The Arrangement. Suzanne Forster

monogrammed awnings or oceanfront hotels with five-star restaurants and expensive art in the lobbies.

      Despite the skyrocketing value of California coastal property, the town had managed to stay small, dusty and decidedly unglamorous. Kids drove from all over to surf the mostly gentle waves, and on weekends, small gangs of rough-and-ready marines from Camp Pendleton took over the main beer joint and pool hall.

      “Beach shabby chic” was how one L.A. restaurant critic had described the local ambience. Alison wouldn’t have used the word chic in any context, although the weekend flea market did boast fresh-grown organic produce, a variety of handmade items—and Gramma Jo, who was something of a legendary local fortuneteller.

      And Mother Nature had been good to Mirage Bay. Cliffs and tidal pools abounded. The towering palms were said to be over a century old and planted by the Franciscan missionaries. And of course, Sea Clouds, the Fairmont compound, was considered one of the most beautiful pieces of real estate in the area.

      For serious shopping, you drove to La Jolla’s famous Prospect Street or farther south to San Diego, which was rich with malls. It was her mother’s favorite way to while away an afternoon, but Alison had never been a power shopper. She’d had another preoccupation back in the days when her family had come to Mirage Bay each winter. Alison had had a secret yearning for fame and fortune, for love and attention. She’d desperately wanted to be a rock star, to put it mildly.

      Thank God her needs were much more basic today. All she wanted to do was get to the drugstore, which sat between the supermarket and the dry cleaners in a busy strip mall that was the town’s main hub. She’d had to wait for Tony Bogart to drive away before she could leave. He’d sat in that ridiculous Corvette, parked outside the gates, for nearly two hours. It was an obvious attempt at intimidation, but rather than have him following her around, she’d decided to outwait him.

      She’d also been debating whether to make a side trip, but had talked herself out of it. The risk of being seen was too great, especially with Bogart skulking around. She’d taken Andrew into her confidence, and he’d promised to help her find out why her phone calls weren’t being answered. For now, she would have to trust him.

      Alison was relieved not to find the store crowded as she slipped inside and walked straight back to the aisle where the topical cortisone cream was shelved. In most drugstores, the shelves were periodically rearranged, supposedly to confuse the customers and keep them in the store longer, but not in Mirage Bay. Nothing ever changed here.

      Until six months ago, when everything had changed.

      Alison had claimed her skin condition was surgery-related, but she’d actually been using the cream for years. The rash had nothing to do with her many operations, but that wasn’t something she could easily explain, so she’d used a convenient excuse. Near fatal accidents, multiple surgeries and transient amnesia were all very handy for explaining away just about anything.

      She picked up one of the tubes and read the ingredients. Not the brand she normally used, but close enough, as long as it was effective. This was the worst reaction she’d ever had, probably because her nerves were shot. The encounter with Tony this morning had left her shaken, even though she’d been trying to convince herself that he was only baiting her, payback for the past. It was still hard to believe that he actually worked for the FBI.

      “Oh, sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

      Alison felt a hand on her bare arm and veered away. She hadn’t realized the comment was meant for her—or worse, that the young woman gaping at her was LaDonna Jeffries. If the town had a gossip, it was LaDonna. She was the last person Alison wanted to see right now.

      “Oh, did I frighten you?” LaDonna said. “It’s just that, except for your hair, you look a lot like someone who used to live around here. Alison Fairmont? Anyone else ever tell you that? We called her the ice princess. Funny, huh?”

      Not to Alison. LaDonna must not have read the newspaper, which meant Alsion could probably get away with denying everything.

      LaDonna peered at Alison, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head. “Wow, you really do look like her. It’s almost creepy. Sorry, I’m losing it here. Is there something I can help you with?”

      “You work here?” Alison could hear her voice giving out. The intense scrutiny made her feel almost ill, especially since she knew this was only the beginning. Once LaDonna spread the word, everybody would be whispering and staring at Alison as if she were some kind of sideshow freak.

      “Is something wrong?” LaDonna asked.

      “Yes.” She began to laugh softly. This was all so absurd, trying to pretend everything was fine, that she and Andrew were fine when they were anything but. Trying to remember—and to forget—and holding so much inside. Sometimes it felt as if she were going to crack like a piñata.

      “What is it? Are you all right?”

      Hysteria bubbled in Alison’s throat. The laughter turned into a coughing spasm when she tried to quell it. “You were right,” she gasped at last. “I am Alison, but it’s Villard now. I got married.”

      LaDonna nodded, apparently absorbing the news. “I knew it,” she whispered. “The darker hair threw me off, but I knew I was right.”

      Nowhere to hide, Alison realized. Open season.

      “And you got married,” LaDonna said, nodding. Tendrils bounced free of the claw clip that held her curly auburn hair. “I heard about that. You married that hot French guy, huh? Congratulations.”

      Alison nodded, fighting against her body’s need to erupt in some terribly messy way, laughing or coughing. “Thank you, but we were married four years ago.”

      “Are you sure you’re all right?” LaDonna said. “Your voice sounds strange.”

      Alison cleared her throat. “It’s the surgery. It affected my vocal chords.”

      “Oh, yeah, the accident. You look great, though. No one would know you lost most of your face—or anyway, that’s what I heard. Sorry, that must have sounded gross.”

      Alison just stared at her, helpless. She wasn’t about to discuss the devastation to her face. She still felt like a complete freak no matter how good people said she looked. And this one seemed willing to go where angels feared to tread. No sense of boundaries at all.

      “Are you sure I can’t help you find something?” LaDonna offered. “Please? I can’t just stand here and yack, they’ll fire me.”

      Alison realized she was still holding the tube of cortisone cream. She put it back on the shelf behind another larger tube of something else. “I’m looking for hand cream. Where would I find that?”

      A smile replaced LaDonna’s worried expression. “Come with me,” she said. “We’re actually overstocked right now. I like the colloidal oatmeal, myself. It’s very soothing, and if you have sensitive skin like I do, it’s a must have.”

      LaDonna shot Alison a pleased look. “Don’t take this wrong, but I didn’t think people like you shopped in stores like this. I mean, regular old drugstores. I think it’s great. Oh, are you sure you’re all right?”

      Alison had stopped and clapped a hand to her chest. She was still fighting off what felt like a coughing fit. It burned through her lungs like fire. Maybe she really was sick.

      “Excuse me, I need to go,” she said, brushing past LaDonna. It was incredibly rude, but if she didn’t get out of the store, something terrible was going to happen. She struggled not to cough as she ran.

      “What about the hand cream?” LaDonna called after her. “Did I tell you it has colloidal oatmeal? It’s great stuff. Alison, are you all right?”

      Alison shot through the drugstore door and froze, momentarily paralyzed at the sight of the unfamiliar parking lot.

       Where was she?

      Mirage Bay,