Present Day

The lobby of the Huntsman Hotel is like a beehive—crowded, chaotic, and buzzing with the chatter of guests. When I arrived about twenty minutes ago, I nodded at Caroline Carne across the room with its cavernous ceiling and luxurious log-cabin-themed decor. Since the last thing I need is Paige having a meltdown about me talking to her client without her present, I took a seat in one of the rustic chairs in the lounge area, sending emails on my phone while I wait for Stu.

Stu, who’s flying up here in his private jet, which he offered to let me share with him. I politely declined, feeding him some bullshit about company policy, when the truth was the thought of spending more time with him than necessary made me feel like I was breaking out in hives. Having to babysit the most annoying couple on the planet was bad enough already.

When my client told me about this half-cocked plan of his and that his wife was insisting on bringing her attorney and that Paige had agreed, leaving me with no choice about tagging along as well, my gut reaction was anger and disbelief.

Once I’d cooled down, though, I started considering the advantages. There’s no way we’ll be with our clients twenty-four seven. At some point this week I might have opportunity to actually follow through with the decision I made in my therapist’s office last week.

The decision to take action. To end the stalemate. To find a way to settle things, because I’m sick and fucking tired of feeling like I’m living my life in a holding cell.

Hitting Send on an email to a client, I take a break to glance around the room. Judging by the number of people who, like me, look dressed for business rather than vacation, there’s some sort of event going on.

Two guys catch my eye. They're about my age, dressed in business casual, and they’re standing near a fireplace so huge it makes them look like miniature people. Suddenly, the one who’s talking appears to stop in mid-sentence, his expression growing predatory. As his companion turns to look as well, I follow their gazes—

—and spot my wife entering through the front doors while thanking the uniformed doorman with a brisk smile.

It feels like a punch to the chest. The instant stab of attraction, the way my senses go on alert and zero in on her, the hunger that imbeds itself into my bones—it’s as if the past ten years never happened, and I’m seeing her for the first time.

This is what she’s always done to me. It’s what she will do to me, always.

The dude over by the fireplace is still ogling her, his buddy also throwing her an appraising look, and I know exactly what they’re seeing and what they’re thinking. They see a tall, leggy blonde striding purposefully into the lobby, wheeling a small suitcase behind her. They’re thinking she’s gorgeous, admiring the sway of her curvy hips as she walks, and from the way her silky and flouncy top hugs her slim body above her pencil skirt, they can tell her tits are neither big nor small—just a perfect handful.

And when she strides past them, too busy scanning the room to pay any attention to her admirers, their eyes drop to her ass. I clench my fists as their attention stays there. They’re probably imagining grabbing that plump flesh. Picturing her naked, on her hands and knees below them on a bed.

The hell of it is, I know exactly what that would look like. The memory of it has been seared into my mind.

Her forehead creases the moment she recognizes Caroline up at the reception, and that frown stays on her face as she finally notices me. She stops abruptly, indecision flashing across her countenance, and then her mouth sets as she changes course and heads toward me.

Getting to my feet, I stuff my phone into my pants pocket while, over her shoulder, I start mad-dogging the two guys who are still watching her. The minute they catch sight of my hard stare, they avert their eyes, going back to their conversation.

That’s right, fuckers. Look away.

“What’s going on?” Paige asks, halting some distance from me—close enough to be heard, too far away to touch.

“Stu’s not here yet. I’m guessing Caroline’s trying to check us in, but it’s not going well.” As Paige tilts her head to observe her client better across the cavernous room, I ask, “Kids are with your parents?”

“Uh-huh. I drove here.” Her gaze flickering toward me for a split second, she jerks her suitcase upright and digs into her purse, pulling out her phone. “I’m honestly not sure why we’re here.”

“They’re trying to win the Highest-Maintenance Clients of the Year Award?” I quip and am rewarded with a slow shake of her head, though she doesn’t look up from her phone, probably checking her messages.

“Chin up,” I say glibly. “Think about the billable hours.”

Head whipping up, she fixes a narrow stare on me, as if she’s trying to decide if I’m being a dick or not. Money is a sensitive topic for her. It’s a useful weapon to have in my arsenal when she pisses me off.

Any comeback she might’ve had is interrupted by the approach of Caroline, whose flawlessly made-up face is taut with displeasure.

