Tears trickled down her sister’s cheeks. Pain darkened her blue eyes. Alexis personified agony and Gracie didn’t know how to fight that. But she tried.

“It will only lead to disaster,” she said firmly. “I won’t be a part of that.”

“I u-understand,” Alexis said as her mouth quivered.

“Good. Because I’m not going with you.”

LATE THAT NIGHT, Gracie found herself following her sister along a trimmed hedge just east of a massive old house. Not just any house, either. The Whitefield family mansion, home to umpteen generations of wealthy Whitefields and now Riley’s main residence.

“This is insane,” Gracie whispered to her sister as they paused to crouch a few feet from a back window. “I stopped spying on Riley when I was fourteen. I can’t believe I’m doing this again.”

“You’re not spying on Riley, you’re spying on Zeke. There’s a big difference.”

“I doubt Riley will see that, if we’re caught.”

“Then we won’t be caught. Did you bring your camera?”

Gracie grabbed her trusty Polaroid from under her arm and held it out. Light from the streetlamp glinted off the narrow lens.

“Get ready,” Alexis said. “The library window is around the corner. You should be able to get a really good picture from there.”

“Why aren’t you getting the picture?” Gracie asked as dread made her legs feel as heavy as bronze.

“Because I’m going to stay here and see if any floozy bitch runs out the back way.”

“If Zeke were having an affair, wouldn’t he just go to a motel?” Gracie asked.

“He can’t. I pay the bills. Besides, when we were dating, he let some guy use his apartment for a lunchtime rendezvous. I’m telling you, Riley’s doing the same for Zeke. Who holds campaign meetings until two in the morning?”

It sounded logical in a twisted psychotic way, Gracie thought as she inched toward the side of the house. Especially if one ignored the reality of sneaking onto private property to snap pictures through an open window.