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bone structure, smoky amber eyes, and impeccable style from a French fashionista mother. Her makeup was always flattering, her clothing immaculate, her dark silky hair styled. But this morning, she wore a wrinkled brown cocktail dress and leopard Christian Louboutin stilettos marred by scuff-marks. Long raven strands snaked from a disheveled chignon, and mascara streaked her tear-stained cheeks.
    Leaving the engine running, Delaney shoved open the door and rushed to her best friend. “What’s going on? Why do you have that?”
    Vanessa stared down at the baseball bat gripped in her hand as if she’d never seen it before. She and Delaney played on a team with Archer’s club employees, but practice wasn’t scheduled for today. “I’m texting Chad.”
    “Uh…most people use a cell phone.”
    “Yeah, they do.” Van cocked the bat and smashed the right headlight of the black Porsche parked at the curb in front of her condo. Wham!
    Delaney winced as glass tinkled to the pavement. “Van! What the—”
    Wham! Vanessa pulverized the left headlight. “But most people’s boyfriends don’t horizontal mambo with ‘hos.”
    “Hookers? Holy crap, what happened?”
    “I caught Chad and his ‘escorts’ when I got home from the club two hours early this morning. From the looks of them, they dirty-danced all night.” Wham! Vanessa sent the driver’s side mirror sailing across the street. “In our bed.”
    Empathy wrenched in Delaney’s stomach. “Oh, Van. I’m so sorry.”
    “His bill is about to get a lot more expensive.” Vanessa sniffled as she rounded the hood. Wham! The passenger mirror flew onto the manicured lawn.
    “Vanessa, that’s enough! Stop!”
    “The rat-bastard loves this car more than me. ‘Don’t put on makeup in the Porsche. Don’t eat in the Porsche. Don’t drink coffee in the Porsche.’” Vanessa’s brittle laugh skated on the edge of hysteria. “He never said anything about baseball.”
    Delaney’s chest tightened. “Have you been drinking, girlfriend?”
    “Maybe. They had a bottle of leftover Dom.”
    “Where are they? Still alive, I hope?”
    “Chad locked the door behind me after I grabbed the bat and the booze and ran out. They’re inside.”
    “Okay…I guess killing his Porsche is better than killing him, but stop now. Do too much damage, and you’ll be committing a felony.”
    “You know the difference between a Porsche and a porcupine, Delaney?” Vanessa stalked to the rear of the car. Wham! The left taillight shattered. “With a porcupine, the pricks are on the outside.”
    “Vanessa, quit it.” Delaney cautiously approached her distraught friend. “Chad is not worth getting yourself arrested for. Let’s grab some chili-cheese fries and chocolate milkshakes and devise a subtler, but just as expensive revenge.”
    “Even if I could eat without hurling right now, the bubbly already torpedoed my new diet.” Vanessa gulped back sobs, her lips quivering. “What kind of revenge?”
    “He gave you signing privileges on his credit cards. We’ll max ‘em all out.” Delaney held out her hand. “Give me the bat.”
    “I really thought he was it. Thought I’d finally found the guy I could spend the rest of my life with.” Vanessa’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t need a damned prince.” Leaning against the battered car, she swiped the back of her hand across her streaked face. “At this point I’d settle for a duke. Or a count, even.” She shuddered. “Count of Monte Cristo. Count Dracula. Hell, Count Chocula.”
    Delaney eased the bat from Vanessa’s shaky grip and wrapped an arm around her friend. “I know how much this hurts. But we’re going to get through it together, like always.”
    “Ladies?” a deep male voice drawled from behind them. “Take a wrong turn on the way to Fenway Park?”
    Bat in hand, Delaney spun. A sleek charcoal-gray Ferrari had pulled up behind her GTO, and two casually well-dressed, dark-haired men stood on the parking