“Stu’s just left the airport and is on his way,” she tells us. “That’s the good news.”

“What’s the bad news?” Paige says, sounding and looking apprehensive. I know the feeling.

“He booked us cabins.” My client’s wife heaves a loud sigh, looking aggravated. “They have these cabins at the northern end of the property. They’re nice, and it’s where Stu and I usually stay. You’ve got the hotel amenities just a short walk away, and you feel closer to the wilderness, and so on. And the views are amazing.”

“That doesn’t sound like bad news,” I comment.

“Well, he reserved one of the cabins months ago because it’s June, this is Tahoe, and they fill up so far in advance…” Caroline’s lips twist unhappily. “So apparently he pulled some strings and managed to get a second cabin that some family members of one of the managers were supposed to have this week. But that’s it. We only have two cabins.”

Right. That does complicate things. Darting a sideways glance at Paige, I find her looking as unimpressed as expected.

“What about rooms?” she asks with pinched eyebrows.

Her client shakes her head. “There’s nothing. It’s June. And apparently there’s some sort of conference here this week, too.”

“Okay, so”—Paige hesitates, her mind obviously churning in search of a solution—“you and I can share one cabin, and Logan and Stu the other one?”

I almost smile at her resolute tone, her I’m-not-happy-but-I’m-putting-on-a-brave-face voice. But then her words hit me. Did she just suggest I share a cabin with Stuart Garnett?

Fucking Christ. I’m suddenly having visions of bashing the Hammer over the head with the tool he shares a name with.

“Stu’s refusing,” Caroline replies, much to my relief. “He said I have to stay in his cabin, like we always do, or we go back to square one.”

Paige’s expression is a mixture of confusion and anger, her eyes flaring and her jaw clenching, and immediately she turns that fury on me.

In response to the scowl she pins me with, I only shrug. Stu’s desperate to not lose his wife. He made that much clear during the lunch meeting we had last week, so what does she expect me to do? Tell him not to try to manipulate Caroline because it’s just…mean?

That’s not my job, is it?

What’s less clear is why Caroline is going along with it. Paige obviously doesn’t understand it, either. It’s obvious she’s a little bit intimidated by her client, though, or I’m sure she would’ve counseled Caroline to tell Stu he can go fuck himself.

“Look, I’m really sorry,” Caroline tells us with all the awkwardness of someone who’s more used to being apologized to than the reverse. “I can call my PA and have her try to find you rooms at a different hotel. I think the closest one is about fifteen minutes away. It’s not ideal…but better than having you hundreds of miles away, right?”

Looking between me and Paige, she reluctantly offers, “Or you can go home, I suppose, and we’ll manage without you.”

Firmly, I shake my head. “I’m not leaving unless Stu wants me to.”

Paige is still glowering at me. “You could always be a gentleman and let me have the cabin while you go to a different hotel.”

“Leaving you alone with both our clients?” I snort. “Nice try.”

Releasing a frustrated huff, Caroline says, “Let me go back to the desk and see if they can offer the second cabin to a family with two rooms or something.”

“Wait,” my wife calls out, making her client swivel back after taking only a couple of steps away from us. “It’s fine. Logan and I can share the second cabin. Right?”

The way she directs the question at me is in no way pleading or polite—that’s not her style. Instead it’s presumptuous and demanding with a hint of admonishment. Like she’s warning me not to refuse…and to not misinterpret this as anything but desperation on her part.

Keeping my face impassive, I just stare at her, saying nothing.

Turning to the older woman again, she asks, “Does it have more than one bedroom?”

“I’m pretty sure they all have at least two.” Caroline furrows her brows, eyes flying between us. “Are you sure? Please don’t feel like you have to do this. Either of you.”

There’s an awkward silence. Both women are watching me, waiting for my response. A quiet hum of anticipation rushes through my veins. I fight hard not to show it, to reveal that this is exactly the kind of opportunity I was hoping for.

“Okay with me,” I tell them lightly, shrugging.

“All right, then. Stu put my name on the reservation, too, so I’ll go get the keys.” Caroline looks cautiously relieved as she turns on her heel again and walks away.

Well. That went better than expected, didn’t it?

