TIES That Blind by Dee Lloyd

Prologue

M

aybe life did begin at forty. Sylvia rolled onto her back and stretched lazily. The action drew the navy satin sheet off the bare torso of the fair-haired man who sprawled on the bed beside her. Philip had earned his rest, she thought with a satisfied smile. He'd always been a talented lover, but her threat to sue for divorce had spurred him to previously unattained heights last night. His stamina had been truly incredible. Long after he had collapsed in exhausted slumber, every nerve ending in her body still purred gently.

Sylvia felt more content with her life than she had in a long time. She took a deep breath. Wood smoke from the fireplace below blended with her perfume, Philip's cologne and the musky smell of sex.

She didn't have any illusions about what made her so necessary to her husband's happiness, but, she'd never found anyone else as talented in bed as her occasionally devoted husband. She held up her hand to admire the way the exquisite sapphire ring he'd brought as a peace offering caught the morning light that was slanting in the tall window of the loft.

As she slipped out of bed, she ran a finger lightly along the silky hair of Philip's forearm. He didn't stir. She sighed and shrugged on her fleecy white robe. There was no reason the man shouldn't sleep while she made herself some much needed coffee. She would keep Philip a while longer. A delicious shiver of anticipation snaked along her spine when she imagined his response to that news. There was much to be said for marrying a younger man.

She was at the top of the narrow stairs that led down to the chalet's living room when she heard a key being turned in the front door lock.

Damn! Hadn't she told Jessie to notify the security patrol she was going to be here? She started down.

Just inside the front door, an all-too-familiar man in a ridiculous yellow slicker stood silently fumbling with something in the deep pocket of his coat.

"What are you doing here? Has something happened?" Sylvia snapped, torn between annoyance and concern. The heels of her slippers clattered as she hurried down the steep steps.

The man shook his head slowly. The unexpected menace in his cold eyes stopped her in her tracks.

"Then get out. I told you I needed some time here alone."

Instead of replying, he drew a snub-nosed revolver from his pocket and aimed it deliberately at her chest. Before it sank in that the oaf actually intended to shoot her, Sylvia heard a loud blast and felt a heavy blow as if someone had kicked her in the left breast. She didn't hear the second shot.

Sylvia Anne Langdon Smythe Farnsworth March had been mistaken. For her, life ended at forty.