The whole thing is crazy," I said when Susan had finished reading Nick's e-mail. I had printed it out and asked her to take a look at it during our Saturday therapy session. "He's turned everything backward. Upside down. It's like Alice in Wonderland."

It was ten pages long and filled with accusations and lies. I had felt dirty and tainted after reading it, but most of all, outraged. Nick had recast our entire marriage, with himself as the victim and me as the villain. According to Nick, I had been an insane, histrionic, and unfaithful wife, and he had tried in vain to pacify me and my moods and rages. And in the end, when he had lost his temper with me, it was because I had pushed him to the edge, by rejecting his honest efforts to fix our relationship.

"What pisses me off the most," I continued heatedly, "is how detailed and convincing it is... like Nick believes his own crap. But he doesn't, does he? And why would he write this to me? Does he actually think I'm going to buy any of this?"

Susan's brow was furrowed. "Pathological lying is the MO for a narcissist... they're not interested in the truth, only in what gets them what they want. Which is attention. Supply. So basically Nick is trying to get a reaction from you. Any kind of reaction."

"Like, me hating him is just as good a supply as me loving him?"

"Exactly. Attention is attention. The only thing Nick can't tolerate is indifference. That creates what's called 'narcissistic injury'... and unfortunately this e-mail is sending strong signals in that direction."

I didn't like the sound of that. "So what happens when Nick gets a narcissistic injury?"

"He may try to frighten you in some way, which to him is another form of supply. And if you refuse to react, it may very well escalate the situation."

"Oh, great. Does that mean more phone calls? More unexpected visits?"

"I hope not. But yes, probably. And if he's angry enough, he may want to punish you."

There was silence in Susan's small office while I digested the information. It was so unfair. I had thought that divorcing Nick would be enough. Why did he have to pull this crap with me? Why did he expect me to go on being a supporting player in the movie of his life?

"How do I get rid of him?" I asked.

"There's no easy answer. But if I were you, I would save this e-mail and document every interaction with him. And try to go no-contact, no matter what he does. Refuse gifts, don't answer e-mails or letters, and don't discuss him with anyone who might approach you on his behalf." Susan looked down at the e-mail, frowning. "If a narcissist is made to feel inferior to something or someone, it eats away at him until it's relieved. Until he feels he can walk away as the winner."

"But we're divorced," I protested. "There's nothing to win!"

"Yes there is. He's fighting to retain his image of himself. Because without that image of superiority and dominance and control... Nick is nothing."

The session with Susan had not done a lot for my mood. I felt anxious and angry, and I wanted comfort. And since Hardy was still not answering his cell phone, he had moved close to the top of my shit list.

When my phone finally rang on Sunday, I checked the caller ID eagerly. My hopes were deflated as I saw it was my dad. Sighing, I picked it up and answered morosely. "Hello?"

"Haven." Dad sounded gruff and self-satisfied in a way I didn't like. "I need you to come over. There's something we have to talk about."

"Okay. When?"

"Now."

I would have loved to tell him I had something else going on, but no convenient excuses sprang to mind. And since I was already bored and moody, I figured I might as well go see him.

"Sure thing, Dad," I said. "I'll be right over."

I drove to River Oaks, and I found Dad in his bedroom, which was the size of a small apartment. He was relaxing in a massage chair in his sitting area, punching buttons in the control panel.

"Want to try it?" Dad offered, patting the arm of the chair. "Fifteen different kinds of massage. It analyzes your back muscles and makes recommendations. It also grabs and stretches the thigh and calf muscles."

"No, thanks. I prefer my furniture to keep its hands to itself." I smiled at him and sat in a nearby, ordinary chair. "No how's it going. Dad? What do you want to talk about?"

He took his time about answering, taking a moment to enter a massage program into the chair. It began whirring and adjusting the seat position. "Hardy Cates," he said.

I shook my head. "No way. I'm not talking to you about him. Whatever it is you want to know, I'm not — "

"I'm not asking for information, Haven. I know something about him. Something you need to hear."