* * *

We follow the bellhop down the path of groomed dirt and gravel that winds through an area of tamed wilderness, with densely packed pines on either side, their tall trunks stretching up toward the partially cloudy sky. After Caroline announced she was going to wait for Stu to arrive, the young uniformed guy loaded our small suitcases onto his cart before we could blink and started leading the way through the lobby and down a couple of hallways to the exit that took us to a paved walkway, eventually leading off the main grounds and into the woods.

Inhaling the smell of earth and pine needles and unpolluted air, I walk behind Paige, and yeah, most of the time my eyes are not on the road or the scenic landscape—and definitely not on the dude leading us along. The way her tight skirt clings to her ass and her shapely calves flex with each step is too much of an enticing tease. I also can’t help but admire the deft way she maneuvers the uneven surface in her heeled sandals.

I’m so busy enjoying that view that it takes way too long before it dawns on me that it’s odd she would bring this outfit with her on vacation. Normally she would’ve packed more practical and comfortable clothes, like loose, flowing summer dresses and skirts and tops. Maybe some shorts.

And her perennial favorite: capri yoga pants. Which would’ve made my current vantage even more enjoyable.

The cabin sits atop a short, slight incline, and the first glimpse of it reveals a classic timber frame log building of golden-brown wood and a sharp-angled, green roof. A wide covered porch wraps around the entire structure with various furniture that seems strategically placed for the best views of the pastoral panorama.

I’ve never stayed at a cabin that unlocks with a key card before, and I watch with a scrunched-up face as the bellhop does just that before opening the door and holding it for us. Best of both worlds, Caroline seemed to imply, but to me that just means you’re not getting the full experience of either, be it luxury hotel or cabin in the wild. Guess I prefer to keep those two spheres separate.

After the bellhop brings our bags inside and before he can ask if we need anything else, I dig a few crisp bills out of my wallet, which sends him on his way with a satisfied smile. Paige is already inspecting the interior, wandering from room to room while I stay near the front door, taking it all in from there—from the great room with vaulted beams, floor-to-ceiling rock-face fireplace, and log cabin furniture that looks transplanted from a billionaire’s hunting lodge, to the partially walled-off kitchen with built-in stainless appliances and a marble-top breakfast bar with leather stools.

Oh, yeah. We’ll be roughing it in this place, all right. Snort.

Paige comes back out from what looks like a bathroom. “You know,” she tells me while moving on to the kitchen, “I was going to insist on giving you my half of that tip, but you’d probably just say I’m paying you with your own money.”

Yup. Sensitive topic. I should just tell her not to worry, that I’ll expense it to the firm—a luxury she doesn’t have—but since she’s the one who’s turning this confrontational, I don’t see a need to play nice.

“Actually,” I drawl, shrugging out of my suit jacket and sauntering over to hang it on one of the stools by the bar counter, “I would’ve offered to let you work it off instead.”

Coming to an abrupt stop at the corner of the counter, Paige fixes me with a frosty stare. “Can you not?” she snaps out through her teeth.

“I could,” I say, a shrug in my voice. Clearly implying that I don’t want to, and so I won’t.

If the flares of anger radiating from her were tangible, the air would be sparking and crackling. For a while, we only stare at each other. Then, with a barely perceptible flicker, her eyes drop, running down my body from my shoulders to my waist—and lower.

It’s so quick I barely have time to draw breath before she averts her gaze, but it’s enough. It’s unmistakable.

My almost-ex-wife just checked me out.

And if she didn’t like what she saw, she wouldn’t have scrambled to look away, to hide her reaction. If she were disgusted—or even just indifferent—she would’ve let me see it. Would’ve delighted in taunting me with it.

Shit. Desire surges from deep in my core, a tightening of my muscles that feels like being trapped in a straitjacket. Almost a year since I last touched her, and even longer since doing so was about more than just scratching an itch—for her, anyway.

Wanting her with the same urgency now as I always have is nothing to relish. On a good day it’s a lodestone. Right now it’s a fucking prison.

While I stand there simmering, she strides down the short hall next to the kitchen, jerking open the door at the end of it and poking her head inside, looking around. Then, still with that agitated gait, she comes back and crosses the great room to the other passageway, checking on the bedroom over on that side before returning to the front door.

