The Secret Lives of Doctors' Wives. Ann Major

       www.mirabooks.co.uk

      This book is dedicated to Tara Gavin.

      She contributed the title and much more, as always.

      ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

      I need to thank Kimberly Huett for her help.

      Prologue

       Austin, Texas

      He remembered the flash of the blade, the slender hand in the dark. His screams had been followed by eerie silence. Too late he recalled that this house had a history of tragedy.

      The dying man could barely hear Rose Marie Castle’s flying bare feet on the sculpted stone staircase. Besides her shoes, she was missing several intimate garments that, doubtless, the police would find later.

       Run, run as fast as you can…

      His hands were bound together with Rosie’s silky black bra. Her paring knife was lodged firmly in his Adam’s apple. The security cameras would capture incriminating images of her escape, but he would be dead long before she was brought to justice, which could be slow, even in Texas.

      The deathblow had been savage. Delicate vertebrae had been smashed, his spinal cord nicked or severed. He’d had no sensation of falling as he’d crumpled to the white carpet, his blood staining it a vivid crimson.

      He’d been a fool, ensnared like a stupid fly in a web. Because of her—the bitch.

      He was cold to the marrow of his bones.

      Downstairs, Rosie let out a panicked little cry. She began to pound on the door with her fists. When it finally opened, and she stumbled outside, the prisms of the chandelier above the grand staircase tinkled.

      He thought of his mother and father. Of the old life and its false promises; of all the bitter years when he’d longed for vengeance, which would have been his—except for her.

      Down the hill, the big engine of her Beamer purred to life. When she sped away, his useless body convulsed. As his eyeballs rolled upward, he heard the wind in the branches of the pecan trees outside. She must have left the door open in her haste to escape.

      The harsh music of the cicadas joined the sweeter chime of the chandelier that she’d imported from Paris.

      Paris, France; not Paris, Texas. What grand ambitions she’d had before the wedding.

       Run, run; you can’t catch me…

      Like hell.

      She’d pay. She deserved to pay.

      His body convulsed one final time.

      He thought about her dreams of being a grand lady in Austin society, married to the eminent plastic surgeon Pierce Carver. She’d wanted to live down the poverty and shame of her childhood.

      Was there enough money or fame to heal such wounds?

      The dying man almost felt pity for Rose Marie Castle as he died.

      But not quite.

      One

       Austin, Texas

      “Oh my God! More blood?” She’d thought it was only a nick.

      Rosie couldn’t believe what had just happened. Pierce had gotten angry so quickly. He’d seemed weird, strung out, not himself at all.

      Her every breath was a harsh, tortured rasp as she grabbed a tissue and dabbed at her cut finger and the steering wheel. She didn’t want to think about her former fiancé, or their quarrel, or how quickly the violence had escalated.

      Perspiration drenched her, not just because it was a hot, sultry August night or because of the champagne she’d drunk with Pierce before the evening had gone wrong. Or because today was her fortieth birthday and maybe she was simply having an early hot flash.

      She rubbed her head. Her scalp hurt where Pierce’s watch had caught her hair. He hadn’t cared that he’d hurt her. In fact, he’d smiled.

      She wrapped the tissue around her finger and applied pressure. When the Beamer’s tires squealed, rounding a sharp curve, she gripped the wheel. It wasn’t like her to mistreat her car by driving too fast. She was that anxious to get away.

      Well, at least she was finally over him. No more wisecracks to the other nurses about wanting revenge, to salve her wounded ego because they knew he’d dumped her for Anita.

      For what it was worth, tonight Mr. Prominent Plastic Surgeon hadn’t paid her a dime of the money he owed her, either. Big surprise. She still didn’t know why she’d snapped. But for sure, she had bigger problems now than the money he’d owed her.

      What had she ever seen in Pierce? He was a gifted doctor, and being a nurse, she’d admired that. She’d been having a hard time accepting her grown daughter’s lifestyle, so maybe he’d come along when she’d needed to feel successful in other areas of her life. Being seen on the arm of a handsome plastic surgeon had made her feel good.

      But even before he’d dumped her, the romance had taken a dark turn. Like a lot of Rosie’s boyfriends—and there’d been a lot, way too many in some people’s opinions, such as her mother’s—Pierce had developed the knack for punching the wrong buttons. He brought out the Bad Rosie, just like her mom, Hazel, did sometimes, which was why Rosie should have been delighted when he’d jilted her for a younger woman right before their wedding day nearly a year ago.

      Okay, so Rosie hadn’t been delighted or acted mature, despite her “mature” age. Okay, so maybe that was partly because she’d been feeling romantic about being a bride again, and partly because she’d seen Dr. Pierce Carver as the ticket to the sparkling train car.

      Rosie’s least favorite movie scene of all time, and of course it had to be the one that haunted her, was the