Every instinct urged me to leave right then. I knew my father kept tabs on everyone and would have had no compunction about digging up dirt from Hardy's past. I didn't need or want to hear anything that Hardy wasn't ready to confide. Besides, I was pretty sure I knew what Dad was going to tell me: about Hardy's father, and his prison time, and the DUI arrest. So I decided to stay and hear Dad out, and put him in his place.

The room was quiet except for the whirring of mechanical gears and rollers. I summoned a cool smile. "All right, tell me."

"I warned you about him," Dad said, "and I was right. He sold you out, honey. So it's best to put him out of your mind and go find someone else. Someone who'll be good to you."

"Sold me out?" I stared at him in bewilderment. "What are you talking about?"

"T.J. Bolt gave me a call after he saw you with Cates on Friday night. He asked me what I thought, about you taking up with a rascal like Cates, and I told him."

"What a pair of busybodies," I said in annoyance. "Good Lord, with all the time and money each of you has, you can't think of any thing better to talk about than my love life?"

"T.J. had an idea to expose Cates for what he is... to show you what kind of man you're keeping company with. And after he told me about it, I agreed. So T.J. called Cates yesterday — "

"Oh, hell," I whispered.

" — and offered him a deal. He said he'd sign the lease contract Cates offered him a while back, and forgo the bonus completely. If Cates promised to drop you for good. No dating, no socializing of any kind."

"And Hardy told T.J. to go screw himself," I said.

My father gave me a pitying glance. "No. Cates took the deal." He leaned back in his massage chair, while I absorbed the information.

My skin was prickling and crawling. My mind rejected it — Hardy would never have taken such a deal. Not after the night we'd spent together. I knew he had feelings for me. I knew he needed me. It didn't make sense for Hardy to throw it all away. Not for some leases he would have probably gotten in time, anyway.

What the hell was going on in Hardy's head? I had to find out. But first...

"You manipulative old coot," I said. "Why do you have to go messing around in my private life?"

"Because I love you."

"Love means respecting someone else's rights and boundaries! I'm not a child. I'm... no, you don't even think of me as a child, you think of me as a dog you can lead around on a leash and control in any way you — "

"I don't think of you as a dog," Dad interrupted, scowling, "Now, settle down and — "

"I'm not going to settle down! I have every right to be furious. Tell me, would you pull this kind of crap with Gage or Jack or Joe?"

"They're my sons. They're men. You're a daughter who's already gone through one bad marriage and was likely headed for another."

"Until you can treat me like a human being, Dad, our relationship is over. I've had it." I stood and slung my bag over my shoulder.

"I've done you a favor," Dad said irritably. "I just showed you that Hardy Cates isn't good enough for you. Everyone knows it. He knows it. And if you weren't so hardheaded, you'd admit it too."

"If he really agreed to this deal with T.J.," I said, "then he doesn't deserve me. But neither do you, for doing something so rotten in the first place."

"You're going to shoot the messenger?"

"Yeah, Dad, if the messenger can't learn to keep his interfering ass out of my business." I walked toward the doorway.

"Well," I heard my father mutter, "at least you're through with Hardy Cates."

I turned back to scowl at him over my shoulder. "I'm not through with him yet. I won't be gotten rid of without finding out the reason. A real reason, not some half-baked business deal you and T.J came up with."

There was no one I could talk to. I had been warned by everyone, including Todd, that this was exactly what I should expect from Hardy Cates. I couldn't even call Liberty, because he had done something similar to her once and she couldn't say it was out of character. And I felt like such an idiot, because I still loved him.

Part of me wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. Another part was ripping mad. And another part was busy analyzing the situation and trying to figure out the best way to handle it. I decided to cool down before I confronted Hardy. I would call him tomorrow after work, and we would talk everything out. If he wanted to break everything off between us, I would deal with it. But at least it wouldn't be done third-party, by a couple of manipulative old geezers.

The office was unusually subdued when I went in at eight on Monday morning. The employees were quiet and busy. No one seemed inclined to share details about their weekend as we usually did. No water-cooler gossip, no friendly chitchat.

