She wanted him to suffer.

Really, truly suffer.

And to sign a prenup that would set her up for life if he ever strayed again. If? When. And wasn't that an ugly twist to the end of her Cinderella fairy tale. And she lived wealthily ever after, and never had to work again.

But she needed to work now, especially if she delayed her return to New York for an entire month. She needed a job. Not necessarily this job. But if she got fired, it would be that much harder to find a new one.

She needed a game plan, a strategy. She'd walk in to her boss's office, and say, "Tom, I'm afraid it's just not working out." She'd quit first.

There. She had a plan.

Tracy rinsed her hands in the sink, letting the water run on her wrists, trying to cool herself down, when the door opened.

"There you are." It was Lindsey Fontaine-so petite and perfectly beautiful. She rarely wore makeup because she didn't have to, not with that flawless, smooth skin. Tracy had once kept track-she herself spent over an hour and a half applying and reapplying makeup each day. "Tom's looking for you."

"Oh," Tracy said, turning off the water and drying her hands on a paper towel. "I know. I was just...checking my makeup." She forced a smile. "I may be getting fired, but at least I look good."

Lindsey came into the room at that, letting the door close behind her. She was wearing her usual baggy jeans, but instead of the Hawaiian-flavored shirts that she favored, she wore a T-shirt. It should have made her look even more casual, but the shirt was a baby T, with cute little cap sleeves, and it actually fit. It made her look slim and female, but in an athletic, don't-need-a-running-bra-because-I'm-perfect way.

Tracy would have been jealous, except she knew that Lindsey was probably just as envious of Tracy's far more lush figure. That was the way the world worked. You always wanted what you didn't have. American women were so screwed up.

"What makes you think you're getting fired?" Lindsey asked.

"Not only am I late, but I'm a disaster. You don't think I've noticed that we're on day five of Receptionist Lessons for Dummies, and you're still here to hold my hand?"

Lindsey smiled, and Tracy realized that she hadn't been smiling when she came in. She was obviously tired this morning, too-not her usual effusive friendly self. "Well, relax. You're not getting fired."

"I'm not?"

"No. We're going to New Hampshire to help Team Sixteen with more training exercises," Lindsey told Tracy. "You know, kind of like the thing we did when I was hostage last night?"

Tracy nodded. Lindsey had spoken of little else but the training exercise earlier in the week.

"How'd that go?" she asked, mostly to be polite. She was jealous, she'd realized a few days ago. Everyone in the office was gearing up to play this massive game of hide-and-seek-except for Tracy.

Lindsey nodded. "Good." She was standing there with her arms crossed, unsmiling, as if she were merely tolerating Tracy's presence today. What was that about? She was usually so warm. In fact, she was everything Tracy wasn't-outgoing and self-confident. She'd actually been a police officer, and she had this ability to pal around with the women and the men in the office alike-to be one of the boys. Tracy had never been one of the boys in her entire life.

"But for this next series of exercises," Lindsey continued, "Tom's looking for a hostage with a little less experience. Even Sophia, who's not field trained, is too...familiar, I guess is the right word, with the process. Besides, we want her to play one of the tangos again-she did an amazing job last night."

Tango was the radio call sign for the letter T, which, in this case, stood for terrorist. Everything in this crazy business had a nickname or an acronym or was in some kind of code. SPECWAR. OCONUS. LZ, DZ, SEAL.

"Tom needs to know if you're available to go with us to New Hampshire," Lindsey continued. "To play the part of the hostage."

"Are you serious?" Tracy had to lean back against the row of sinks.

"Yeah," Lindsey said. "But we're working straight through the weekend. There's not going to be any downtime. We'll be staying in a cheap motel, but we won't be there very often. And it's going to be extremely cold."

"I don't care," Tracy said.

Lindsey clearly didn't believe her. "During the exercise we'll be in the woods, probably for days at a time and...Have you ever been camping?"

"Not since I was a Girl Scout. And it wasn't really camping," Tracy admitted. "We stayed in cabins, with, you know, flush toilets." When she'd first arrived at the camp, she'd actually been disappointed. And then her group went on a hike and discovered what the word latrine really meant.

"This is going to be worse than you can imagine." Lindsey smiled, but it was pretty grim. "You are so going to hate this. I seriously recommend you think hard before you say yes."

"I appreciate your concern, but...Things didn't go too well with Lyle last night and I could use a distraction."

A distraction.

Was that what Tracy had been looking for last night, at three o'clock in the morning, when she'd called Mark Jenkins?

Although, truth be told, what Lindsey was really wondering was-had Jenk distracted her?

There was no doubt about it. Lindsey was jealous. Screaming, green-eyed-monster jealous.

She'd tried convincing herself it was just disappointment that she was feeling. Disappointment, after all, was a common reaction to any situation wherein expectations had not been met.

And Lindsey had expected a full fling, not a one-night stand. She'd been looking forward to a week or two spent with a man whose smile could make her heart flutter. But Tracy's late-night phone call had cut that two weeks too short.

It wasn't just Tracy's phone call that had cut it short, but Jenk's reaction to it-his immediate jumping through rings of fire at her teary command.

Which really shouldn't have surprised Lindsey. She'd accepted her Plan B status with her eyes wide open. She really had no right to be hurt or angry or upset or jealous.

But she was.

She tried to tell herself that it was a good thing her time with Mark Jenkins had been terminated. If this was how she was feeling after just one night...Well, it was better to be skewered a little now than a whole lot later on.

Still, this current assignment was just about as awful as it could get. Lindsey was going to have to work with both the man and his Plan A girlfriend in close quarters for the next five-count 'em, five-days.

Right now, she stood in the ladies' room, watching Tracy examine her makeup in the mirror over the sinks. The taller woman was wearing pants today, but they were nothing like the pants Lindsey wore. Tracy wore pants the same way Lauren Bacall wore pants. They accentuated her trim waistline and draped around her hips. Made of a soft, expensive fabric, they flowed down her long legs. And, of course, she wore heels, too. On top she wore a sweater-if it could be called that. It had sleeves that ended between her elbows and wrists, and a neckline that was neither low nor high but didn't exactly look as if it would keep her warm. The entire effect was elegant.

Lindsey, on the other hand, looked like an androgynous, rumpled elf. Her short haircut was partly to blame, but only partly.

But there they both were, reflected in that big mirror. Mark Jenkins's Plan A and Plan B.

Were they having fun yet?

Alyssa poked her head into the bathroom. "Everything okay in here?"

It was obvious that Tom had sent her in. He needed immediate answers for their personnel list.

"Yes," Lindsey lied. "Tracy's a go for New Hampshire. She'll be sharing a motel room with Sophia."

Lindsey's escape last night-from the training op, not from Jenk's apartment-had won her a coveted private room. Thank God. There was limited housing in Dark-Side-of-the-Moon, New Hampshire, where they were heading.

"Oh," Tracy said, "I have to share a room?" She must've realized how Paris Hilton that sounded, because she quickly added, "That's fine, of course."

"Good." Alyssa looked at Lindsey. She was clearly picking up on the tension, and her eyes were apologetic. "I'm going to need you to sit down with Tracy, make sure she knows what to pack, luggage limits and so forth."

Oh, boy. Whoo-hoo. Lindsey mustered up a smile from somewhere beneath a ton of resentment. Maybe she'd get some enjoyment out of watching Tracy's face when she informed her she'd only be allowed to bring one small duffel bag on the plane. It would be evil enjoyment, which meant she was a bad, bad person, but right now she didn't care. "Let's go into my office."

Alyssa had been leaving, but now she pushed the bathroom door back open. "Actually..." She made an entire apologetic face this time. "Deck's in there today. How about the conference room?"

Decker had stolen Lindsey's office?

Although, okay. Truth was, it was Deck's office, and Lindsey had claimed squatter's rights since he was so rarely around. Still, this was a nice cherry on top of what was turning into a truly shitty day.

