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Jessica Legare kept an escape bag in the lower-left drawer of the desk in her home office. It held a burner phone, fake passports for herself and her son, two credit cards in the same name as her passport, hair dye, a loaded SIG P365, and a heart-shaped silver locket.

The bag was Dior, of course. Jess always carried a Dior purse, so to a careful observer, anything else might be a tip-off that she was up to something. If she ever had to run, she wanted to be halfway around the world before anyone noticed she was gone. She’d been caught flat-footed once—and she got arrested and very nearly spent the rest of her life in prison as a result.

She would not let that happen again.

The man who got Jess arrested, Beckett Harrison, was now in jail himself, facing a long list of felony charges, including murder. Still, Jess didn’t assume she was safe. In fact, she knew she wasn’t. Even if everything went completely according to plan, there was a good chance she’d need that escape bag.

Should she use it now? She opened the drawer and peered into the shadowy interior, lit only by the glow from the monitors on her desk. She could use one of the cards in the bag to buy tickets to Paris for her and her son, Simon. An Uber to the airport could go on the other card. She could wake Simon and bundle him into the car when it arrived. Twenty-four hours from now they could be safely nestled into one of the little villages dotting the French Alps. They had distant relatives there. Maybe they could build new lives for themselves.

She sighed and shut the drawer. It was a nice fantasy, but nothing more. She and Simon wouldn’t be safe in France. They’d just face different dangers. Her best bet was to stick to the plan. Besides, she needed to finish what she’d started. She owed it to her family and herself.

Her computer chimed, notifying her that it was 6:25 a.m. and her video call was scheduled to start in five minutes. She turned on her voice-altering program and opened the call. She kept her camera off. The calling program had end-to-end encryption, but she was taking no chances.

At six thirty sharp, two men joined the call. Both also had their cameras off and used voice-altering software. One had a picture of a gorgeous English cream golden retriever for an avatar, a subtle reference to the fact that his family raised championship dogs a century ago. The other man’s avatar was the Punisher’s death’s-head logo, a not-at-all-subtle reference to how he viewed himself. Though she knew the real identities of both men, thinking of them as their avatars helped her distance herself and remember not to call them by name.

English Cream spoke first. “Greetings, all. Our buyers are getting impatient and starting to ask questions, especially with these new, very valuable pieces of art coming from the digs. We have to get them sold before anyone discovers the new areas being looted. How soon can deliveries resume?”

“Soon,”

Punisher replied. “Beach is crawling with Coasties and cops all the way from Biloxi to Pensacola. We’re working on an alternate route. Should be good to go in a week or so.”

“And I can handle the paperwork, at least for now.”

Jess hadn’t cared about the art they’d smuggled earlier—but this new vein of artifacts was culturally important, and she was eager to get them into the hands of collectors who could pay well. A brand-new Mayan ruin had been located in the jungle, and the treasures it offered were worth a fortune. They included a complete chocolate set and extremely rare codex pages found in a sealed jar. Her conscience twinged at the knowledge that the artifacts they’d found in Central and South America belonged in a museum, but her partners would insist that they be sold for full value.

She pushed away her qualms and focused on how these sales furthered her desire for revenge.

“Good, and what of the other initiatives?”

English Cream asked. “Are those proceeding despite the, ah, excitement of the last month?”

Jess nodded, even though no one could see her. “We’re very short-staffed, of course.”

Which was a major understatement—every member of the Tupelo Grove branch of the organization was now dead or behind bars, except Jess. “Nonetheless, everything is on schedule.”

“Excellent!”

The satisfaction in English Cream’s voice came through despite the robotic distortion. “You’ve done fine work.”

The job ahead of her would be hard, but it would be worth it. If only she didn’t have to cause her sister so much pain in the process.

* * *

Whoever thought young love was the best hadn’t walked through the fire to arrive at Savannah Webster’s unexpected destination. She smiled at her ex-husband on the other side of the flickering candlelight. Even at thirty-seven Hez retained his lean, muscular build and strong jawline. He commanded a room when he entered, and he still had her heart.

She swept her hand at the familiar dining room. “It feels right to be back here.”

Billy’s Seafood Restaurant in Pelican Harbor had been the site of landmark moments in their past. He’d asked her to marry him the first time at this very table, and they’d celebrated all their anniversaries here. This spot held tender memories and others with a sharper edge to them. The food and ambience had been a constant throughout their marriage.

