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  She wiped her forearm across her face as she went to the cubby that held folded sweaters for when Abe wanted her to go somewhere cold. Mostly he never took her with him on tour, but a couple of times she'd attended music events in colder places; events where he'd needed his wife to "hang on his arm."

  Almost bending over from the pain, she gritted her teeth. Once it had passed and though her tears refused to stop, she took out the sweaters and put them neatly in another cubby. Even now, she couldn't bring herself to treat the beautiful cashmeres and silks with anything but care. Right at the back, hidden in a small box, was her stash of emergency money.

  Abe had given her credit cards that had no limit, didn't care what she bought, but Sarah had never been able to fully trust the cards. So she'd withdrawn money on them. If Abe or his accountants noticed, they didn't say anything. She'd never withdrawn much. A hundred here, a couple of hundred there. Enough that she had a fund just in case.

  She didn't know what she'd been preparing for. Maybe this.

  A woman who knew she wasn't loved could never quite settle in.

  Taking out the two thousand dollars she'd accumulated in the time since their marriage, she put some in her bra, some in her shoe, some in the suitcase, and just a little in her purse. If she got mugged, they wouldn't get all of it. She took the cards too. A woman who had no family, no one to whom to turn, couldn't afford pride.

  And if the husband she adored thought she was nothing but a gold digger, useful only for spreading her legs and being an ornament, then she might as well live up to that expectation.

  Swallowing down the new wave of raw tears that threatened, she carried the suitcase down the stairs and threw it into the dark green Jaguar parked outside. It wasn't her car, but she could use it whenever she wanted. Trying not to think about how Abe had taught her to drive, how he'd just shaken his head and laughed when she accidentally reversed the Jaguar into his SUV, she checked that she had her purse, then put the Jag into gear and peeled away. She'd leave it somewhere safe after she found a place to stay, call the housekeeper and tell her where it was so one of Abe's drivers could come pick it up.

  Sarah might be trailer trash, but she was no thief.

  Her mouth twisted as she thought of the credit cards.

  Abe had given those to her, she reminded herself. I have every right to use them and not feel guilty about it. And she would. If she couldn't reach his heart, she'd hurt his wallet.

  Sobs wracked her. "Stop it," she ordered herself. "No one cares if you cry."

  No one ever had.

  Sarah didn't know where she was going, but when she found herself in front of a good but not A-list hotel, she stopped, parked, and stalked up to the counter. They stared at her when she asked them to pre-charge the room for a week, but since her card was black and clearly had her name on it and she had her ID, they did it. Now, even if Abe canceled the cards, she'd have a place to stay for a week.

  She was rolling her own bag to the elevator when the doors to that elevator opened and a well-dressed man in what she recognized as an expensive suit walked out. Patrician-faced and golden skinned with blue eyes and dark hair threaded with fine glints of silver, he immediately made her feel grubby and small. He had wealthy and cultured written all over him.

  Then his features creased with concern. "My dear, you look distressed. What's the matter?"

  Sarah just shook her head, unable to speak in the face of his unexpected kindness.

  "Shh, it's all right. Let's get this bag and you up to your room." He carried her bag up for her, and when she fumbled the key card, he took it and opened her door.

  That was when she belatedly realized she'd been stupid to so easily trust a stranger. But before she could panic, he put her case inside, placed her key card on the nearest flat surface, then stepped back out into the hallway.

  "This hotel has apartment levels," he told her. "I live in the penthouse." Reaching into his pocket, he took out a business card. "Here. Take this. Call me if you need anything."

  Sarah's fingers closed over the black gloss of the card. "Why are you being so kind?" Her voice was hoarse.

  "Because you're a beautiful woman in distress, and I want to play knight in shining armor." His smile was disarming, his teeth Hollywood perfect against tanned skin that didn't look fake but as if he'd caught exactly the right amount of sun. "And because I hope someone would help my sister if she was ever in the same position."

  Tears threatened again, this time in relief. He was just a nice man, not someone who wanted her to "spread her legs." Abe's ugly words, they still hurt so bad, still made her feel so dirty and used. "Thank you."