Tracy followed Lindsey down the hall. "So my evening was about as awful as it could get. Lyle was...God, I so don't want to talk about Lyle."

Call the San Diego Union-Tribune. Call channel seven's breaking news hotline. Tracy Shapiro didn't want to talk about Lyle.

"Can I get you some coffee?" Tracy asked. "Because I haven't had any yet, and my head's about to explode."

"Sure, grab me a cup, too." Lindsey opened the supply cabinet, took a legal pad, and went into the conference room. Tossing the pad down onto the big table, she pulled out one of the many chairs. Maybe if she were lucky, Tracy would sit way down at the other end and choke on her coffee. The table was so huge that even though Lindsey would race to her side to try to save her, she'd be too late.

Yeah, she was a bad person. She wrote on the top of the pad in big block letters: LUGGAGE IS LIMITED TO ONE (1) SMALL DUFFEL BAG. On second thought, she added: SMALL = YOU CAN CARRY IT EASILY ON A TWENTY-MILE HIKE. She then put a little caret mark between EASILY and ON and added the word YOURSELF.

Not that they were going on any twenty-mile hikes, but she could just imagine Tracy appearing at the air base with a duffel the size of a Mini Cooper. You said one small duffel. This is my smallest. I mean, I had to work hard to get everything in it. I thought I was going to have to take the one that's the size of a house. A small house, of course, because you did say small. You know, a two-bedroom ranch. No master bath or swimming pool. Have I mentioned how much Lyle likes to swim?

Tracy came into the room, carrying two mugs of coffee and clearly trying hard to sound upbeat. "So you will not believe what happened last night." She set Lindsey's favorite mug in front of her. "Milk and just a touch of sugar, right?"

"Thanks," Lindsey said.

"Oh, I also set the phones so that if anyone dials zero, it'll ring in here."

Apparently not getting fired agreed with Tracy. She sat down right next to Lindsey. So much for the choking plan.

"You know Mark Jenkins, right?" Tracy continued. "My Navy SEAL? He's the really cute one, a little short, but he has this giant crush on me?"

Her Navy SEAL. Nice. "Yup, I know him." Lindsey closed her mouth and didn't add, Had sex with him last night, as a matter of fact. She so didn't want to hear this. She didn't want to pretend to be Tracy's best friend. She wanted to do her job and go home to pack her own bag. "Look, we really need to-"

"Things went downhill fast with Lyle," Tracy just bulldozed over her. "It was really awful and...Anyway, I found myself in a cab without any money, and I didn't know where to go, so I went to Mark's."

La la la la. In her mind, Lindsey plugged her ears and sang loudly. "We're going to get you some cold-weather boots. What size shoe do you wear?"

"Seven," Tracy said. "He was so sweet, just letting me cry on his shoulder. He has amazing shoulders."

Lindsey knew. "We really need to discuss this now," she said, trying hard not to sound desperate. "You're going to have to pack and-"

"I was so drunk," Tracy confided. "I actually hit on him. Oh, my God." She rolled her eyes. "He's a really good kisser. Really good."

Yes. Yes, Tracy, she did know that. "I also need your clothing sizes."

"So, okay. We're, like, there, in his apartment, sitting on his sofa and I..." Tracy frowned. "What for?"

"Believe it or not, Tom wants you in a nurse's uniform," Lindsey told her.

"Oh, yuck," Tracy made a face. "Like one of those white dresses? Why?"

"It'll probably be pants and a shirt, because of the weather, but yeah," Lindsey informed her, tossing in, "Made of that really thick, nasty polyester. I hate that stuff, too. No one looks good in it." Tracy's dismay only made Lindsey feel like a bitch, and she explained. "Right now there's no snow on the ground, and if you're dressed in white pants, it'll be that much harder for the rescue team to get you out undetected."

"Oh." Tracy forced a smile. "As long as there's a reason for it. I mean, of course, I'd do it anyway. I'm really excited about being able to help. It's like, I'm saving lives. Indirectly, of course, but..." She listed her clothing sizes.