“I’m surprised you didn’t warn me about these clients,” she says as she stops where the bellhop left our luggage. “You might’ve convinced me to drop the case.”

I watch as she pulls her suitcase behind her toward the farthest bedroom, and as I partially follow her, to where the hall meets the great room, I can tell with just a quick glance that she’s chosen the bigger bedroom. Figures she considers the allocation of rooms more of a finders-keepers situation than something that’s up for discussion.

Not for the first time, it strikes me as ironic that the fierce independence and that take-charge attitude of hers—such a huge part of why I fell in love with her—are most likely why she found it so easy to kick me to the curb and never look back.

“Maybe I didn’t want you to drop the case,” I point out. As she stalks inside, I raise my voice to add, “Besides, you would’ve accused me of trying to trick you somehow.”

She appears in the doorway again, still gripping the pull handle on her roller bag. “You’re probably doing that, anyway,” she accuses sourly. “Did you put Garnett up to this?”

“I’m not going to discuss my client with you, Paige.” I flash her an indulgent smile, which widens at the puff of disgust that wheezes out of her nose. “As far as I can tell, Stu’s being up-front about what he wants. It’s Caroline who’s a mystery. Why is she going along with all of this, anyway?”

“I’m not going to discuss my client with you, Logan,” she mimics with a childish grimace, and then she turns on her heel and disappears again.

Right. Why do I feel like she’s not refusing to answer so much as she’s unable to? She sure seemed as surprised and confused as I was about this whole lodging situation. If she knows why Caroline is putting up with Stu’s demands, why would she react that way? The most logical answer is: she doesn’t know, and her client isn’t being up-front with her.

Which can only be to my advantage. Especially if I can figure out what it is she doesn’t know.

I dig out my phone and check my email, disappointed when there’s still nothing from Rodriguez. He promised he’d make investigating Stuart and Caroline a priority as a personal favor, but there are a shit-ton of other cases at the firm more urgent than a divorce, high-profile or not. I get that, and I’m still losing patience.

The sliding and banging of drawers coming from the room Paige has appropriated tells me at least one thing hasn’t changed about my wife: she doesn’t waste time making herself at home. Given her current mood, the only surprising thing is that she didn’t shut the door.

Pocketing my phone, I shuffle over to the open doorway. Leaning against the frame, I watch her hang a blouse in the closet. She’s removed her shoes, of course. Paige never wears heels for a second longer than she has to. At work she would kick them off under her desk, and she got really good at putting them back on without anyone being the wiser.

Except me. Because I made it my life’s mission to get to know her better than she knows herself.

A double-edged sword, as it turned out.

“At least you came prepared,” I comment. “Why did you bring work clothes on vacation?”

“They’re my mom’s.” She plucks another shirt out of her bag. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Frowning, I follow her with my eyes as she unrolls another shirt, stuffing the hanger into it before hooking it on the rod in the closet. Turning back, she looks at me and pauses with a mild frown. “What?”

“Since when are you and your mom the same size?”

“She’s lost some weight since the last time you saw her,” Paige explains as she goes back to her suitcase. “She has a lot more spare time now that she's a judge, so she's been taking better care of herself.”

A heavy sensation settles in my stomach, and with my jaw clenched and my hands jammed into my pockets, I silently stare while she continues unpacking.

It takes me a second to identify why my mood just took such a dark turn. Of course it has nothing to do with my mother-in-law’s healthier lifestyle.

No, it’s because I had no idea. Because Paige didn’t just shut me out of her own life—she took away most of mine, too. Gwen’s weight loss is the least of what I’ve been missing out on.

Sometimes I feel like the world should’ve stopped when I lost this woman. Instead it just went on without me.

The cabin suddenly feels oppressive, far too small. It’s pretty safe to assume Stu’s going to be too occupied with his wife to need me anytime soon, meaning I’m free to do whatever. And I know exactly what I need right now.

I straighten away from the doorframe. “I’m going for a run.”

Paige stops in the middle of unrolling what looks like a flowery summer dress. “You don’t need to keep me posted on your comings and goings,” she says, eyebrows arched.

Setting down the piece of clothing, she approaches me, and when she’s a step away, she halts and widens her eyes until I turn sideways to let her pass.

