears