Black Widow (The Black Widow Book 1) - Jenni Moen

BLACK WIDOW

JENNI MOEN

Contents Title Page Also by Jenni Moen Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 You loved it??? What to do now … About BLEED BLUE 69 Acknowledgments About the Author Also by Jenni Moen About DEARBORN About WITH THE FATHER About REMEMBERING JOY

BLACK WIDOW (Book #1 of The Black Widow Series) Copyright © 2016 Jenni Moen All rights reserved. Published by: Jenni Moen [email protected] Editing: Editing4Indies, Prima Editing and Proofreading Content Editing: Trenda London Cover Design: Staci Brillhart and Amy Queue Main Photo: Bigstock by Shutterstock Milissenta ® ISBN-13: 978-0-9908519-5-0 No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts for review purposes only. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work. The author acknowledges the trademarked status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.

THE JOY SERIES: REMEMBERING JOY FINDING JOY THE COMPLETE JOY SERIES BOX SET

STANDALONES: WITH THE FATHER DEARBORN

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No matter how heavy your baggage, there’s someone out there who wants to help carry it. ~ Scott Rusell, Black Widow

HIM I DIDN’T LIKE THE PERSON I’D BECOME. Rather than look at myself in the mirror over the bar, I stared down into my bourbon, watching the ice melt as my colleagues—wrong, former colleagues— laughed and drank with smiles on their faces as we celebrated what felt like my hanging. My buzz was kicking, but it hadn’t remedied the slump in my shoulders or made it any easier to listen to them retell a story I never wanted to hear in the first place. A meaty hand clasped my shoulder, and three sets of eyebrows rose in unison. Detectives Coley, Vincent, and Sherfield fell silent, and I turned to see who’d had such a sobering effect on their previously boisterous group. “I came by to wish you well,” Commander Rogers said. Dumbfounded, I nodded. “Thank you, Commander.” The bar was directly across the street from the station, but I couldn’t remember him ever making the walk over for a happy hour or any other going-away party. “We are sorry to lose you, Russell.” For his size, he was an oddly soft-spoken man. “But I know there are great things in store for you in HP.” I smiled, though I hardly felt the same way. My new detective position in Highland Park would be a far cry from the years I’d spent with the Chicago PD. The cushy suburb was affluent and quiet, and I fully expected to be bored for the rest of my career. Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing after what I’d recently been through, but I couldn’t help but feel like I’d fucked everything to hell. “I spoke with your new chief. I told him cold cases are your specialty,” he continued. My eyebrows rose in response. “I think he’s already got one lined up for you.” He tipped his beer at me and took a swig. “Thanks, Commander, but the Henson case was just luck.” “Luck had nothing to do with it. Sergeant Graves told me you were relentless.” I tried to speak but a golf ball-sized lump formed in place of the words. “I know you weren’t happy with the outcome, but that little girl is sleeping safely at home with her parents tonight after three years of God-knows-what, and it’s because of you,” he finished.

Coley and Sherfield nodded their agreement and then the retelling began again. The only reason I couldn’t tune it out this time was because the commander’s eyes were on me. It was too soon not to think of him as my boss. “I can’t believe that bastard took her right off the playground in the middle of the day.” Vincent shook his head as if he’d been there to actually see her disappear into thin air. “That’s such a long time to be kept in a closet. It’s no wonder she doesn’t speak.” “And I can’t believe no one suspected it was the doctor,” Sherfield chimed in. He clearly hadn’t met Issacs, or he’d feel differently. The surgeon, who lived next door to the school, had been considered outgoing and likable by everyone who knew him, and for good reason. “What tipped you off?” asked Commander Rogers. I shifted on my feet and brought my glass to my mouth to justify the abbreviated answer I would deliver. “Just a hunch, I guess.” “You’re way too modest, Russell,” Commander Rogers said before taking a pull of his own beer. “You saw something there when no else did; when everyone else had all but given up. And nobody asked you to.” He delivered the last part as a warning that I shouldn’t cross that line again. The Henson abduction hadn’t been mine, but it was exactly the kind of case I’d never give up on. When it had fallen to the wayside, I’d spent countless hours of my own free time poring over the interview transcripts. Marcus Issacs’ answers had been too perfect and had left me with the unshakable feeling that each one was a rehearsed lie. And I’d known for sure when I looked him in the eye. It seemed like my best lessons in life had come from my grandmother. One of her favorite sayings had been ‘the eyes are the window to the soul.’ I’d made a career out of reading people using her advice; oftentimes making instantaneous and life-changing decisions based on it. Body language was a barometer, but was also easy to disguise by seasoned liars who knew their own tells. The eyes, though, they never lie, and in my first face-to-face meeting with Issacs, my gut told me that Gabrielle’s untold story was written in his. That hand hit my shoulder again, and I tried not to flinch. “You’re a hero, Russell, and her parents are sure grateful to you,” Commander Rogers said. “We all are.” “Thank you,” I managed. Accepting the hero status everyone wanted to bestow on me was the hardest part. I was no hero, but I had no choice but to accept it or pay the price of more questions. “And I know you’re not happy he got away. Hell, none of us are, but he can’t hide forever.” Commander Rogers smiled encouragingly. I took a sip of my drink so he couldn’t see the grimace I hid behind my glass. Like everyone else, he believed the guilt I felt was because we hadn’t gotten our man. But if I had any remorse at all, it was for the loss of my own humanity. The past had reared up and bit me on the ass that night. I’d been helpless against my rage, and it was that lack of control keeping me up at night.

