her at any time, day or night, and John Walters had taken advantage of that fact more than once. Caley wondered what kind of emergency had come up at nearly 4:00 a.m. Manhattan time.
She flipped open the phone and held it to her ear. “Hello?”
“I figured you were screening so I was forced to call from the payphone on the corner.”
Caley recognized Brian’s voice and bit back another curse. “I really don’t want to talk to you. I said everything I needed to say before I left. It’s over.”
“Caley, we can work this out. You can’t just end it. Everything was going so well.”
She laughed, shaking her head at his ability to spin the situation. Brian was one of the most successful young lawyers on Wall Street. Like her, he could put a positive spin on the worst disaster imaginable.
“How can you say that?” she asked. “We barely see each other. And when we do, we have nothing to say. We talk about work.”
“What do you want? I can talk about other things.”
“That’s not the point,” Caley said, growing more frustrated. Usually, she was able to express her views clearly and unemotionally. But this time she had no idea what she wanted. She just knew she didn’t want to come home to Brian anymore. For a long time, her life had felt out of balance and this was the only way she could think to fix it.
“What is the point?” he asked.
“I—” she took a deep breath “—I’m not happy.”
“When has that ever made a difference to you? You work nonstop, you never take a vacation, every minute of your life is planned. Of course you’re not happy. Who would be? But, Caley, that’s the way you like it.”
“Not anymore,” she said. “It just doesn’t feel right.” Suddenly, she felt a panic grip her body. Was this the right thing to do? Was she really ready to give up? A buzzing in her ears made her dizzy and for a moment she thought she might pass out. “I—I have to go. I’ll call you when I get back and we’ll sort out all the details. Goodbye, Brian.”
Caley quickly pulled over to the curb and rolled the window down, breathing deeply of the cold night air. For the past month, she’d been fighting these panic attacks. They’d become an almost-daily occurrence. She’d blamed them on the stress of being named a partner, on living in Manhattan, on her doubts about Brian. But Caley sensed that none of these factors were really the cause.
The sound of a siren startled her and Caley looked in the rearview mirror to find a police car pulling up behind her, lights flashing. She hadn’t even been close to the speed limit! But when she’d pulled over to the curb, she might have swerved too suddenly in the snow. Caley watched in the side mirror as the police officer got out of his SUV and approached the car. A sudden shiver of fear raced through her. She’d seen the stories on the news. Rapists and serial killers posing as policemen. Caley brushed the thought aside. This was North Lake. Things like that happened in New York, not in Wisconsin.
When the officer reached her car, he tapped at the window with his flashlight. Caley pressed the button on the console and the window slid down an inch. “Show me your badge,” she demanded. He held it out and Caley snatched it from him. It looked real enough. She opened the window a little more and handed it back.
“License and registration, please,” he said.
“I-I’m not sure I have a registration,” Caley said. “This is a rental.” She pulled her license out of her wallet and handed it to him, then reached for the glove box. “The car comes from Speedy Rental at O’Hare. I have the rental agreement right here.” She handed him the paperwork, then peered out at him. “I wasn’t speeding.”
“You were talking on a cell phone,” he replied. “We have an ordinance against that in North Lake. Have you been drinking, ma’am?”
“No,” Caley said, stunned by his question. “I just pulled over because I was tired. I needed some fresh air.”
He paused as he examined her license. “Caroline Lenore Lambert,” he muttered. “You’re Caley Lambert?” He shone the flashlight in her face and Caley squinted.
“Yes.”
“One of the Burtbert kids?”
“Yes,” she replied.
He turned the flashlight off, then leaned down, sending her a friendly smile. “Well, don’t you remember me?” He pointed to the name tag pinned to his jacket. “Jeff Winslow. We went out on a few dates the summer of … well, it doesn’t really matter. I took you sailing. I ran the boat aground over near Raspberry Island and you called me an idiot and dumped a can of Coke on my head.”
Caley did remember. It was the sailing equivalent of running out of gas on a deserted country road. She also remembered how Jeff Winslow had tried to kiss her and feel her up and how he’d chided her for acting like a priss. Most of the boys she’d dated that summer before college had served just one purpose for Caley—they were a feeble attempt to make Jake Burton jealous.
“Of course,” Caley replied. “Jeff Winslow. My goodness, you’re a policeman now? That’s almost ironic considering all the trouble you used to cause.”
“Yeah. A misspent youth. But I’ve reformed. I got a degree in criminal justice, then worked for the Chicago P.D.,” he said. “Then I heard they were looking for a police chief here and I thought, what the hell. I’d been shot at four times in Chicago and figured my number was coming up. So I came home.” He chuckled. “I guess you’ve caught yourself a lucky break.”
“I have?”
He flipped his ticket book closed and tucked it back into his jacket. “I’m going to let you off with a warning.” He returned her driver’s license. “As long as you promise not to talk on your cell phone while you’re driving. It’s against the law in the entire county and it’s a pretty big fine.”
“Thank you,” Caley said.
“So, what have you been up to? The last time I saw you in North Lake you were just out of high school.”
“I work in New York,” Caley said. “I don’t get back much.”
“Too bad,” Jeff said. “Living in the city is great, but I never really appreciated this place until I left. There’s something special about North Lake … something peaceful.” He shrugged, then tapped her window with his finger. “You drive carefully, Caley. The roads are slick. And if I catch you talking on your cell phone again, I’m going to have to give you a ticket.”
“I understand,” Caley said.
“Good night, then.”
For a moment, she sensed he might have something else to say. But then, he turned and walked back to his SUV. A few seconds later, the lights stopped flashing and Caley took that as her cue to pull out onto the street. Moments later, she spotted West Shore Road and made the turn, Officer Jeff following her at a distance.
The houses along the shore were dark, most of them unoccupied in the winter, and she squinted to see the mailboxes through the snow. She passed by the sign for the Burtons’ driveway; the next one belonged to
