Second Wives

SECOND WIVES A TOTALLY UNPUTDOWNABLE PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER PACKED WITH TWISTS CAREY BALDWIN BOOKS BY CAREY BALDWIN Second Wives The Marriage Secret Her First Mistake The Cassidy & Spenser Thrillers Series Judgment Fallen Notorious Stolen Countdown Prequels First Do No Evil (Blood Secrets Book 1) Confession (Blood Secrets Book 2) Available in audio The Marriage Secret (available in the UK and the US) Her First Mistake (available in the UK and the US) CONTENTS Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Epilogue The Marriage Secret One Two Hear More from Carey Books by Carey Baldwin A Letter from Carey Her First Mistake Acknowledgments * For Scout who brings me so much joy PROLOGUE Lake Tahoe, California My favorite winter sport is staying home and cozying up by the fire with a good whodunnit and a cup of hot apple cider. You won’t catch me on the bunny slopes at Lake Tahoe, much less its treacherous black diamond runs. I steer clear of this fabled California resort in winter. But August is a whole different bonfire on the beach. In summer, I’m drawn to Lake Tahoe’s storybook blue skies and mountain-ringed waters. Some of my best childhood memories are from the time my parents found seasonal work down the way at Camp Richardson. On their off days, we’d head to the water, living it up, breathing the same air as the tourists—only it tasted that much sweeter because of how little we had. Even now, it’s easy to pretend Mom and Dad are up ahead, just out of sight, sprawled on a beach blanket, enjoying a picnic of pimento cheese sandwiches and peaches—leftovers from the lunches they served up in the camp kitchen. I like coming back to Tahoe in the summertime. I like pretending I’m happy. Take now, for instance. I’m indulging in a late-night wander near the water. A fierce wind scrapes across the sunburned skin on my cheeks, my arms, my legs, setting my body ablaze like an out-of-control wildfire; but I laugh, and then I throw back my head and open my mouth to savor the taste of damp, woodsy air. They say the heat, earlier today, set a record high, and with the sun blazing down on my kayak, I’d thought I might spontaneously combust. At nearly midnight, it’s still hot, but I can’t resist the pull of the lake. It’s eerily quiet out. The unexpected winds have erased the children’s sandcastles. The sportsmen have dragged their canoes ashore, and the revelers have long since packed up their umbrellas and coolers and headed to the nightclubs that litter South Tahoe. The beach is all mine. I startle at a loud “gurk” followed by the hollow, rushing sound of a duck taking flight. Make that all mine and the night creatures’. At the edge of the water, I abandon my flip-flops and wade in. My bare feet sink in wet sand, while wind-generated waves stir around my ankles, cooling my scorched skin. Lifting the skirt of my sundress, I pad on until the water reaches my thighs. My gaze stretches across the lake, past a small island, to find the blue-black shadows of mountain peaks, and then descends onto moonlight shimmering atop the water like sequins on a ball gown. I follow the path of light, until I see movement. An arm darts above the water; ghostly white against inky waves. A strangled cry, and then the moon drifts behind the clouds, leaving me in utter darkness. I shiver—the water suddenly too cold. Did I imagine that disembodied arm, that hand grasping for air, that ungodly scream? I strain my ears, listening for the sound of a human voice, but there is only the gentle whoosh of the waves against the beach and the rasps of barn owls. Then a plea for help drifts toward me, a whisper braided into the strains of wild, avian conversation. I push on, parting the flowing water with my arms, gingerly putting one foot and then the next forward, always reaching for the bottom with my toes. Even though my feet drag the sand, the midnight lake feels bottomless. Now that the clouds have stolen every bit of light from the sky, there’s not so much as a canopy of stars to guide me. But then, the clouds break apart, the moon emerges, and my breath catches. I see a figure dressed in black. The night has disguised its form well, but its movements, its actions suggest a human, not an animal. I think it’s a man—no, maybe a woman—no, surely a man. Whoever it is looms waist deep in the lake, hunched over, forcing something… or someone underwater. Then a head juts above the surface, and the figure wraps his elbow around his victim’s neck. Silence. Even the birds go quiet. I have to act quickly. I have to stop him before it’s too late for that pitiful soul in his grasp. But my chest is frozen, my heart paralyzed beneath my ribs. I feel the absence of its beat, a burning in my shriveled lungs. Like a drowning woman, I am desperate for oxygen. I gasp in a trickle of air and will my legs to kick, to carry me forward. The victim disappears below the black water. I’m out of time! I lunge toward the spot I last saw the head above water. The man’s arms drop to his sides. He straightens. Turns. A pair of eyes, glowing from an indiscernible face, fix on me, transforming my anemic heart into a full throttle engine. With powerful strides, he charges through the