“Where’s Hayes?” the commander asked. The conversation just kept getting better and better. Everyone in the group shrugged or mumbled some noncommittal answer. I was the only one who knew why my former partner was absent. My resignation had bought his silence and also his absence, apparently. The latter wasn’t part of our deal, which was fairly simple; if I left the Chicago PD, he wouldn’t talk. He’d warned me I was too close to the case. The facts were too similar to another cold case that still haunted me. Only Trevor knew why I was obsessed with finding Gabrielle—because I knew too well the stakes of what would happen if we didn't. He’d begged me to let him handle the apprehension, but I’d wanted it for myself. Needed it for myself. I’d made sure he hadn’t taken it from me. But that wasn't the story the guys were telling at my going-away party or the one I’d told the therapist they’d forced on me. “Have there been any more updates on Gabrielle's condition?” I asked, changing the subject. It was the only thing I really cared about. “As well as can be expected. It’s probably going to take years of therapy to get the girl straightened out. Luckily, she has parents who care as much as they do.” “She’s a very lucky kid,” Vincent said. “Could’ve ended very differently.” There was that word again. Lucky. I wondered if Gabrielle felt lucky. I was betting she didn’t. I wish she’d tell someone what she was feeling. The door at the front of the bar opened, and a gust of wind blew in carrying a pretty brunette along with it. She pushed the hood off her head and ran her fingers through her windblown hair. Almost immediately, her eyes met mine across the bar. She smiled sadly, her expression reflecting my mood, though I knew hers was for a different reason. Something twisted inside me. “Gentlemen,” Melinda said with a nod when she reached us. The group of men said their hellos, and then one by one, they made flimsy excuses to leave. Casting knowing looks my way, they told me they’d catch me later. Apparently, we hadn’t been as discreet as we’d thought. “Hey,” I said when we were alone. “Thanks for coming.” She nodded slowly. “I wouldn’t miss it.” “How’ve you been?” Our conversations were always awkward now, and like everything else, I shouldered the blame for that. “I'm okay. Worked a double homicide today so it's been grueling.” Melinda never stopped impressing me. As the lead investigator for our forensics division, she was a genius with a stomach of steel. I was pretty sure that the only stupid thing she’d ever done was me. “That definitely deserves a drink,” I said, lifting my own glass of bourbon. She shook her head. “I'll pass. That doesn't usually end up well for me.” “Ouch.” I winced. A weak smile appeared on her face as she reached for my hand, but she changed her mind, pulling away again. “You know what I mean. It’s hard enough for me to tell you no when I'm sober. I don’t stand a chance when I’m not.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to make a joke—something about the time we’d had sex in the broom closet in the back of the very bar we were standing in—but I stopped myself. I respected her too much to make light of a relationship that, contrary to what she thought, did actually mean something to me. “For what it's worth, I'm going to miss you,” I said, looking around at the dwindling crowd. “You’re one of the few.” She smiled. “I know. This is going to be a good move for you, though.” I sighed. “I hope so.” She reached for me again, and this time, she allowed herself to follow through with it. Her touch was warm and familiar. “It’s a new start, Scott. Use it wisely. You know all of those pretty society ladies are going to be throwing themselves at you. Give it a chance.” I shook my head. “No way. You know I have a soft spot for beautiful brunettes with big brains.” She grinned. “Awwww. That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.” “I hope not. Surely, I've done better than that at some point.” “Don't sell yourself short. You're quite romantic and even a little bit charming when you want to be.” I gestured to the bar. “Are you sure you don’t want a drink? I promise I’ll keep the charming stuff to a minimum.” Her cheeks turned pink, and she ducked her head. “I really can’t. I have a date tonight.” “Oh.” She looked away. How we spent our time when we weren’t working or together was something we made a point not to discuss, but I didn’t want things to be awkward between us. Not tonight. “I hope he treats you right,” I said, forcing a smile. “If he doesn’t, let me know.” She arched her brows playfully. “You’ll take care of him?” “I know some guys.” She laughed. “Don't we all?” She clasped her hands in front of her and rocked on her heels. “So when do you move?” “Tomorrow. My new place is kind of a dump, but it’ll do.” Her eyes widened as she thought of something. “Do you have a way to get there? Were they able to fix your bike?” I scrubbed my hand down my face as I recalled the depressing phone call I'd gotten that morning. “Nah, they totaled it. I'll be taking the train for a while.” She took a step toward me. “Oh, God. I'm so sorry, Scott.” I forced a laugh. “About the bike or the train?” “God, both. Let me give you a ride.” “No, it's okay. I'm good with the train,” I said. I’d wasted enough of her time. “Okay.” She glanced toward the door like it was an escape hatch. “You’ve got to go,” I said, so she didn’t have to.

