Chapter 3

For the next few days, Natasha didn't show up to class.

I heard it from Elliot — he'd been checking his phone constantly, getting nothing back.

"You don't think something happened to her, do you?" he said.

"Maybe she couldn't pull together the investment and went quiet." I walked past him toward the door. "You were actually counting on her?"

He frowned. "Where are you going?"

"Seeing a friend."

"You've been going out on your own a lot lately." He almost sounded like he was complaining.

"Want to come?"

He nodded, started to move toward me — then his phone went off. He glanced at it. Apologetic look. "I've got something — I should—"

"Fine."

I was already out the door.

The friend I was seeing was my divorce attorney.

"The agreement's drafted," she said.

I handed over the photos I'd taken — Elliot and Natasha on the hillside road, holding hands, arms around each other. The usual.

"As evidence of infidelity, it's not quite enough."

I slid the photos back into the folder. "What would it take for you to help me claim full assets? Everything."

She looked at me. "Everything?"

"His name is on all of it. I want all of it."

As I was leaving, she told me I needed something more direct.

More direct.

I pulled up the tracker I'd put on Elliot's car and drove to where it showed. A winding hillside road on the edge of the city.

I parked and waited.

Elliot was out of his car, talking to Natasha by the roadside. She reached for his hand. He pulled it away — cold, deliberate. I sat and took photos through the windshield.

Then I looked down to check the shots, and when I looked back up, Elliot was looking directly at my car.

He recognized it. Of course he did.

My heart kicked hard. He was already walking toward me.

I threw the car into reverse and got out of there.

His car came after me. Fast.

I pushed the accelerator down, trying to open up distance on the curves. I'd almost lost him — then a car came slowly around a bend ahead of me. I hit the brakes, yanked the wheel. Not fast enough. There was a heavy scraping impact along the side.

I almost didn't want to look. A Bentley.

I smacked the steering wheel once, got out, walked over to apologize — and stopped.

The man stepping out of the driver's side was Dominic Kingsley.

"You?" He sounded more surprised than annoyed.

He glanced at my car with something close to amusement. "Practicing drifting?"

I was out of options.

"He saw me. My husband's car is right behind—"

Dominic turned to his driver and said something. The driver went to take my car. I climbed into Dominic's, took the passenger seat. He drove.

My phone lit up with Elliot's name. I declined it. It rang again. I declined again. It kept going until Dominic told me to answer.

"Hey — are you nearby? I thought I saw your car on the road."

Elliot's voice was too carefully controlled.

"Someone rear-ended me. It's been taken to the shop."

"Oh." A beat. "Are you all right?"

"Fine."

"Where are you? Do you need a ride?"

I glanced at Dominic. One second. "No, I've got a cab."

I hung up.

Dominic kept his eyes on the road and said lightly, "You're both very good liars."

I didn't have a response to that.

The car wound through the hills. Green stretched in every direction.

"Mr. Kingsley, this isn't the way back to the city."

"Mm." He sounded unconcerned. "I have plans. Dinner with some people."

"Then I—"

"You're a passenger in my car. Passengers go where the car goes." He glanced over at me like this was obvious. "Isn't that right?"

I pressed my lips together. "You're having dinner with people. What exactly am I supposed to do?"

He tapped the wheel with one finger. "Leave now and it's a hit-and-run."