At the age of sixty-two, I spent the night with a man twenty-eight years younger than me. I did it because I was tired of being invisible and because, for once, I wanted to feel passion. But when I woke up alone in the hotel room the next morning, I discovered something scary...

He had used at least four other identities.

And I was not his first victim.

Over the past eighteen months, several older women had reported almost identical threats.

Widows.

Divorced women.

Women who lived alone.

Women who believed their children would judge them for wishing for intimacy.

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Most of them had paid.

No one had told his family.

Marcus and his accomplice had built their entire plan around one thing.

The shame.

Detective Morgan asked me if I would be willing to help them catch him.

My first reaction was to be afraid.

Then I remembered his voice.

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You believed everything else.

I wanted him to believe one more thing.

I wanted him to think he was still afraid.

At eleven and forty-five I called the number I had left.