She took another step toward me, and a strange look came over her face. The most fearless woman I knew suddenly seemed shy. “I know I shouldn’t do this here,” she said, placing her hands on my chest. “Everyone’s probably watching, but I don’t know when or if I’ll ever see you again.” I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her body against mine. “It’s Highland Park, not Siberia.” “You know how these things go. You’ll get busy. You’ll meet new people. You’ll move on. It’s the natural progression of things.” She laid her head on my chest, and the top of her head tucked perfectly into the crook of my neck. I wasn’t sure why I’d never noticed before. “You will too.” She met my eyes and blinked as her eyes filled with tears. I swiped a thumb across her cheek and swallowed hard. “What’s going on, tough girl? I was ninetynine-point-nine percent sure I’d never see this.” “There’s something in my eye,” she said with a weak smile. “There’s something on your mouth, too.” I tipped her chin up and kissed her chastely. Her lips were softer and sweeter than I remembered. Usually, when I kissed her, we were rushed, ripping each other’s clothes off because there was always a chance it was the last time. I kissed her again on the forehead before she pulled away and looked up at me. “Thank you.” “For what?” I asked, having no clue what she could be thanking me for after everything I’d put her through. “For acknowledging in front of everyone that something was going on between us. I don’t like being the subject of rumors.” I sighed. “I wish it could be more, Mel. I really do.” “No, I get it. I got here too soon.” “What do you mean?” Her forehead wrinkled as she pulled her thoughts together. “I knew going into this that I wasn’t the first girl. I had a hunch I wouldn’t be the last. But it doesn’t mean I wasn’t what you needed the last four years.” Her eyes glittered, even in the dim light of the bar. “That woman did a real number on you, Scott, but you’re not broken. Just a little banged up. And I’ve had the privilege of watching your bruises fade a lot over the last couple of years.” “You had something to do with that,” I admitted. “I’d like to think so.” She took another step away from me. “I meant what I said before. The next time a pretty brunette with a big brain catches your eye, give her a chance. A real one. You deserve happiness, too.” She gave me a final smile, and as I watched her blow out of my life as poignantly as she’d blown in, I realized I’d underestimated how hard goodbye would be.

