Free Along for the Ride by Michelle M. Pillow

plan a vacation in one day. Frowning, Megan took the first page off the stack her mother had left. The print-out date in the corner was over a year old. Her mother probably had a huge file of possible vacations. ‘Came up with it last night, huh?’
    Megan shook her head and stood up. She crossed through the small living room to her bedroom, containing a queen-size bed with silver railing next to an empty nightstand. She grabbed a giant duffel bag out of the closet. A few T-shirts, hooded sweatshirt, jeans, pyjama pants and shorts was all she needed for the trip. Well, those and toiletries. She wasn’t one to fret about packing and was done in less than ten minutes. She carried the bag to her living room but hesitated as she set it by the door. The strangest urge to pack something pretty came over her.
    ‘Well, Mom does like to eat at nice restaurants,’ Megan said to herself, refusing to admit it wasn’t her mother she was thinking to impress. ‘I might as well bring one dress with me. Just in case.’
    ‘I need you to call your friend and tell him about tonight,’ Megan announced without preamble as she walked past her sister into Kat’s Upper East Side home. The penthouse was a vast contrast to where Megan lived. When people said Kat had married into money, they weren’t exaggerating. Located on Seventy-Eighth Street, the beautiful pre-war building was lined with shrubs and trees. The home had more space than any two people could ever need, but Kat was doing her best to artfully decorate it with her photographs.
    The living room was immaculately clean from the pristine white walls to the polished wood floors – something Megan knew Kat hadn’t done. Vincent probably hired a housekeeper. The man doted on her sister, which was fine with Megan. He should dote on Kat. If he didn’t, she’d beat the crap out of him. Kat might drive her to insanity, but Megan still adored her.
    The living room was nearly thirty feet long and eighteen feet wide, with towering ceilings. Large casement windows looked southwards over the city. Floor-to-ceiling dark curtains accented the minimalist furniture. A wood-burning fireplace dominated one wall, centred between two built-in bookcases.
    An oversized canvas filled one of the walls. Megan knew the work well. It was filled with pictures Kat had taken of the sisters throughout their lives. The younger years started in the middle and spiralled out as they grew. It was a testament to their lives, a work in progress. The newest addition was all of them at Kat’s wedding – the bride in sexy white and the sisters in distinctly different dark-blue gowns.
    Turning her attention back to Kat, Megan insisted, ‘I need you to call your friend. Mom doesn’t have his number and supposedly Dad’s sick and is looking forward to having two men along on vacation.’ Megan took a deep loud breath. ‘Or something like that. Mom said it better. All I know is, I don’t have a choice. So you have to call your friend.’
    ‘Don’t you mean your fiancé?’ Kat giggled.
    ‘I was drunk last night, Kat, but I’m sober this morning. I know you have an idea of what is going on here, if not the full picture. I can read it on your face.’ Megan put her hands on her hips. ‘I also know you get some sort of twisted sisterly pleasure out of seeing me squirm. Fine. Whatever. But don’t pretend like you are innocent. I’m a cop and I eat pretenders for breakfast.’
    ‘Ew. That doesn’t sound very appetising.’ Kat’s disturbingly angelic expression stayed intact. Maybe that was why Megan was so good at reading people – she’d learnt to tell when her sisters were trying to pull one over on her.
    ‘I know Mom told you the plans. Call your friend.’ Megan glanced around. ‘Tell him the plans.’
    ‘What? You drove all the way here to tell me to make a call? Why not use the phone?’
    ‘I . . .’ Megan hesitated. ‘I did call. You didn’t answer.’
    Kat reached into her pocket and pulled