But instead of walking past me, she inches into the doorway and gestures out through it in a circular motion. “My part of the cabin,” she says in the same tone she uses to explain something to Elliott, and then she points across the high-ceilinged space to the second bedroom. “Your part of the cabin.”

Backing up until she’s clear of the doorway, she grabs the handle and gives me a go-fuck-yourself look as she finishes with, “And never the twain shall meet.”

Then she shuts the door in my face.

I glower at the pale oak door, my pulse pumping and chest heaving with each shallow, angry breath. The strength it takes to prevent myself from busting through that barrier and continue the shit she just started is almost beyond my grasp. My muscles are screaming to do it, my mind like a snarling and slobbering dog at the end of a rusted chain. It wouldn’t take much more of that choking and rabid struggling against the restraint to make it snap.

Goddamn it. God-fucking-damn her.

I’m not going to do it. Pretty sure a fight is what she wants, because by now she’s so used to being pissed off at me that she’s become institutionalized by it.

And she’s uncomfortable with all of this, the case and now sharing this cabin with me. She feels cornered, and that’s why she’s coming out swinging. Because that’s what Paige does. She’s all fight, no flight.

I can deal with that. The biggest benefit of all that expensive therapy with Sharon is recognizing why I react to things the way I do, to see a pattern, and to learn how to stop it before shit gets out of control. That’s why I’ve kept seeing her for the past year, and it’s why I feel like a different person from who I was during the time that eventually drove Paige away.

It’s also why I’m never going to tell her everything that I did. Because it doesn’t matter; I’m not that guy anymore.

Plus I know in my gut that she would take it badly. The eruption would be epic—most likely the final, fatal blow to our relationship. I’d go down in a raging, fiery, face-melting burst of flames.

No. She can never find out. Ever.

My movements are jerky as I walk over to my own suitcase and take it to the second bedroom. Like an automaton, I dig out my running clothes, and with that same kind of numb anger, I change into them. After I’ve strapped on my armband and stuffed my phone into it, the earbuds hanging on my shoulders, I go rummaging around the cabin for more information about my surroundings.

In the desk in the alcove between the kitchen and great room, I find exactly what I’m looking for: a map of nearby hiking trails. After snapping a picture of it with my phone, I head out.

I’m so agitated that I can’t even appreciate the bucolic landscape as I speed walk down the path in the direction of the trail the map indicates is closest. The views on this run are going to beat the hell out of any city park, and I’d be in my happy place if I wasn’t so pissed—at my wife for being so good at remaining resentful, at the Hammer for forcing this bullshit case on me, at Stu for this harebrained attempt to stop his wife from leaving, and at the world in general, because it’s been way too long since I’ve felt like I was on top of it.

Fuck it.

I yank my phone back out of the case, slowing down a bit as I scroll through my contacts until I find Rodriguez’s name.

He answers on the third ring, giving a dispassionate greeting.

“Any progress on the Garnett investigation?” I ask, skipping the small talk.

“Uh,” comes his deep voice over the phone speaker. “I’ve found some stuff. Still working on it. You should have my report in a day or two.”

“Is it bad or good?”

There’s a short silence that I don’t like. “Both, I guess.”

“How bad is the bad?” My facial muscles are tight with apprehension as I steel myself.

“Look,” says the firm’s investigator, his tone impatient, “what I’ve got right now is about twenty-five percent confirmed and seventy-five percent a hunch, so I don’t want to jump the gun.” He pauses before he adds flatly, “But you might wanna ask your client if there’s anything he hasn’t told you.”

Shit. After thanking him and saying goodbye, I stop to draw a deep breath, my teeth clenched. I’m gripping my phone hard, this close to chucking it into the thicket of shrubs beside me.

Instead I pick up my feet and start running down the trail, tamping down on the urge to take off at a sprint instead of pacing myself.

Rodriguez was supposed to find dirt on Caroline, something bad enough to keep her in check. Instead it sounds like Stu’s the one with the skeletons.

Which I need to know about, of course, and honestly, I’m not surprised.

But I’m really fucking unhappy that the best I can hope for now is that whomever Paige has hired to do her dirt-digging—and I have zero doubts that she’s got someone on that job—is someone less resourceful than Rodriguez.

And that hope is slimmer than a crack whore on a liquid diet.