“Yes, but he’s running Riley Whitefield’s campaign for mayor. I thought you knew.”
Gracie was more out of the loop than she’d realized. “When did that happen?”
“A few months ago. He hired Zeke because—”
Footsteps thundered on the stairs. Seconds later Vivian burst into the kitchen.
“Hey, Alexis,” she said as she fastened her long hair into a braid. “Want to take my place at the store today?”
“Not really.”
Vivian grinned. “It doesn’t hurt to ask. I’m off to do slave labor to pay for my wedding dress. Don’t have too much fun while I’m gone.”
The back door slammed shut behind her. A minute later, a car engine started, sputtered, then caught.
Alexis walked to the window over the sink and stared out toward the street. “Okay, she’s gone. Where were we?”
“You were telling me that your husband now works for Riley Whitefield. How did that happen?”
“Zeke spent two years after college working for a senator from Arizona.” Her worry faded a little as she faced Gracie and smiled. “I was at Arizona State and he...” Alexis shook her head. “God, that was a lifetime ago. I can’t believe he’d do this to me. I love him so much and I th-thought....” Her voice cracked. “What am I going to do?”
Gracie had the uneasy sensation of being trapped in the middle of a fun house. Nothing was as it seemed and she didn’t know her way out.
Sure, Alexis and Vivian were her sisters. Her family. They looked enough alike that no one could mistake the genetic connection. Long blond hair—pale for Alexis, strawberry for Vivian and gold for herself—big blue eyes and the same average body build. But she’d been doing this sister thing long distance for half her life. She didn’t know how to slide back into confidences and advice mode without a little warm-up.
“You don’t know for sure Zeke is doing anything,” Gracie said. “Maybe it is the campaign.”
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” She took a step forward.
Gracie got a bad feeling in her already queasy stomach. “I’m going to hate myself for asking, but how?”
“By spying on him. He’s supposed to have a meeting with Riley tonight and I’m going to be there.”
“Not the best idea in the world,” Gracie said as she reached for her coffee. “Trust me. I speak from experience. Riley experience.”
“I’m going to do it,” Alexis said, her eyes filling with tears, “and I need your help.”
Gracie set down her coffee cup. “No. No. Alexis, I can’t. You can’t. It’s crazy.”
Tears trickled down her sister’s cheeks. Pain darkened her blue eyes. Alexis personified agony and Gracie didn’t know how to fight that. But she tried.
“It will only lead to disaster,” she said firmly. “I won’t be a part of that.”
“I u-understand,” Alexis said as her mouth quivered.
“Good. Because I’m not going with you.”
* * *
LATE THAT NIGHT, Gracie found herself following her sister along a trimmed hedge just east of a massive old house. Not just any house, either. The Whitefield family mansion, home to umpteen generations of wealthy Whitefields and now Riley’s main residence.
“This is insane,” Gracie whispered to her sister as they paused to crouch a few feet from a back window. “I stopped spying on Riley when I was fourteen. I can’t believe I’m doing this again.”
“You’re not spying on Riley, you’re spying on Zeke. There’s a big difference.”
“I doubt Riley will see that, if we’re caught.”
“Then we won’t be caught. Did you bring your camera?”
Gracie grabbed her trusty Polaroid from under her arm and held it out. Light from the streetlamp glinted off the narrow lens.
“Get ready,” Alexis said. “The library window is around the corner. You should be able to get a really good picture from there.”
“Why aren’t you getting the picture?” Gracie asked as dread made her legs feel as heavy as bronze.
“Because I’m going to stay here and see if any floozy bitch runs out the back way.”
“If Zeke were having an affair, wouldn’t he just go to a motel?” Gracie asked.
“He can’t. I pay the bills. Besides, when we were dating, he let some guy use his apartment for a lunchtime rendezvous. I’m telling you, Riley’s doing the same for Zeke. Who holds campaign meetings until two in the morning?”
It sounded logical in a twisted psychotic way, Gracie thought as she inched toward the side of the house. Especially if one ignored the reality of sneaking onto private property to snap pictures through an open window.
“We don’t even know if they’re in the library,” Gracie said in a low voice.
“Zeke says they always meet there. If he’s really at a campaign meeting, that’s where it should take place.”
“Can’t I just look through the window and tell you what I see?” Gracie asked.
“I want proof.”
What Gracie wanted was to be far, far from here. But she recognized Alexis’s stubborn expression and her own guilt. Even if she wanted to turn her back on her sister, she couldn’t. Better to simply take the pictures and get out than stay crouched and arguing.
“Get ready,” Gracie said as she once again moved toward the house.
The bushes under the building were thicker than they first appeared. They scratched her bare arms and tugged at her khakis. Worse, the library window was higher than her, which meant she had to hold the camera above her head, point down into the room and take a picture without being sure what, or who, was in there.
It would just be her luck to focus the camera just as someone looked out the window.
“Here goes nothing,” she muttered as she stretched up on tiptoes and pushed the red button.
Hot, bright light exploded in the night. Gracie instantly dropped to her knees as she swore under her breath. The flash! How could she have forgotten about the flash?
“Because I use the camera to take pictures of wedding cakes, not to spy on people,” she muttered as she scrambled back to her feet and started running toward the car.
There was no sign of Alexis, nor did Gracie know if she’d actually gotten a picture of anything. Not that it mattered. She just wanted to get out of here before—
“Freeze!”
As the forceful command was accompanied by something hard and very gunlike being jabbed between her shoulder blades, Gracie did as instructed. She froze.
“What the hell are you up to? If you’re a thief, you’re a piss-poor one. Or do you always announce yourself with a flashbulb?”
“Not if I can help it,” Gracie said as she sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry if I startled you. I can explain.”
As she spoke, she turned, and as she turned she saw the man holding the shotgun and he saw her.
Both of them jumped back. While Gracie wished the ground would open up and swallow her, he looked as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Sweet Jesus,” Riley Whitefield breathed. “Gracie Landon, is that you?”