HIM I WAS STILL THINKING ABOUT MELINDA’S WORDS WHEN I BOARDED THE PURPLE LINE AT HOWARD STREET. Sure, the divorce had been a major hit to my pride, and I’d sworn off relationships because of it, but my hang-ups went much deeper than that. The anger I’d always carried brewed closer to the surface now. I was allowing it to seep into every facet of my life. Melinda had repeatedly thrust her heart at me, but I’d been unwilling to take it. My stupidity had cost me a good woman. But how can you be entrusted with someone else’s heart when you don’t trust your own? The next time a pretty brunette with a big brain catches your eye, give her a chance. It would be much later before I’d wonder if Melinda’s directive had been more of a prophecy. Certainly, the things she’d given me to think about played a part in the decisions I made that night and the ones that followed. The striking brunette boarded the train behind me. Without so much as a look, she took the closest seat inside the door, directly across from where I stood. Head down, I got the impression she’d disappear into the wool coat she was wearing if she could. We were already moving by the time she finally looked up. And her expression was so openly sullen I had to look away. Another sad, dark-haired beauty. Friday nights had never been so fun. I pulled out my phone for something to do. And so I wouldn’t feel like a creep staring at her. I searched for the score for the Cubs game and cursed silently when I found it. Everyone was losing tonight. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the woman pull a book from her bag. She opened it, and when she seemed immediately immersed, I finally took the opportunity to check her out. I was always hyper aware of the people around me. Professional curse. I trusted no one. Especially on the L late at night. She was more than just a little pretty. Her dark hair, pulled back away from her face, revealed flawless porcelain skin and delicate features. Her lips were full and pouty. If Trevor and I were still speaking to each other, he would say she was exactly my type. I wondered what Melinda would say. As she read, the previous heaviness in her expression lifted. She tapped one foot in the air, flashing a red sole at me. I didn’t know much about women’s shoes, but hers looked expensive. She was either too rich to be slumming it on a train that smelled like dirty socks, or she was pretending she was. I’d sworn off both kinds a

long time ago. I wasn’t much of a reader myself. My ex’s nose had always been buried in a book. Mostly romance novels that set standards no real man could live up to. I am a realist. A facts guy. I generally believed if you were wrapped up in a make-believe world, you'd miss what was right in front of you. Of course, I’d taken it to the other extreme and was so couched in realism, I’d missed what had been right in front of me for the last four years. The train hit a curve, and I shifted on my feet. I squared my stance in defiance of all of the bourbon I’d had and gripped the overhead bar tighter. I busied myself with my phone again, pulling up the list I’d made that morning. 1. Going-away party. 2. Finish packing. 3. Clean out fridge and pantry. One down. Two to go. The boxes in my apartment were a real problem. They weren’t nearly as full as they needed to be. I should have finished packing days ago, but I was procrastinating. All I’d really managed to do was wreck the place. Drawers had been dumped out so I could sift through them. The master closet had puked its contents onto the bedroom floor. My phone vibrated in my hand. When I looked at the screen, my stomach clenched. Now, he wants to talk? I swiped my finger across the screen. “It’s too late,” I growled as a greeting. A throat cleared on the other end. I didn’t mind it one bit if he was nervous. The traitorous bastard deserved to be a little uncomfortable. “It’s eight forty-five,” he said. “That's not what I meant, and you know it.” “Listen—” “No.” I cut Trevor off. “You should have come if you had something to say.” “I didn’t think you'd want me there.” “You’d be right.” It was a lie. I was upset he hadn’t come even if he was probably right not to. If someone had noticed the tension between us, there would have been no way to explain it. But as angry as I was with him, I also knew I wasn’t entirely innocent. “You’re mad,” he continued. “I get it. But I have a family to support.” “And I don't? So I don't need my job?” I loved my job. I was passionate about it. And for the last four years, it had been the only reason I had to get up every day. He sighed. “I'm sorry. For Josie’s sake and the kids, I just can’t afford to take any more chances. I can’t be a part of anything like this again. I don’t like this any more than you do.” An oppressive silence stretched between us. I let it linger for a few long seconds as I considered what he’d said. If I were in his position, I might do the same, but it still felt like a betrayal. My partner for almost a decade, and my best friend, had shoved me out of the job I loved.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” I said as if that were excuse enough. “I know. Your heart is in the right place, but … frankly, your motivations scare me. You have triggers, man, and truthfully, you scare the hell out of me at times.” I scrubbed my free hand down my face. Trevor was the only one on the force who knew about my past. I regretted telling him now. “With our jobs—” “Your job,” I interjected. “I don’t have one anymore, remember?” “You do, too. This is a good move for you.” I was tired of hearing it. “This city is my home. Real people with real problems.” I wasn’t a Chicago native. Years ago, I’d turned my back on my hometown and chased a dream here. The dream had long since gone up in smoke, but I couldn’t imagine turning my back on the city I’d grown to love. I hadn’t thought I'd ever leave it. “They have real problems in HP, too.” “Right. Like when the traffic lights go out and they run into each other on their way to Starbucks.” He chuckled. “Seriously, there’s a lot of money in Highland Park. And with money comes—” “Dogs that wear sweaters and yank on diamond-encrusted leashes pulled along by spandex-wearing society bitches who haven’t eaten a real meal in ten years,” I interrupted. “I’m never going to get laid again.” As soon as it was out of my mouth, I remembered I wasn’t alone. My eyes darted to the woman. She was still reading her book, though her eyebrows seemed just a tad higher than they had been before. Trevor laughed. “When have you ever had a problem getting laid? You’ll be plenty busy. On and off duty.” In spite of everything, I almost laughed with him. With more than a decade of friendship under our belts, it was so easy to fall back into it. I wanted to blame the bourbon for making me loose and forgiving, but the truth was I hadn't even left town yet, and I was already willing to forgive the bastard who'd driven me out. “Have you met your new partner?” he asked as the train pulled to a stop. I looked around to see what station we were at, but the only lights outside the train were those of the city. “Not yet,” I said as a kid, dressed in head-to-toe black, approached from the back of the train. His hair was long and unkempt, partially covering his face. A long dirty trench coat hung from his slouched shoulders, and I didn’t like all of the things I could imagine hiding beneath it. Professional hazard. “You could actually go all the way to the top if you play your cards right,” Trevor continued. “That’ll never happen,” I mumbled, only halfway paying attention now. My hackles were raised. Something about the kid had me wound up. He looked at the closed doors and the darkness beyond and then turned toward the woman. “It could … if you get your shit together. Get some therapy, Russell. Some real