  "It's my pleasure." His smile faded. "Now go have a bath, order room service, and remember, you can call me anytime."

  Nodding, Sarah shut the door.

  Then, though she didn't consciously realize it, she waited. Because if Abe had been drunk or high when he said what he had, Sarah would give him the chance to make things right. And, even as she made it clear that he had to get sober, this time for good, she'd try to forgive him for the wounds he'd placed on her heart. Maybe it wasn't the most sensible choice, but Sarah loved Abe too much to simply walk away without a backward look.

  So she made sure her phone was charged, that it was always with her, that she was never in an area without a signal. And she waited.

  For hours. Then days, then two long weeks.

  The cards still worked, but instead of staying on at the hotel, she moved to a much more ordinary apartment where the rent was such that her neighbors were all hardworking, blue-collar people who smiled at her and made her feel normal for the first time in two years. She couldn't embarrass herself here, could be just Sarah who had only a partial high school education but who could work hard too, who'd done blue-collar work herself before she met Abe.

  And she continued to wait.

  It was on the thirtieth day after she'd walked out of the house that she accepted Abe wasn't going to call her, wasn't going to apologize for the horrible, hurtful things he'd said. The man she loved with every beat of her heart didn't care that she was all alone in this huge city, didn't care about her tears or her broken heart or the fact that she missed him so much she couldn't breathe, couldn't sleep.

  I don't love you.

  Your job is to keep looking like a hot piece of ass and to hang on my arm when I need you to. Otherwise, stay the fuck out of my life.

  Flinching at the memory, she got out the credit cards she'd only used for food and shelter at that point and went to methodically cut them to pieces, then thought fuck him. If he could shit on her dreams, if he could treat her like she was worthless trash, then he deserved all the pain she could dish out.

  Sarah stood, washed her face, put on her best day dress, and slipped her feet into flats. Ready, she went on the shopping spree to end all shopping sprees. She wasn't stupid; she'd been poor too long to be stupid. She bought the kind of clothes a woman would need if she was looking for work. Not skimpy dresses suitable for a rock star's wife and formal gowns appropriate for music awards.

  Simple skirts and pants, clean-cut but quality shirts that'd last, neat work dresses. She bought shoes to go with them.

  She bought a fucking car because she needed a vehicle to navigate this sprawling city. It was a candy-apple-red MINI Cooper with a white top, cute and fast and so much more Sarah than the Jaguar that had always made her feel like an imposter. She bought jewelry, not because she wanted the jewelry, but because it was an asset she could put in a safe-deposit box and sell off if necessary.

  She bought groceries, focusing on supplies that wouldn't go bad for months or even years.

  She bought meals for every homeless person she saw, bought double meals for the homeless teens.

  And she withdrew cash as many times as possible.

  The cards finally stopped working on the third day of her determined spree.

  By that time she'd spent more than enough money to hopefully hurt Abe a little, but she
knew it was nowhere near as badly as he'd hurt her. Again and again, she heard the words he'd thrown at her, felt the bruising pain of taking hit after hit, and she wanted him to shatter as he'd shattered her, but she didn't know how to find the kind of pit bull she needed to make Abe feel as she was feeling.

  It was then that her eye fell on the glossy black of the business card she'd kept, of the man who'd been so kind to her that horrible night. He'd been kind afterward too. The two weeks she'd been at the hotel, he'd ordered her room service, including a bowl of strawberries and cream that came with a handwritten note that said he hoped the strawberries made her day sweeter.

  He'd rung once every day to check on her, and when she'd told him she was moving into the apartment, he'd insisted on driving her over himself. Since then, he'd stayed in touch with a call once a week. And though his eyes were admiring when they looked at her, he was always a perfect gentleman.

  He made her feel like a woman worth respect. Not a cheap, gold-digging whore.

  Picking up the phone, she dialed his number. "Jeremy," she said. "Do you know the name of a good divorce attorney? A really mean one?"