He reached across the table and laced his fingers with hers. “Our first real date in ages. This is where I wanted to bring you last summer when I showed up at your office.”

If she hadn’t been so hardheaded that day, she wouldn’t be single right now. “Better late than never. I’ve been thinking about where and when to have our wedding. What do you think about the gorgeous old chapel on campus? Plans are under way to restore it, and it should be finished by June when the term ends.”

“June? Why so long?”

He flashed an amorous smile. “Run away with me. I’ll pull some strings and we can get married after dessert.”

It was a tempting offer, especially with the candlelight dancing in his blue eyes and gleaming off his dark hair. But she shook her head. “I want to do this right, Hez. A clean break and a fresh start. Just getting remarried right away in front of a justice of the peace would feel . . . I don’t know, like nothing has changed and we’re going to slip back into the old habits that wrecked our marriage the first time.”

His eyes grew tender. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I understand. And I agree—as much as I’d love to have you back tonight.”

Her heart stuttered and she squeezed his hand back. “Almost as much as I’d love to have you.”

She took a deep breath to steady herself. He hadn’t formally asked her yet, but they both knew they belonged together. “There are practical things we need to think about too. We need to find a house to buy. With Jess’s hours, I expect Simon will be with us a lot. My rental on campus isn’t big enough for you to have a home office and Simon to have his own room. I’d like a place off campus where Simon can play ball with his friends.”

“You’re right, and I want to get the Justice Chamber planned too. There’s a lot for both of us to do, but I’m ready to restart our life together. That old chapel is beautiful. Do you want to do the whole thing again—white dress and tux?”

“I don’t need a big, fancy wedding. Just a sweet ceremony with close friends and family. I don’t need a fancy dress with a sweeping train for you to stumble over.”

His smile extended to his eyes. “I remember that. In my defense, it was dark outside and I was ducking the birdseed.”

“You had a cut on your head where it hit the bench on your way down.”

He rubbed his head. “I was afraid I was bleeding all over your dress. I’m glad we aren’t replaying that fiasco.”

She took a sip of her sweet tea and waited while the server delivered their oysters. “A simple sheath will suit me fine. Maybe a pale blue one. You can wear a suit instead of a tux. Jess will be my maid of honor, of course. Who do you want for your best man? Maybe Blake?”

“I was thinking about asking Simon. He might actually say yes if he doesn’t have to wear a tux.”

“Oh, Hez, he would love that! I’d assumed you’d ask Blake or Jimmy. Jimmy’s done a lot for you.”

“It would be hard to choose between them, but they’d both understand if I ask Simon.”

He took an oyster shell and slid the meat into his mouth. “Wow, these are good. Have one.”

She picked up one and ate it. The salty taste tantalized her taste buds, and she swallowed it down with a cracker. “So good.”

She gave him a mischievous smile. “We could ask Jimmy to be the ring bearer.”

Hez chuckled. “That’s quite a mental picture. He’d make four of Simon.”

“We could tell the guests he’s your bouncer and is there to keep you from backing out.”

“Or maybe to keep you from running away.”

She shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere. I have a chain in the car ready to use on you, though.”

His smile vanished. “I will never leave, Savannah. I learned from my mistakes.”

“We both did.”

She withdrew her hand to take a look at the menu. “The specials sound great, but I must have my favorite shrimp étouffée.”

A server carried a bottle of wine and two stemmed glasses past their table. Hez’s gaze followed the trajectory as the man delivered the wine with a flourish to the couple next to them. The familiar bottle with its black-and-copper label reminded her of the last time Hez had ordered his favorite Nth Degree chardonnay. After too many refills, she’d had to steady him for the walk back to the Bayfront Inn.

Hez cleared his throat. “I love it too, but I’m not sure it will taste the same with water instead of a good chardonnay.”

He inclined his head toward the other table. “Looks like a few more people have discovered our favorite label.”

His favorite label. She struggled to keep her smile in place. She’d be happy if she never saw another bottle of wine in her life. She’d read that 85 percent of alcoholics relapsed in the first year and 90 percent in the first four years. Knowing Hez, she was sure he was aware of those statistics and was determined to be in the small percentage of people who stayed the course. She didn’t understand the struggle he faced, but she wanted to. And she wanted to help in any way she could.

She studied his wistful expression. Was he missing the taste of the wine, or was he thinking of happier times and the things they’d celebrated? Or were good wine and good times inextricably intertwined in his memories? It began to dawn on her that this might be a lifelong battle for him.