help. Not the shit doctors that the department pays for.” “Hmmmmmm.” “You need to let this vendetta you have against mankind go, and I think you need help doing it.” “I have nothing but respect for mankind when it behaves,” I said, my eyes still on the kid. He stepped around me, momentarily blocking my view of the woman. I moved a fraction to the side so I could see her again. “Do you mind if I sit here?” he asked her as he plopped himself down. She looked at him warily before glancing around the train at all of the empty seats. Finally, her gaze landed on me. Bright and alert, I saw in them the same mistrust I felt. “Well, you know I’m here for you. If you need anything at all, Scott, don’t hesitate to call me.” “Okay. I’m going to have to call you back,” I said and abruptly ended the call. I took the two steps necessary to plant myself in front of the kid. He pushed his hair back, revealing his eyes. They darted from me to her and back to me again, his pupils large and jumpy. “Excuse me,” I said in a voice I generally reserved for work. “That's my seat.” “Whatever, man. It looked pretty empty to me.” He threw me a sideways glance before looking back at her. He directed a crooked, jagged smile at her. “Isn’t that right, baby?” I noted the disgusted look on her face and decided to make it a point never to refer to a woman by baby again. Less intuitive, the idiot took it one step farther and placed his hand on her leg. Her reaction was subtle, but I saw the slight shudder. Without saying a word, she picked up his hand and dropped it back in his own lap. “Don’t touch me again,” she said. I didn’t like that he’d touched her or that he wasn’t getting up. “Get out of my seat,” I growled at him. “I won’t ask you nicely again.” He stood and glared at me. His shoulders were high and his back straight now, and he bowed up to me as he passed. I stretched to my full height, showing him which one of us had the clear advantage, and then just for fun, I lurched as if I was going to make a move for him. He flinched, and I laughed. I didn’t take my eyes off him until he’d returned to his seat at the back of the train. Then I smoothly slid into the one he’d abandoned next to her.

