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all.”
    “And?” I asked, allowing my impatience to show.
    “Do you know someone named Trevor Woodleigh?”
    I recoiled as if I’d been slapped. Wes must have seen something in my face, because he immediately asked, “Are you all right?” He sounded worried.
    I looked away from his knowing eyes, forcing myself to breathe deeply as I watched a series of low-rolling waves sweep toward shore and break with a frothy murmur.
    Trevor Woodleigh had been my hero. As CEO of Frisco’s, he’d been generous with his time and attention, helping me hone my skills as an antiques appraiser. From the first day I met him—during a new employee orientation workshop, at which he’d offered a gracious welcome to us all—until I wore the wire that caught him dead to rights conspiring with his chief competitor to hold commissions steady, I’d considered him a mentor, a leader, and an inspiration.
    I still flinched when I thought of those months—my hero breaking the law; the sharklike press that circled around me for weeks, ready to attack; the unremitting icy contempt I endured from my colleagues; and the terse explanation from a newly hired acting CEO that they were concerned about my ability to function as a team player, and so, regretfully, I was being let go. I’d gone from golden girl with an unlimited future to pariah in a matter of months.
    I shook my head, trying to regain my composure. “Yeah. I know him,” I said.
    “From what I read, your testimony was central to his decision to accept the plea bargain. What was the original charge?”
    “Didn’t you read that part, too?”
    He looked a little self-conscious, but it was a prideful look. Wes was pleased with his comprehensive research. “Yeah, I did. Conspiracy to defraud. Racketeering. Perjury. I think there might have been a grand larceny charge as well, but that one was dropped as part of the plea bargain. Isn’t that right?”
    “Yeah.”
    I recalled how awful I’d felt when the prosecutor congratulated me for doing a good job, telling me that my testimony had led Trevor to accept the government’s offer of a plea bargain. I hadn’t wanted to do a good job. All I’d set out to do was tell the truth, but somehow my altruism was perceived as a betrayal of the firm, and by Trevor himself as a clever power-grabbing ploy. I’d learned a bitter lesson. Never again would I expect to be valued for doing the right thing. My testimony cost me more than my job; it cost me my innocence.
    “Why did you ask if I knew him?” I said, watching a gull spike and dive into a wave in pursuit of a fish.
    “Seems he just got out of prison.”
    I turned and stared at Wes. My mouth opened, but I couldn’t speak. I took a sip of coffee and coughed. “Trevor’s out of prison?”
    Wes nodded. “Yeah.”
    “When?” I asked. “When did he get out?”
    “Three days ago,” he said.
    I was speechless, stunned at the implication. A man who, from all reports, sincerely believed that I had conspired to entrap him in order to further my career by eliminating him as a rival was out of prison, free to exact revenge.

CHAPTER TEN
    W
    here is he now?” I whispered.
    “At his sister’s house in Manhattan.” He extracted a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and turned it over. “On East Sixty-fifth Street. Do you know where that is?”
    “Yes,” I replied, looking at the ocean. The tanker had passed out of sight.
    East Sixty-fifth Street was a world away from New Hampshire, but less than six hours by car.
    “Do you suspect that he . . . I mean, are you saying that he . . .” I left the thought unspoken.
    Wes shrugged. “I’m checking further.”
    “What are you checking?”
    “I’m looking into his whereabouts the night of the Gala.”
    My heart skipped a beat. Can it be?
    Images of working with Trevor, of being with him, flooded into my head. Horrible courtroom moments and exhilarating work experiences came together in a confusing mix. On some level, I