  A pause before Jeremy Vance said, "I know a man affectionately spoken of as the Rottweiler. Will that do?"

  Sarah clenched her stomach, hardened her heart. "Yes."

  "I'll call him for you if you like, set up an appointment. We're friends, so you're more likely to get in to see him that way than if you call yourself."

  "Thank you. I'd appreciate that." Sarah made herself breathe.

  Abe was getting no more of her tears.

  "Anything for you, Sarah." Jeremy's tone was warm. "Would you like me to accompany you to the first meeting? I know you're still fragile."

  Sarah went to say yes, shut her mouth. She was so scared, so alone, but she'd been that before, and she'd survived. Jeremy was nice, but Abe had been nice once too. The only person she could rely on was herself.

  Same as always.

  Her every breath hurt.

  "No," she said to Jeremy. "Thank you, but I'll go alone." And she'd make Abraham Bellamy rue the day he'd taken on a girl named Sarah Smith.

  A girl who would've once carved out her own heart and laid it at his feet should he have asked it of her.

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER 3

  SARAH SAT IN THE SOLARIUM of the lovely dual-level house she'd bought using part of the proceeds of her divorce settlement. Her knees were tucked up to her chest, her legs covered by a heavy knitted throw she'd found in a thrift shop; she cradled a mug of coffee in her hands while, beyond the window of the solarium, she could see the daisies she'd planted cheerfully bobbing their heads.

  It had made her so happy to buy this house with its stylish appearance and neat gardens and delicate metal fencing. In a solid family neighborhood, nothing about it said that the woman who owned it had a de facto stepfather in prison for the murder of her mother.

  No, the woman who lived here had value.

  Today Sarah smiled tightly at the memory of her defiant thoughts the day she'd moved into this house less than two years earlier, a month after her divorce from Abe became final. She hadn't had value. Not then. Not in the way she wanted. She'd bought this house with Abe's money, furnished it with Abe's money. Her Rottweiler of a lawyer had more than earned his fee, but in the end, Sarah had been left feeling sick inside. Because she'd never wanted the divorce. She'd wanted Abe to fight for her.

  He'd fought her demands, but never had he fought for her.

  Now she had this house and this garden and this broken heart that had never quite healed right. And once again, she was alone. Her fingers brushed her cheek, still able to feel the bruise that had blackened it two weeks earlier. "I never thought Jeremy would treat me that way," she said to Flossie. "He was so kind, so supportive once. He never ignited my heart, but he was a good man at the start."

  Sarah's mutt of a dog, chocolate colored and with those incongruously silky ears Sarah loved to stroke, looked at her with mournful eyes darker than her furry coat.

  "No," she said in disagreement. "I wasn't so careful about keeping my assets out of his reach because I didn't trust him. That lesson came courtesy of the divorce." After the Rottweiler, she'd hired another lawyer who'd tied up her divorce settlement in ways no one else could touch. No one had had to tell her to do that--she might not have a high school diploma, but she'd grown up in a home where what little her mother made, her mother's boyfriend claimed as his own.

  And though Jeremy had been wealthy from the start, she'd still never considered accepting his help to manage her finances. He'd offered after the divorce, but had taken her demur with good humor. No pressure, no snide remarks. "He was a good man," she reiterated. "But he changed as I changed." Sorrow made her blood heavy. "I think if I'd stayed the same, we might've made it."

  Jeremy Vance had rescued a broken bird, expecting her to stay broken.

  But of course Sarah hadn't been willing to be frozen in time.

  Sarah had grown stronger day by day, become independent, a business owner. At first, Jeremy had celebrated her successes. Only later had she realized that Jeremy didn't want an independent lover. He wanted Sarah as she'd once been: the lost girl searching for help.

  She should've walked away the instant she realized that.

  Part of the reason she'd stayed had been the baby.

  Her hands clenched hard on the coffee mug.

  Memories cascaded through her mind of going out to get groceries the week after she first filed for divorce and seeing Abe's face splashed on the front pages of a major tabloid. He'd been out partying the previous night, half-naked groupies hanging all over him, their hands possessive on his chest and their eyes smug.

