Page 14 of A Life Betrayed

Diana nodded. “I mean, is it part of the plan, or do you see yourself doing this for the rest of your life?”

This?She could count on one hand the number of women under forty who were heading an entire federal investigation. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, Frances. Work can’t be everything, right?” Diana asked, raising her hand in exasperation. “I thought you had something there with Ethan. Are you meeting people? Going on dates?”

Frances bristled at her sister’s appraisal of her personal life.Does she think I’m lonely and pining, sitting around waiting for a man?When she wanted one, she sure as hell didn’t have to wait. That was the beauty of living in an era when men seemed to prefer the least amount of commitment.

“You don’t need to go on dates to get laid.”

“Please, you’re thirty-eight,” Diana said dismissively. “At a certain point, casual sex starts to look sad.”

Sad, is it?Her sister’s opinion of her prom dress had followed a similar vein. As had her opinion of Frances’s first boyfriend and most of them since—Ethan being the notable exception.

“Honestly, I don’t care what it looks like,” Frances said, raising her glass and taking a pointed sip.

That was her sister’s MO—husband, house, kids. Diana liked to make sure everything she did fit into a tidy little checkbox.

“Okay. Well, hear me out,” her sister said, placing her hands flat on the table like she was about to launch into a sermon. “I have a friend of a friend, recently single.”

Frances gave a snort.It’s not a sermon—it’s a fucking pitch.

“He’s looking to meet someone, and we all offered to see who we could set him up with. I think you’d like him.”

“Really?” she said mockingly. “And why’s that?”

“He’s got a great job, super-stable, and is into cycling, travel. Plus, he’s easy on the eyes.”

Frances wasn’t sure what among those stellar qualities was supposed to appeal to her—and this from her own flesh and blood. She hadn’t ridden a bike since she ripped her chin open falling off the Schwinn she’d gotten for her twelfth birthday. She still had the scar.

“It would just be casual—you know, coffee or a drink somewhere. You’re in town for the next week, right? Can’t hurt.”

Frances gripped the stem of her wineglass. She’d always resented her sister’s meddling. It made her feel like she needed to be fixed.

“I read this thing online about how, as we get older, our circle of acquaintances shrinks.” Diana was incapable of taking a hint. “So I figured, why not share some of mine?” She talked about it like they were sharing appetizers off a menu. “Please, just do it for me,” she whined. “I worry about you. This is what big sisters do.”

Frances let out a defeated groan and did what little sisters did—she agreed.

After leaving Diana’s, she drove through the darkened streets to her house across town. Even though she’d bought it a fewmonths before meeting Ethan, he’d moved in shortly after they started dating, so it still felt liketheirs. As she pulled her car into the garage, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the place was eerie without his stuff. Ethan had constructed an elaborate hanging display for his landscaping equipment across one of the garage walls. He was the type to wake early on a Sunday morning to mow the lawn, which had both amused and annoyed her. Now the wall was empty, a white expanse in the dim light, punctuated by ominous metal hooks.

She got out of the car and headed inside. It wasn’t just the garage that had been stripped after Ethan left. He’d owned most of the furniture in the house, and she hadn’t got around to replacing it, mostly because it was too much of a hassle to pick something out and haul it home. It didn’t help that she was barely home to begin with.

Frances dropped her keys on the counter and surveyed the state of the place. It was strange to be back among her things and stranger still to realize that she didn’t miss any of them. She opened the fridge for a beer and popped off the lid. Taking a long pull from the bottle, she felt a buzz in her pocket as her phone began to ring. It was Dave.

“Please tell me you have good news,” she said. She was desperate for some. Her usual tactics were proving laughably ineffective.

“It’s good. I’ve got you a meeting.”

“No shit!”

“You’ll have to go alone, though. He only agreed to see you. And he insisted on picking the place. He’ll get word to my man, and I’ll get word to you.”

“Awful lot of conditions,” Frances grumbled, resting her elbow against the kitchen counter.

“It’s William Truman, Frances,” Dave said with a snort. “If he’s seen meeting with you, the hit to his reputation will be the least of his worries.”

“And I’m supposed to just go along with his demands? I’m the one with the dirt here. With what Border Services has on him, he should be bending over backward for a chance to meet with me.”

“Truman has managed to avoid the cops for years. He’s not afraid of you.”

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