HER “I WON’T HURT YOU. I’M A COP.” HE LEANED IN CLOSE, SO ONLY I COULD HEAR HIM. I shifted in my seat, suddenly unsure which of the two men was worse. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, and he didn’t look like any of the round, paunchy officers I’d had the misfortune of dealing with, though he certainly had the bravado of one. A few sharp words in a very gruff and authoritative voice were all it had taken to send the greasy-haired kid scurrying off like a cockroach. I wondered what he’d look like in a set of Chicago blues. It definitely wasn’t my first choice, but a man in uniform had always been a weakness of mine. When he’d sat down, he’d slid his arm around the back of my seat with a sense of easy familiarity. I knew the possessive act was for the benefit of the cockroach. He’d been careful not to actually touch me. Even so, I could feel the heat radiating off him. He smelled of whiskey and hard work—a combination that had gotten me into trouble in the past. I slid forward in my seat, putting more distance between us. “A cop, huh? That’s funny. I could’ve sworn I just heard you say you didn’t have a job.” I gave him what was intended only to be a quick sideways glance but turned into more when I realized it was warranted. His dark hair and icy blue eyes were a shocking contrast in the very best way. His sharp nose was well proportioned to his face. It gave him a ‘don't mess with me’ credibility. A hint of dark shadow was along his jaw, though not more than a day’s worth. The corner of his mouth quirked upward in amusement. “Were you eavesdropping on my conversation?” he asked. “Kind of hard not to. You weren’t exactly quiet. I don’t really think you need to worry about never getting laid, though.” It was the wine talking. I slapped a hand over my mouth to stop any other booze-inspired outbursts. My cheeks blazed as his eyes widened in surprise. I moved the hand from my mouth to my eyes because there was nowhere else to hide. “Not that I’m propositioning you. Because I’m definitely not.” I waited for him to say something. When he didn’t, I slid my fingers open to find his icy blue eyes alight with amusement. He glanced at the back of the train and removed his arm from the back of the seat. “Your non-proposition is duly noted.” “It was nice of you to come to my defense, but I’m really quite capable of taking

care of myself. I’m pretty good at spotting danger.” After all, I didn’t say, I’d seen the handsome one sitting next to me coming from a mile away. “Great. Then I don’t need to give you my standard speech on personal safety.” I shook my head. The last thing I needed was a lecture on personal safety from a stranger who'd been staring at me long before he’d found a reason to approach me. “I know they say that crime is down because of those.” He pointed at a surveillance camera hanging from the ceiling. “But there’s still more violent crime than you think on these trains. Only one in four ends in an arrest, and those are only the reported ones.” I couldn’t help but smile. “One in four, huh? So you really are a police officer.” “You doubted me?” “Wouldn’t it be incredibly irresponsible of me not to?” “Touché,” he said with an appreciative smile. “Since you’re a statistics man, how many psychopaths do you think have played the you-can-trust-me-I’m-a-cop card right before they raped and murdered some poor, unsuspecting girl? Wasn’t that one of Ted Bundy’s ruses? Handsome guy pretends to be a cop, though he’s really a serial killer?” He raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m handsome?” “That … and possibly a serial killer,” I reminded him. He shook his head and whistled. “Damn. That really doesn’t bode well for me. Serial killer is a pretty hard label to kick.” “The title does carry a real negative stigma.” He scratched his chin in thought. “I guess the only way for you to know for sure is to get to know me.” I tried very hard not to smile at the not-so-sly come-on. Apparently, he was interested, after all. Too bad I wasn’t. “And why is that?” I asked. “Serial killers don’t usually get to know their victims first. Targets are almost always chosen at random. Ninety-nine percent of the time, anyway.” “Did you learn that from the Discovery Channel or do you have firsthand knowledge?” “I’ve taken a few criminal psychology classes. Fascinating stuff. I’ve never come across a confirmed serial killer, but I’ve met a few people I thought were capable of it.” I shuddered. I wasn’t sure why someone would willingly take on that job every day. “Sounds incredibly dangerous. Anything exciting happen today?” I asked. He leaned back in his seat and crossed one leg over the other. “I met a pretty girl on a train and got to save her from a scumbag.” His eyes darted to the back of the train to check on the scumbag’s whereabouts. This guy was smooth. “Sounds like a real snoozer,” I said. “The jury’s still out on that. So where should we start?” he asked. “Start with what?” I asked.

