The Arrangement. Suzanne Forster

during the day, doubled up on his coursework and reapplied two years later, degree in hand. After the Bureau’s traditional thirteen weeks of training, he’d been on his way to amassing one of the most impressive records of any rookie agent in years.

      His fervor to be a Fed had shocked everyone who knew him. He’d shocked himself most. He didn’t like kids or dogs. He was admittedly antisocial. And in school he’d been voted most likely to end up in San Quentin. None of that had changed, but he had excelled at catching criminals and deviants, the more deviant the better. Maybe because he knew how they thought.

      The collar of his cotton shirt was damp with sweat by the time he got to his car. He was looking forward to California’s dry heat. He wondered what the odds were that anyone or anything in the sunshine state was looking forward to his visit.

      Bad. Really bad.

      A smile compressed his lips again. This was going to be a good trip.

      3

      Alison paced her bedroom, the cell phone pressed to her ear as she listened to the incessant drone at the other end of the line. No one was answering. She’d been trying at various times of the day and night for the last two weeks, but no one had picked up, and that worried her terribly. She didn’t know what she would do if something had happened to the one person in Mirage Bay she actually cared about.

      She couldn’t tell whether the phone was out of service, accidentally unplugged or no one was home, but she couldn’t wait any longer for the answer. None of Andrew’s arguments had been as powerful as this one, unanswered phone call.

      For her, Mirage Bay was hell on earth, a watery graveyard where all her ghosts’ demons lay in wait. But like dream monsters, ghosts and demons had to be confronted or they would give you no peace. When you ran from them, they howled at your heels for eternity.

      Like about ninety percent of the men in America under thirty with computers and Internet connections, Bret Fairmont had a special affinity for cyber porn. He preferred the video streaming sites, but unlike most other aficionados, he made no attempt to hide his dirty little habit. He liked to leave it on the screen for the whole world to see, and his mother in particular.

      He had fantasies of her going as white as the diet pills she popped, and nearly choking on her own revulsion. Not that it was ever going to happen. She was a beady-eyed barracuda beneath the facade of perfect manners and designer clothing. But just once he wanted to see his mother fall to pieces. He could hardly imagine anything better.

      Sad, Bret, sad. How old are you now? Twenty-five going on two?

      He yawned and stretched, deeply encased in the belly of the backyard hammock. As he gazed up at the boughs of the giant sycamore overhead, boredom burned through him. Lethargy had its own special kind of ache. He’d been lying around all morning in a T-shirt and swim trunks, sipping iced lattes, and he had no plans to do anything else.

      He knew how she hated sloth.

      And speaking of Julia Fairmont, where was the prize bitch?

      You’re a sick man, Bret. A sad, sick man. Why the hell do you hate her so much? She’s never done anything to you….

      But when he closed his eyes he could see the disdain that hardened her beautiful face when she looked at him. It never left him, that look.

      Except wish you didn’t exist. That’s all she’s ever done.

      His laughter tasted like an old ashtray. It didn’t hurt anymore when she blew him off. He felt nothing. Maybe deep down there was a vestigial flicker of outrage, but on the surface, he was as cold and bitter as she was. He didn’t give a fuck what she thought. Why should he?

      “Bret! Where are you?”

      That was her, probably calling him from one of the balconies. Her shrill voice made him flinch. He hadn’t done that since he was a kid. Her tone told him she was pissed, but he’d expected that. He’d missed the job interview she’d arranged for him this morning, blown it off totally.

      “Bret? Why don’t you answer me?”

      He saw her coming, striding across the rolling green lawn in her crisp capris, sleeveless blouse and bejeweled sandals. He threw an arm over his eyes, pretending to be asleep, though he still could see her.

      Apparently his silence got to her, because when she reached him, she did something totally unexpected. She grabbed the edge of the hammock with both hands and upended it, dumping him onto the ground.

      He hit with a thud. “Hey! What the fuck? I’m never going to get these grass stains out of my trunks, Mom.”

      She held up the letter in her hand. “I have important news, and it concerns you.”

      “You’re dying, and I’m going to inherit everything?” He stood up and brushed himself off.

      “Don’t be an ass,” she said. “Your sister’s coming to visit, and I need you to help me get ready.”

      Her voice was shrill. It was shaking, but she wasn’t angry. She was nervous, he realized. Shit, this was a dream come true. Julia Fairmont was cracking.

      As he stood there, taking in his mother’s agitation, it dawned on him what she’d said. “Alison? She’s coming here?”

      “Yes, and I want to do something really special. I didn’t think she’d accept my invitation, or that he’d let her come. This is my chance to win her back, Bret.”

      Bret’s legs went weak. He felt sick to his stomach, but somehow he managed to speak. “She’s married, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

      “He stole her. You know that as well as I do.”

      “Stole her? She walked away from a damn fortune to be with him. What don’t you get about that? She chose Andrew.”

      Julia’s expression was glacial. “He’s coming with her, and if you won’t help me get ready for their visit, you will at least be here. I just spoke with Andrew on the phone, and he assured me that she’s anxious to see you.”

      It could not possibly be true that Alison was anxious to see him, but Julia had reverted to her polite mode, and Bret played along, even though inside he was still queasy enough to vomit.

      “So, I assume she’s recovered?” he said.

      Unconsciously, Julia used her thumb to center the large emerald-and-diamond wedding ring set she never took off, even though her husband had been dead for years. The ring wasn’t about marital devotion, however. She wanted the exquisite stones to show because they represented everything she wanted her life to be and wasn’t. Anyway, that was Bret’s theory.

      “He said she’s shaky,” Julia said, “but that’s to be expected. She’s been through hell, and who knows what’s happened to her in the last six months. He’s never let me speak to her, the bastard.”

      Bret didn’t doubt that his mother wanted Alison back in the family fold, but he questioned how deep her concern actually ran. She’d always favored his sister, even to the point of seeming obsessed, a stage mother’s fixation with her impossibly beautiful child. Sometimes Bret wondered if Alison was Julia’s second chance—but at what, he didn’t know.

      But he was only guessing. This could also have something to do with the trust fund that was supposed to have gone to Alison. Julia never told her black sheep son anything, so he had no idea what her real motivation was.

      “I’ll be here,” he said, more to get rid of her than for any other reason. “Now, can I get back to my nap?”

      Bret had nothing more to say about his long-lost sister. This felt way too much like watching the sci-fi channel. His mother was coming unglued. He’d been waiting years for this moment, and it had nothing to do with him. It was all about his sister. That was fucked up.

      Julia glanced at her watch. “Didn’t you have an interview