As lunchtime approached, I went to Samantha's cubicle to ask if she wanted to go get a sandwich with me.

Samantha, usually so vivacious, looked shrunken and despondent as she sat behind her desk. Her father had died about two weeks earlier, so I knew it would take some time before she was back to her old self.

"Want to go out for lunch?" I asked gently. "It's on me." She gave me a wan smile and shrugged. "I'm not hungry. But thanks."

"Let me at least bring you a yogurt or a — " I stopped as I saw the glitter of a tear beneath one of her eyes. "Oh, Samantha... " I went around to her side of the desk and hugged her. "I'm sorry. Bad day, huh? Thinking about your dad?"

She nodded and rummaged for a tissue in her desk drawer.

"Partly that." She blew her nose. "And partly... " Her slender hand reached across the desk and nudged a sheet of paper to me.

"What is this? A billing sheet?" I frowned curiously. "What's the problem?"

"My weekly paycheck is on direct deposit, every Friday. So I checked my account balance last week, and it was a lot lower than I expected. Today I logged on to the office computer and found out why." She smiled crookedly. Her eyes pooled again. "You know that huge flower arrangement the company sent to my father's funeral? The one with all your names on the card?"

"Yeah." I almost didn't want to hear what she was going to say next.

"Well, it cost two hundred dollars. And Vanessa took it out of my paycheck."

"Oh, God."

"I don't know why she'd do something like this," Samantha continued. "But I've made her mad somehow. I think it was those days I took off after Dad died... she's been weird and cold to me ever since."

"You took those days off to go to your father's funeral, Sam. No normal person would hold that against you."

"I know." She gave a shaky sigh. "Vanessa must be under a lot of pressure. She told me it was the worst possible time for me to be absent from work. She seemed so disappointed in me."

I was filled with volcanic rage. I wanted to storm through the office like Godzilla and trample Vanessa's desk underfoot. If Vanessa wanted to attack and belittle me, I could handle it. But to crush poor Samantha right after the death of a beloved parent... it was too much.

"Don't tell her I complained," Samantha whispered "I couldn't handle getting in trouble right now."

"You won't get in trouble. And Samantha, that two-hundred-dollar deduction was a mistake. It's going into your account right away."

She gave me a doubtful glance.

"It was a mistake," I repeated. Pulling out a clean tissue, I dabbed at her eyes. "The office is paying for those flowers, not you. I'm going to fix this, okay? "

"Okay." She managed a smile. "Thanks, Haven."

The intercom pad on my desk beeped. Since the office was furnished in an open-cubicle system, anything Vanessa said on the intercom was audible to everyone.

"Haven, come to my office, please."

"No problem," I muttered, leaving Samantha's cubicle and heading to Vanessa's corner office. I deliberately took my time, trying to compose myself before confronting my boss. I knew I was probably going to get fired for what I was about to say, and that afterward I would probably be the victim of a highly effective smear campaign. But that didn't matter. I could get another job. And the damage Vanessa would do to my reputation wasn't nearly as important as standing up to her.

By the time I reached Vanessa's office, she had pressed the intercom button again. "Haven, come to my — "

"I'm here," I said, going directly to her desk. I didn't sit, just stood and faced her.

Vanessa stared at me as if I were an ant crawling up the wall. "Wait at my door, please," she said in a detached tone, "until you're invited in. Haven't we gone over that enough times for you to remember, Haven?"

"I'm setting aside the rules for a few minutes. This is important. There's been a mistake with the billing sheets. It needs to be fixed."

Vanessa was not accustomed to anyone else setting the agenda. "I don't have time for this, Haven. I didn't call you to the office to talk about the billing sheets."

"Don't you want to know what it is?" I waited. When it was obvious she wasn't going to answer, I shook my head slowly. "No, because you already know. It wasn't a mistake, was it?"

A curious, chilling smile spread across her lips. "Okay, Haven. I'll play. What is it?"