“Getting to know each other. It looks like we have time to kill. There must be something wrong with the train or the track ahead.” Up to this point, the happenings on the train had kept me adequately distracted from the actual state of the train. I sat up taller and looked out the window to try to see why we weren’t moving, but nothing but the usual dark houses and businesses were in the distance. I could feel the panic rise up in my throat. “Whoa,” he said, turning toward me. “Are you okay? You’re as pale as a ghost.” I nodded my head, though my face clearly said otherwise. “I’m just a little claustrophobic. I was better when I was distracted.” “Phew. For a second, I thought the idea of getting to know me was actually going to make you vomit. It’s nice to hear it’s not me, it’s you.” I forced a smile at his joke but couldn’t find it in me to actually laugh. “Okay, well, we need to distract you again. We could make out,” he offered. When I just stared at him in response, he held up his hands. “I was totally kidding. That’s actually rule number one in my personal safety speech. Don’t make out with strangers on broken down trains. Even handsome cops—your words, not mine— who are willing to sacrifice themselves for the good of mankind.” A chuckle slipped out of me. “What’s my other option?” “Well, it’s not my first choice, but I guess you could tell me about the book.” His lip curled into a slight grimace. I looked at the paperback on my lap and laughed. “Not much of a reader, I take it?” He smirked. “I’m more of a doer. Why would I want to read about something when I can do it myself?” “I can’t exactly go back in time and experience Casablanca during World War II, now can I?” I asked. What I didn’t say was fiction was something I’d choose over my current reality any day of the week. “I suppose that’s a valid point, though I’m not sure that Casablanca is historically accurate.” “Touché,” I said, repeating his line from earlier. “But I am actually performing very important research here. Besides, what's that famous quote? I've lived a thousand lives because I’ve read a thousand books. But the man who doesn't read lives only one. Or something like that.” “Or maybe you haven’t lived yours fully because your nose is always in a book,” he retorted. Such an accusation would normally rile me, but for some reason, it didn’t coming from him. Maybe it was because he’d just saved me from the cockroach, and I was feeling forgiving. Maybe it was because he was currently saving me from a panic attack. Or maybe it was because, if the last year was any indication, there was some truth to it. I’d come to a point where I preferred books to real people, and even I found it to be a little sad. “I feel like you have strong feelings about this,” I prodded. “Like you’ve got some kind of vendetta against bookworms.”

He laughed. “That’s the second time tonight I’ve been accused of having a vendetta.” I shrugged. “If the shoe fits. You know, if you’re an angry person, reading is a great way to relax. Studies show that reading reduces stress by seventy-three percent.” His eyes narrowed, but his lips pulled up at the corners. “I have a sneaking suspicion that you just pulled that out of your ass to impress me.” I couldn’t help but laugh. I had pulled the statistic out of my ass, but I was sure I’d read something like it somewhere. My motive for doing so was a little fuzzier. Maybe it was to impress him. “It’s a fact, Statistics Man,” I lied. He laughed loud enough that the cockroach glanced our way again. “I’ll take your word for it, Bookworm. I will concede one thing, though. You can tell a lot about a person based on what they like to read.” He pointed at my book as if that alone proved his point. “May I?” I somewhat reluctantly handed it over. He studied the front with focused intent and then quickly ruffled through the dog-eared pages before looking back up. “Mmmhmm,” he said, as if it were a foregone conclusion. “Well?” I wanted to know what this man thought he knew about me based on a book I didn’t even like. “Clearly, you’re an old soul who likes the classics, but you aren’t afraid to venture off the beaten path either.” Before I could tell him that was an easy generalization, he continued. “You like nice things and look at things with a critical eye. You prefer red wine to beer but occasionally like to slum it with a burger and fries.” He paused, his gaze steady and intense as he handed the book back to me. “You’re a realist who understands that not everyone gets a happy ending, but you still want one for yourself, and you’re thinking very hard about slumming it with me tonight.” He smiled that quirky half-smile I already recognized as only his own. “Am I right or am I right?” Except for the last part, which was one-hundred-percent off base, he’d hit more nails on the head than I was willing to admit. I pretended to be miffed. “That’s pretty presumptuous of you, don’t you think?” “So you’re saying I got close,” he said matter-of-factly. I paused for several long seconds before conceding. “What’s your secret? Mind reading? Do you have a crystal ball in your pocket?” I was a little bit mystified he'd read me so easily. The grin I earned was nearly enough to knock me out of my chair. Two matching dimples appeared on his cheeks. “No magic here, I promise. It was just observation. It’s an art, really.” “People-watching is an art now?” I asked. “Anything can be an art if it’s done well enough.” He raised his eyebrows at me. My cheeks flamed, and I resisted the urge to run my hands over them to cool them.