As Lindsey wrote them down on a separate piece of paper, she didn't just feel like a bitch. She knew she was one. Tracy had no idea that Mark Jenkins meant anything to Lindsey. Obviously, Jenk hadn't told her. And despite Tracy's attempts to sound upbeat, she was clearly upset about something. She had shadows under her eyes, and when she forgot to force a smile, she looked terribly unhappy.

"Do you have any long underwear?" Lindsey asked, hoping the question would sufficiently distract Tracy from telling the rest of her story.

"Are you serious?" she said.

"Very. There's a sporting goods store three blocks from here," Lindsey told her. "They carry a silk-wool blend that's superlightweight and really warm. You should pick some up as soon as we finish here."

"As long as they take credit cards. I have to finish telling you about last night. I'm just getting to the good part."

Oh, great.

"So we're on Mark's sofa," Tracy said, "and I say to him, It's really warm in here, and I start, you know, loosening my clothes and I'm not being at all subtle, and he-"

Lindsey put her pen down rather forcefully onto the table. "I'm sorry, did I somehow give you the impression that I wanted to hear the intimate details of-"

"No, wait. That's the thing. There are no intimate details, because do you know what he said?" Tracy was sitting there, amusement and disbelief brimming in her Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue eyes, like this was going to be the funniest story Lindsey had ever heard. "He said, I'll open a window. There I am, giving him a total green light. I mean, I couldn't be any more obvious if I'd said, Hey, I have a good idea, let's have sex! So he stands up and actually opens the...well, it's not exactly a window. See, there's this sliding glass door that opens onto a little deck off his living room. He opens that, and when he comes back, he doesn't sit on the sofa. He sits way across the room." She laughed, but it was suddenly down a notch on the gaiety dial. "It's funny now, but it wasn't that funny then. I think I might've started to cry. I was pretty embarrassed. I mean, what do you do when you throw yourself at someone, and he turns you down?"

Lindsey couldn't stop herself from repeating, "He turned you down."

Tracy nodded. "Totally. But he was so nice about it. From his seat on the other side of the room." She laughed again. "Like he thought I'd jump him if he sat next to me. I probably would've."

"He turned you down because you were too drunk?" Why was Lindsey clarifying this? What did it matter?

"No, he said..." Tracy leaned closer and lowered her voice, even though they were the only ones in the room. "Did you know he just started seeing someone?"

Oh, shit. "He told you that?" Lindsey asked.

"Yeah. Can you believe it?" Tracy laughed her amazement. "He kissed me, just last week, so...My timing stinks. Anyway, there I am, on a platter, and he's telling me this, going, She's really special, she's amazing, Trace. It happened fast, but I'm so into her, it's a little scary."

Oh, holy shit. Jenk had called Lindsey repeatedly today, and she'd assumed he'd wanted to give her the "Wow, we went a little crazy last night, which was a mistake because, really, we're so good together as friends" speech. And while his turning down Tracy's offer of sex didn't surprise her-he didn't really seem the type to be comfortable sleeping with two different women, drunk or not, in the course of one night-the fact that he'd told Tracy, of all people, that he was seeing someone...Someone he was really into...

Lindsey couldn't find any words, but as usual when conversing with Tracy, a reply was unnecessary.

"I wish I were with someone who thought I was special," Tracy said wistfully. "Lyle would screw your grandmother in her wheelchair if she so much as breathed in his direction."

Both of Lindsey's grandmothers had been dead for years and She's really special...I'm so into her, it's a little scary.

Yeah. Not just a little scary, a crapload scary. Panic squeezed Lindsey's throat, and she quickly made a list of items Tracy needed to take to New Hampshire. Woolen socks-at least ten pairs. Long underwear. She wrote down the address of the sporting goods store. Turtlenecks. Flannel pajamas. A warm hat. Gloves and mittens.

Tracy had finally fallen silent, but now she mused, "Do you think he's lying? Do you think he's, like, gay?"

No, but she thought it was possible that Jenk had changed Lindsey's ringtone to "Here Comes the Bride."

"Do you know Mark's friend Izzy?" Tracy asked.