"Samantha's been charged for the flowers the office sent to her father's funeral." I waited for any kind of reaction, a slight widening of the eyes, a flicker of shame, a frown. Anything. But Vanessa showed all the emotion of a department store mannequin. "We're going to fix it, right?"

An excruciating silence passed. Silence was one of Vanessa's more effective weapons... she would stare at me until I felt myself collapsing like a tower of blocks, and I'd say something, anything, to fill the unnerving wordless void. But I held her stare. The silence drew out until it was actually sort of funny. But I managed to outwait her.

"You're out of line," she informed me. "How I choose to manage the employees is none of your business, Haven."

"So taking that money out of Samantha's paycheck is some kind of management technique?"

"I think you'd better leave my office right now. In fact, take the day off. I've had more than enough of you and your bratty attitude."

"If you don't agree to put that money into Samantha's account," I said, "I'm going to Jack."

That got a reaction. Her face darkened, and her eyes flashed. "You spoiled bitch," she said, her voice taking on a crisp edge.

"Nick's told me all about you... how you use people, how selfish you are. How you lie and manipulate to get your way. Lazy, cheating, whiny little parasite — "

"Yeah, that's my PR from Nick." I wondered if she had actually gone out with my ex-husband. Good Lord, what was it like when two narcissists went on a date? "But that's not what we were talking about, is it? Are you going to give the money back, or should I go to Jack?"

"You dare say one word to him, and I'll unload. By the time I finish telling him what you really are, he'll be as disgusted by you as I am. He'll tell you where to — "

"Vanessa," I said quietly, "he's my brother. Are you really so arrogant that you think you could turn him against me? You think he'll take your side over mine? Jack is loyal. You can trash me all you want, and it won't do you any good with him."

Her face was starting to look splotchy, rage bringing up red patches that seemed to float on top of her skin like oil slicks on water. But somehow she managed to keep her tone controlled. "Get out of my office, Haven. And don't come back. You've just been let go."

I was calm on the surface even though my heart had been galvanized into a rocketing pace. "That's what I thought you'd say. Bye, Vanessa."

I went to my desk to get my purse. As I reached my cubicle, I was bemused to see Samantha, Rob, and Kimmie all standing there, wearing identical blank expressions. If I hadn't been so distracted, I might have thought it was funny, the way they all looked. "What's going on?" I asked, going into my cubicle. I stopped short as I saw Jack beside my desk. He was staring down at the intercom pad, his color high and his month hard.

"Hey, Jack," I said in bewilderment. "What are you doing here?"

He answered slowly. "I came to take you out to lunch."

Kimmie moved closer to me and touched my arm. "The intercom was on," she murmured.

Vanessa must have forgotten to turn it off when I had barged into her office. And Jack and the others had heard every word.

Jack picked up my purse and handed it to me. "Come on," he said gruffly.

I went with him, blanching as I realized we were heading to Vanessa's office.

Opening the closed door without a knock, Jack stood in the doorway and gave her a hard stare.

My boss's face went blank. "Jack," she said in surprise. And then she gave him a warm smile, and she looked so poised and pleasant that I was astonished by the change in her. "How nice to see you. Come in, please."

My brother shook his head, his dark eyes cold. And he said three words in a tone that left no room for negotiation. "Pack your things."

I spent the rest of the afternoon with Jack, explaining how Vanessa had tried to bully and gaslight me, and that she was now likely doing the same thing with Samantha. By the time I had finished, Jack had stopped shaking his head and swearing, and simply looked sick.

"Sweet Jesus, Haven... why didn't you say anything to me before now?"

"I didn't want to be a prima donna. I wanted what was best for the company, and I knew she'd done good work for you in the past."

"Fuck the company," he said. "People matter more than business. I don't care how good the manager is if she behaves like a damn terrorist behind the scenes."

"At first I hoped Vanessa would get better over time, or that we'd work out some kind of system we could both live with. But I've come to realize that kind never gets better. There's no working things out. She's like Nick. A malignant narcissist. She doesn't feel any more remorse over hurting a fellow human being than you or I might feel about stepping on an ant."