  Sarah's splintered heart had broken all over again. Because even then, while they were in the first bitter stages of their divorce--at a time when Abe was refusing to even sign the papers--she'd hoped. She had loved him so much, but the photographs made it clear he'd thrown her away like yesterday's trash, that he'd already moved on. The only reason he was refusing to sign the papers was because he was pissed off at the settlement her lawyer was demanding.

  Jeremy had been there to catch her broken self as it fell.

  He'd come to see her that night, brought her flowers to cheer her up. A chance visit he'd said. Then, it hadn't occurred to her to question him, to wonder why he'd turned up the very day the photographs of Abe partying hard hit the tabloids. But again, he'd been nothing but kind to her at that point--he could've honestly believed he was coming over to help her deal with the ugly situation.

  She'd been so out of it, so emotionally numb that, for the first time, she hadn't resisted when he tried for a kiss as he so often did. When he began to push for more, she knew she should stop him, but she'd felt so distant that it was easier to just let it happen, get it over with so she could curl up and rock away her pain.

  She'd been a fractured ragdoll whose heart no longer beat.

  Only Jeremy hadn't disappeared afterward. No, he'd stuck around and openly said he wanted a relationship; everything he'd done had made her feel important and wanted and even a little loved. When he'd asked her if she'd have a child with him within a relatively short period of time, she'd been shocked. Then he'd told her that he adored her and explained he was getting on in years, didn't want to be too old to play with his child... and Sarah had thought of how much she'd loved the baby she'd miscarried.

  The baby Abe had accused her of faking.

  Looking back, she knew she'd still been in a terrible emotional place, in no state to make such life-altering decisions. Jeremy had to have known that, had taken advantage of her pain to tie her to him. So clear to see now, but then, she could think only that any child they created together would be wanted by its father. So she'd said yes. And in that, Jeremy hadn't let her down: he'd stood by her, even put their future child or children into his will right after she told him she was pregnant--so that if anything happened to him, their child would still have h
is or her father's support.

  Sarah hadn't loved Jeremy, but at that instant, she'd known she'd do anything to make the relationship work. This man, she'd thought, was a good human being. Her child would have a father and a mother, would have a proud history. Her child wouldn't be a forgotten piece of flotsam other people could crush and hit and abandon.

  Pain splintered through her.

  Because her precious baby was gone, buried in a peaceful plot underneath the wings of a guardian angel. He'd been so beautiful, so perfect with his tiny toes and his tiny fingers, and so very, very still. No cries, no breaths, his light brown skin stark and bloodless. Her womb hadn't been able to sustain him as it hadn't been able to hold on to her and Abe's child.

  Putting down her coffee mug when her hand began to shake, she clenched her fingers in Flossie's coat when her dog whined and nudged at her. "I know, Flossie," she said on a wave of heart-deep pain. "I should call Lola." Her best friend wouldn't thank her for trying to handle this day of all days on her own--but Sarah was well aware Lola had stresses of her own right now.

  The woman who'd once been a teen single mom and was today a successful entrepreneur--though still very much a mom to her now college-aged son--was normally resident in Los Angeles. Six weeks earlier, however, after her father suffered a severe fall, Lola had flown to Houston to help her mother cope. She and Sarah spoke on the phone at least twice a week and aside from those who'd been there that night, Lola was the only one who knew about Jeremy hitting Sarah.

  She'd recommended they "fry the bastard's balls" and "feed them to him."

  Lola could be a little scary when the people she loved were hurt.

  Wanting to smile through the pain lodged inside her, Sarah made the call. Not just to lean on Lola's shoulder, but to ask after her. It turned out her friend had needed a chat, too. "I love my folks," she said toward the end of the call, "but I'm hanging out to see you. Hopefully it won't be too much longer. Dad's improving rapidly."

  "If you do need to spend more time in Houston, I'll fly to see you."

  "Sarah, you have no idea how much that means to me," Lola said before she had to hang up to take her father to a medical appointment. "And hon, be kind to yourself today, okay?"