Killing Vincent wasn’t part of her plan. He should have stayed in New York and left well enough alone. He shouldn’t have contacted her—told her that he knew everything—told her that he would not allow her to continue hurting people.

Vincent. Damn you.

Tess McDonald’s pulse beat a little faster. She’d been in love with Vincent, and if she really thought about it, she still was, at least as much as she allowed herself to love anyone. That made what she had to do so much more difficult. However, she didn’t live in the kind of world where love was an option. Allowing feelings to enter into her life resulted in this—a rendezvous with murder.

Tess eased her rented white sports car along the dark narrow roads. A light drizzle fell onto the windshield. The full moon’s iridescent light flashed from behind the tops of swaying palm trees.

She’d come to Aruba not only to recover from months of tension, anxiety, and murders, but also to reestablish her business. For more than a decade she’d been the highest paid and most influential madam on the East Coast.

A rueful smile tugged the corners of her full mouth. She’d worked hard to assemble her elite stable of women and develop her powerhouse clientele list. She’d had a multimillion-dollar business, and Tess intended to reclaim it here in Aruba. Her former clients included everyone from Fortune 500 CEOs to politicians and judges. The key to her long-standing success was discretion, for which she’d been well compensated.

Life had been good—until Tracy got too close. That her own sister had been the catalyst for the demise of her business was unfortunate, to say the least. Tracy’s zeal as an assistant district attorney for New York City—always on the side of justice, law, and order—led directly to her death. Life was full of ironic twists, wasn’t it?

Tess would never forget the night of the newscast that detailed the gunning down of Assistant DA Tracy Alexander. Her sister. Dead.

Now Tess was once again on the precipice of loss. It’s always those closest to you that brought the most harm, she mused, navigating the gravel road. Perhaps she didn’t keep her enemies close enough. She almost laughed. Almost.

After relocating to Aruba it had taken her months to get set up again: to recruit the perfect women, to cultivate relationships with the men of wealth who lived on the island, as well as with those who visited on holiday. Tonight’s elaborate gathering at her secluded villa was the culmination of all her work. She’d left her guests in the capable hands of Charrie Lewis. Hopefully, this task wouldn’t take long and she’d be able to return before she was truly missed.

She’d gotten Charrie, her original business partner from back in the city, to join her. Tess trusted Charrie implicitly. Equally important, she’d convinced Nicole and Kim that if they joined her as well, they could finally be free from their pasts. They would reap the rewards that were due them. But then Vincent had found her. Tracked her all the way here from New York.

She couldn’t let him ruin it all—and not just for her sake but for that of everyone else she’d enlisted. Nicole and Kim had risked everything, committing crimes from which they’d ultimately walked away scot-free, crimes she’d convinced them to commit. The three of them were bound by that secret. It was up to her to ensure that their pact was never discovered. Only Vincent stood between them and total freedom.

The skyline lit up with electricity and thunder exploded overhead. Adrenaline surged through her veins.

She pulled up to the motel where she was to meet Vincent, and slowed the car. Her .38 was tucked neatly inside her purse on the passenger seat. What did Vincent have planned for her? Would he make a scene? Were the local police waiting?

No. Vincent would do this alone. She knew him. He loved his autonomy. Yes, it would be just the two of them, face-to-face.

Vincent stepped outside, looked skyward. A storm was brewing. It was close. A light sprinkle danced around him.

He lit a cigarette and blew a plume of smoke into the muggy air. The fleeting scent of sulfur wafted beneath his nose.

He peered into the darkness, the moon obscured now by thickening clouds. Tess was close. He could feel her as surely as he could feel the bulging erection pressing against the fabric of his jeans. Anticipation of a bust always did that to him, and so did Tess McDonald. He’d let that personal flaw cloud his objectives once. Not again.

Headlights drew closer and then stopped. A car door opened. Vincent reached for his gun.

Thunder boomed. Vincent felt a searing pain in his side. His legs gave out. His .45 slipped from his hands to the sandy ground. He followed suit.

Tess pressed her body against a tree, standing stock still. Her heart was pounding so violently, her head began to throb. She listened for sound—for movement. When she was sure it was safe to do so, she stepped out into the moonlight. The shape of a sprawled body was ahead. Crouching and with her gun at the ready, she ran over to the motionless form.

Blood pooled beneath him. Tess listened intently for any hint that the gunshot had been heard by the local residents or passersby. She grabbed the limp body beneath its damp armpits and dragged the dead weight to her car.