Jack's mouth was set in a grim slash. "You meet a lot of that type in the business world. And although I hate to say it, some of that behavior... being ambitious and ruthless and selfish... can get you pretty far in some companies. But not mine."

"Are you really going to get rid of her?"

He nodded at once. "She's gone. I'll have to replace her now." A meaningful pause. "Any ideas?"

"I can do it," I said readily. "I'm not saying I'll be perfect. I'll make mistakes. But I know I can handle the responsibility."

A smile spread across my brother's face. "You're singing a different tune than when you started."

My answering smile was wry. "I've been on a fast learning curve lately."

We discussed the office situation a while longer, and then the conversation turned to personal matters. I couldn't help telling Jack about my falling-out with Dad. About T.J. and Hardy, and the lease deal.

Jack was satisfyingly irate about the whole thing, saying they were all assholes. He also agreed with me that I needed to get to the bottom of Hardy's behavior, because it didn't make sense. "T.J.'s got some prime property," he said, "but he's not the only game in town. And your boy Hardy can go shopping anywhere he wants. He may want those leases, but he doesn't need 'em. So I'd say this is Cates's way of breaking up with you. He's done something he knows will force you to call it off."

"The passive-aggressive jerk," I said. "If he wants to break up with me, he'll have to do it face-to-face."

Jack grinned. "I almost pity the bastard. Okay — you handle Cates, and I'll set Dad straight on a few things."

"No," I said automatically, "don't do anything about Dad. You can't fix my relationship with him."

"I can block or run interference."

"Thanks, Jack, but I don't need blocking, and I really don't need any more interference."

He looked annoyed. "Well, why did you waste all that time complaining to me if you didn't want me to do something about it?"

"I don't want you to fix my problems. I just wanted you to listen."

"Hang it all, Haven, talk to a girlfriend if all you want is a pair of ears. Guys hate it when you give us a problem and then don't let us do something about it. It makes us feel bad. And then the only way to make ourselves feel better is to rip a phone book in two or blow something up. So let's get this straight — I'm not a good listener. I'm a guy."

"Yes you are." I stood and smiled. "Want to buy me a drink at an after work bar?"

"Now you're talking," my brother said, and we left the office.

It was early evening when I returned to my apartment. I felt better after a drink and a couple of hours in Jack's easygoing presence. The thing that surprised me was his lack of condemnation for Hardy, especially given his earlier stance on the subject.

"I'm not for or against him," Jack had informed me, tilting back a long-necked beer. "Here's how I'm looking at this deal with T.J.: Hardy's either done the wrong thing for the wrong reason... " Another big swallow. "Or the wrong thing for the right reason."

"How could there possibly be a right reason for what he did?"

"Hell, I don't know. Give him a chance to explain himself, is all I'm saying."

"Todd thinks Hardy is conniving and twisted," I'd said morosely.

For some reason that had made Jack laugh. "Well, you oughta be used to that, coming from the Travis family. There's not a one of us — with the exception of Gage — who isn't as twisted as a duck's dick. And the same goes for Todd."

"You're scaring me," I said, but I hadn't been able to restrain a rueful smile.

I continued to smile as I went into my apartment, but I was nervous, thinking about seeing Hardy. As I saw the continuous blinking of the answering machine, my heart gave a little jolt. I went to the machine and pressed a button to hear the message.

Hardy's voice. "I need to see you. Please call me when you get in tonight."

"Okay," I whispered, closing my eyes briefly. But I opened them right away, because something had caught my attention. A glitter and gleam next to the phone base. Perplexed, I reached out for the object, and was astonished to discover it was a charm bracelet. Aunt Gretchen's. But how had it gotten there? It had been in Nick's possession. Nick —

Before I could make a sound, someone came up behind me, and a hand clamped on my neck. The barrel of a handgun pressed cold and hard against the side of my head. I knew who it was even before I heard his gloating voice.

"Got you now, Marie."