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what to say to Luke. This weekend was becoming a turning point in her mind—either she figured out how to get things on track with him, or she accepted reality and gracefully let the relationship go. There was nothing wrong with being just friends. It would be a disappointing outcome, but she’d survived disappointing outcomes before.
    If only you were focused on me, Luke. She glanced toward the sky and the storm forming on the horizon.
    Lord, it would help if Luke made a decision on where he wanted this relationship to go. One way or another, just get us to a decision point.
    * * *
    Frank Hardin studied his injured hand as the blood washed away. He had scraped the back of his right knuckles on the framing in the hidden room, and the soap stung as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink. It would pass for the aftereffects of a bare knuckles fight. He nudged the water off with his elbow and picked up a towel.
    The automatic garage door opened. Frank glanced through the dining room windows to see a white van pull into the driveway. It disappeared into the spacious garage.
    â€œI told you he would be back right on time.” Ronald rose from the table at the bay window.
    â€œBilly’s a liability. He talks too much.”
    â€œHe’s young, eager.”
    Frank glared at his friend. “He’ll have to be dealt with.” He wasn’t going back to jail because some guy hired to drive liked to talk too much.
    Ronald hesitated, but reluctantly nodded.
    Frank tapped out his cigarette. He scanned the list on the counter. Months of planning had come down to today. Someone else might be paying his fee, but this job was personal. He wanted more than just to hurt Luke Falcon; he wanted the man afraid.
    If he couldn’t shake the man hunting him, he could make Falcon permanently regret it. “Let’s get this underway.”
    Ronald picked up the box with a roll of duct tape and three ski masks. Frank followed him to the garage.

Chapter Three
    S haron had married into money. Caroline knew it but rarely experienced it to the degree she was today. She slipped a grilled cheese sandwich onto her plate and shut off the burner. Cooking in this kitchen with its black marble countertops and shining appliances made her nervous.
    Mark Falcon’s condominium in Atlanta, which took the entire eighth floor of a brownstone building, was much like an upscale hotel. Carpets were plush, furniture new, and the kitchen well stocked. He had lived here before marrying Sharon and still had a housekeeper come in three times a week to keep it ready on a moment’s notice for guests. Caroline wished there was something out of place so her arrival would feel less disruptive.
    The phone rang and Caroline turned in a full circle to isolate the sound. She found the cordless phone in the side cabinet beside the refrigerator. “Falcon residence.”
    â€œGood, you’re there. Did you by any chance see my baseball glove at your place?” Benjamin sounded a little panicked.
    Caroline poured her soda over ice. “Remember the church baseball game Sunday afternoon? You put your glove in the trunk of your mom’s car beside your shoebox of spare baseball cards.”
    â€œOh, that’s right. Thanks.”
    â€œWhere are you, Benjamin?”
    â€œWe’re finally leaving the clinic. Mom says we have to stop by the house to—” A clatter cut off his sentence.
    â€œBenjamin?”
    Caroline heard a jumble of sounds and static before it finally cleared. “Sorry. Some van cut Mom off. I dropped the phone.”
    â€œYou’re okay?”
    â€œShe owes the glass jar two quarters for swearing.”
    Benjamin sounded impressed. Caroline smiled. “Tell your mom to drive safe.”
    â€œMom, she says to drive more carefully.”
    Caroline took her plate into the dining room where the table was set for six. She moved aside good china to set her plate down.
    â€œWe’re going