“So he gave you the… thing.”

“Yes.” The briefcase was on my opposite shoulder, and I tapped it. “In here.”

I felt her body stiffen. “The only copy?”

“I don’t know. That’s the deal you made. But it’s his game, his rules.”

“Do you know why… why I paid the money?”

“I have a pretty good idea.”

“So you watched.”

“Just the beginning. You and your bridesmaids were on a patio by a swimming pool, a view of the ocean below. With three men I assume were locals-so the party was just getting started. That was enough.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Another lie. The video had been queued to footage that was unambiguously graphic. I’d watched for a few seconds, skipped ahead, then couldn’t hit the power button fast enough.

Yes, we had been dealing with a pro, but there were also symptoms of pathology. Voyeurism plus cruelty. Her blackmailer enjoyed humiliating his victims.

Shay laughed to disguise relief. “Thanks for being a gentleman. Not that there’s anything really bad. Just stupid. The sort of things we did in college-smoke grass, smooch with strangers. But Michael wouldn’t have understood. None of our guys would, even though it seemed harmless at the time. We tried to turn the clock back-Liz, Corey, Beryl, and me-and have one last fling… only now, I wish we’d never heard of that damn island. By October, we’ll all be married. And we’ve got professions. We’re grown-ups now, not sorority girls.”

I’d just lied to Shay, so why did I find it so irritating that she was lying to me? My own moral code varies with time zones and border crossings, plus I do not accept the premise that human behavior can be separated neatly into columns of right and wrong. So who the hell am I to judge? But I am neither so jaundiced nor naive that I don’t know the difference between a kiss and a blow job.