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knew this was a lie—or, at the very least, a half-truth. Maybe she really was going to Carly’s, but that would only be the start.
    â€œAnd then?”
    â€œI don’t know. We’ll see.”
    â€œAny chance you’ll be back before I go to sleep?”
    â€œMaybe.”
    He could do nothing but stare. They both did. His eyes were flooded with pain. Hers were colored more by frustration, anger, and—the part that hurt him the most—indifference.
    â€œMel, come on. I really don’t—”
    She put her hand up, a signal for him to stop. “We’ve had this discussion a thousand times. I’m not going to hang around this house for the rest of my life while you sit down here in this weird place of yours.”
    He got up. Although he was an enormous individual, there was nothing even remotely threatening in his body language.
    â€œMel, I’m going through a tough time right now. I need you, I need you to be here. You’ve got to understand.”
    â€œAnd what about me? You don’t take me out, you don’t talk to anybody … you don’t shower!”
    â€œIt’s not going to be like this forever, I swe—”
    â€œI’m not spending the rest of my life taking care of an overgrown child!”
    There it was, out in the open and drifting in between them like a specter. And that was what it’d been for the past year—a specter. A ghost. Something they hoped they were only imagining. But it wasn’t imaginary anymore. It was as real as the concrete under the carpeting and the cinder blocks behind the walls. It explained so many other things, too—her sudden devotion to fitness, the renewed contact with some old friends, her new wardrobe.…
    She doesn’t want me anymore, either.
    His wife took a deep breath. “I’m going. I’ll be back later.”
    She turned and went out before he had a chance to reply. She pounded up the steps, the anger making her sound about five times heavier than she really was. He heard the front door slam shut and her black Jaguar XK convertible roar to life, tires screeching as it tore out of the driveway.
    Then all was quiet again.
    *   *   *
    It was past dark when the phone rang. Hamilton happened to be in the kitchen, the first time he’d been out of the basement since the confrontation. He was making himself a sandwich.
    The caller ID displayed Matt Nolan’s number. Not more golf crap .
    â€œHey,” Nolan said, sounding particularly bubbly.
    â€œHey.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong?”
    â€œNothing.”
    Nolan knew it was a lie, but it didn’t matter. “Well, I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up.”
    â€œYeah? What’s that?” Before his agent answered, he added, “I’m not golfing.”
    Nolan chuckled. “Golf, gimme a break. No, my friend, you don’t have to get out your clubs. That’s for retired players.”
    Hamilton stopped spreading the mayonnaise on the torpedo roll. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œYou have to get something else out of storage—your pads.”
    Nolan told him why.
    Hamilton thought perhaps he was still downstairs, asleep on the leather couch and dreaming. He wasn’t.
    His greatest wish in the world had been granted.

3
    Reese
    Corey Reese high-stepped his way through the agility trainer, turned swiftly, and went through it again. Then he took a breather. He was dressed in black satin shorts and a loose white T-shirt. His Nike sneakers were brand-new and would’ve retailed for over a hundred bucks if he’d paid for them—but thanks to a sweet endorsement deal made long ago, he’d have as many new pairs as he wanted for the rest of his life.
    With his hands on his hips, he took a moment to survey his neighborhood. It was a collection of modern mansions, each spaced far enough apart so that getting to know the “folks