Page 1 of The Getaway

Prologue

This was not happening.

Attacked in his own home?

No.

This whole damned charade had been a mistake. He should have ended it before it began. There was no way he’d been thinking straight. Maybe it had been the anticipation of the party. Or the general optimism he felt at hosting Hamptons week again.

Or maybe he’d simply gone soft. That was something he could not let happen. Not now. Not ever. Come tomorrow he was going to lay down the law. Nobody came into his home and threatened him. Nobody.

Lincoln Foster shoved open the door to the patio and was hit with a blast of wind so fierce it nearly knocked him off his feet. He spat blood onto the flagstone. It was instantly washed away by the torrential rain. Had he lost a tooth? He pressed the tips of his gloved fingers against his jaw and winced. If he’d lost a tooth, there was going to be hell to pay.

One more. He just had to get one more speaker into the house, and then he could shut it down for the night. The party planners had dealt with everything else. And honestly? If they hadn’t, who the hell cared? Everything was replaceable.

Everything and everyone, he thought.

Using his arm to shield his face from the worst of the rain, he moved toward the last speaker. It was then that he felt it: two hands, firm on his back, shoving him from behind. And still a little bit drunk, and still a lot stoned, Lincoln Foster tried to catch his balance but overcorrected and slipped on the slick flagstones that surrounded his custom-made saltwater pool. His feet flew out from under him, and before he could even comprehend what was happening, the back of his skull collided with the edge of the pool. He heard the crunch, felt the explosion of pain. The last thing he thought before he blacked out was:

Fucking Lily.

1

Marley

Less than twenty-four hours earlier

As she settled back into the passenger seat of her husband’s creaky old Subaru that muggy Friday morning in August, Marley Foster wasn’t sure whether she was on her way to hell or the Hamptons. She was, after all, about to start the four-hour (on a good day) slog to the summer home of the man who had not only callously divorced her best friend Lily, sending her into a downward spiral that had landed her in and out of rehab for the past year and a half, but had also already married his tarty little mistress and produced an irritatingly adorable baby. Plus, the Hamptons house, or “the Villa” as Lincoln pretentiously liked to call it, was Lily’s favorite place on earth—one she’d spent years of her life renovating and decorating, and would probably never see the inside of again. Which just made the whole thing feel that much more awful.

Sometimes, if she thought about it too long, Marley felt like she could strangle Lincoln for what he’d done to Lily. For what he’d done to her too—to all of them. He’d broken up their perfectly happy and cohesive friendship group and turned her vibrant, confident, fun prankster of a best friend into a shaky, sad, self-deprecating shell of her former self. Nothing would ever be the same again, all because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.

But. And there was always a but when one was trying to justify a betrayal.

Or a however.

Or an although.

And in this case, it was a rather large but.

But Marley’s husband, Marshall, was Lincoln’s brother.

So Hazel the tartlet was now Marley’s sister-in-law. And Marshall somehow, against all odds, still loved his brother. So, really, there was no getting out of this. At least her other two best friends, Suzy and Juliet, would be there. Would it be wrong to grab the girls and bail? Maybe the three of them could head to Cape Cod or Provincetown or—hell—the Jersey Shore. Have a little girl time and leave the testosterone behind.

She might have actually suggested it, if she weren’t so exhausted.

Marley had not been sleeping well lately. And last night had been the worst night yet. Because last night Marshall had announced that he wanted to “step away from the adoption process.” Just like that. Out of nowhere. When all they’d talked about for the last five years was how much they wanted to adopt a baby. How they’d go through anything and everything to give a home to a child whose family couldn’t, or wouldn’t, care for them. Marley felt as if the love of her life had not only yanked the rug out from under her but then punched her in the face and left her for dead without a backward glance. The fact that she was even awake right now, let alone functional, was a miracle. She’d spent most of the night in the basement alternately crying and raging all over the heavy bag she used for her kickboxing workouts.

The week in the Hamptons was usually such fun. Filled with stupid couple games, romantic walks on the beach, raucous parties, and sleeping in late wrapped in Marshall’s arms. A basically free vacation surrounded by all their best friends where she and Marshall left their stressful jobs behind and took the time to bond. Now she couldn’t fathom how she was supposed to spend the next several hours trapped in the car with the man. She and Marshall never fought. Not about anything real. Right now, though, she didn’t even know how to talk to him.

Maybe she should call Jasper, the director at Essex Country Day School, where she worked as a kindergarten teacher during the year and helped run an academic summer camp during the off months, and tell him she was coming in next week after all. But she knew that Jasper would tell her she already worked too hard and she had more than earned this break. He was fatherly that way. Plus she and Suzy and Juliet had promised each other that if one of them was going, they’d all go. She couldn’t back out on them now.

She’d feel better once she was with her friends and she could vent. Neither one of them was Lily, but they were close. And tonight Lincoln was hosting a huge party where she could get drunk, dance, and avoid Marshall for hours if necessary.

Marshall, who had turned on the car, cranked up the AC, and then told Marley he’d be right back—he had to take a call—now paced the driveway, gesticulating emphatically with his free hand. Who was he even talking to? Was it Lincoln? Was it work? Who was she kidding—of course it was work. Because even though it was only 6:00 a.m.—they’d gotten up early so they could beat the traffic, fingers crossed—and even though Marshall had taken today and the next five workdays off, he’d still spend half of that time on the phone with his boss or his department’s coordinator, or that jackass Christian, who was always foisting work off on him. She took a deep breath. She was not going to let it get to her. There was already enough to stress about.

Pushing her sunglasses atop her head, Marley flipped the visor down to check her reflection in the tiny mirror. Her skin looked dry, and there were dark circles under her green eyes. Normally she would have taken the time to blow out her straight dirty-blond hair, but she couldn’t fathom it today, so she’d put it back in a low ponytail that now hung limply down her back. Little frizzles of hair stuck out around her face, brought to life by the humidity. She really hoped to get some sun this week. Her complexion definitely needed a jump start.

Her phone vibrated. A text from Suzy. She flipped the visor back up.