My palms had turned sweaty anyway. “I’m a master observer,” he continued. “An expert, if you will. And a master of distraction, it turns out, because we’re moving again, and you didn’t even notice.” Proud of himself, he puffed up his chest. “Thank God.” I settled back into my seat and watched the lights of the city begin to whiz by again. "So this art of observation, can it be taught?” “You bet it can.” He turned in his seat so abruptly his knees hit mine. The temperature in the train skyrocketed. “Let’s start with the book. Casablanca, the movie, is a classic. But let’s be real—it’s an unusual choice for someone your age. I’d go so far as to say it’s more popular with the blue-hairs eating from the senior menu at IHOP than pretty young women who wear fancy shoes. So you’re obviously —” “An old soul who likes the classics,” I interjected. “And nice things,” he said, nodding toward my shoes. “The fact that you’re reading the screenplay instead of the actual book has me a bit stumped, but I’m just assuming you’re a road less traveled kind of gal.” I wanted to think so, but I’d spent a good portion of my life doing what was expected of me and trying to be the Smythe my father wanted me to be. Each time I had taken a stand and made my own decision it had ended miserably. I pushed those thoughts out of my head. “Maybe, but there is no actual book for Casablanca, only the movie and the screenplay, so your assumptions are a little mistaken.” “Oh, no. The lady’s faith in my ability wavers,” he said, nudging me gently with his elbow. “What about the wine and burgers?” I asked. “It’s written all over your face.” He pointed at my chin. The realization of what he was saying hit me. “Oh, my God, are you serious?” I frantically dug through my bag for a tissue and a mirror. “I had a hot dog at the stadium.” “Really?” he asked with a chuckle. “Now, you’ve surprised me. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a baseball fan. Not dressed like you are anyway.” “I hadn’t planned to go tonight, but I am very much a baseball fan.” “You left early. Because they’re losing?” “Something like that,” I mumbled as I pulled out a crumpled tissue from my bag. The tissue was still damp from the tears I’d shed at the baseball stadium. A committee meeting for the benefit I was helping to host in a week had brought me to town today. Nostalgia had kept me there. I was on the train, heading home, when I realized I was surrounded by men who’d thrown on baseball caps with their suits. Wrigley Field had been the next stop. Accident? Maybe not. My heart certainly knew the way to the Cubs’ stadium. That’s probably where it last felt whole. When the train had stopped, I followed the crowd as they got off. It hadn’t been a cognitive decision. One minute, I was headed home, and the next, I was

presenting my gold card at the will call window for the first time. The attendant, an elderly gentleman who'd worked there for years, immediately recognized me. He’d called me by the wrong last name, but I hadn’t corrected him. That had been a conscious decision. Inside the stadium, I’d meandered through the vendors selling T-shirts and stuffed blue bears, knowing I looked wildly out of place in my dress and heels. Even the wives who considered themselves too sophisticated to wear their husband’s names on their backs were wearing blue. But I wasn’t one of them anymore, and as usual, I was dressed in drab black as a testament to the fact. I’d made it through the top of the seventh, two plastic cups of wine, and the now offensive hot dog before my façade began to slip, and I’d taken my first dip into the anxiety pills that were the antidote to everything wrong in my life. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the unfamiliar back squatting behind home plate. His stance was different, his mannerisms sharp. When he turned, the print on his back, partially covered by the straps of his pads, might as well have been a marquee, blinking the wrong name at me. I’d left with tears in my eyes, my stomach churning—the hot dog, the guilt, and the memories too dangerous of a mix. “It’s right here,” the Statistics Man said, pointing at his chin as I aimlessly dabbed at my own, lost in my thoughts. He scrunched his face up, probably mimicking my expression. “A little lower. No, down a little …” he instructed before finally snatching the tissue away. “Oh, just let me do it.” He placed two fingers under my chin. His touch was gentle as he tipped my chin up. Light as a feather, he brushed the tissue against my face as if I were fragile enough to break. The act felt surprisingly intimate. “Are you okay?” he asked. “You look … sad all of a sudden.” I forced a smile. “Yes. I’m fine. I love hot dogs.” What? The man had turned me into a bumbling idiot. He chuckled. “Who doesn’t? This ketchup is pretty dry. I don’t think I can do much without water.” He handed the tissue back to me with a discouraged look. The exchange between us felt too heavy for two strangers on a train. I wanted to go back to the lighthearted banter from a few minutes before and not think about dangerous subjects like baseball. “If you lick my face, this conversation is over,” I said. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He paused and his dark eyes gleamed with mischievousness. “Then again, maybe I will. Dream of it, that is.” A slow burn crawled up my neck. My cheeks were probably the same shade as the ketchup. I dropped the dirty tissue back in my purse. I needed to shut this down before he got the wrong idea of where it could lead. Which was nowhere. “There’s something you should know about me, Statistics Man.” His eyebrows rose in question. “I can’t wait to hear it, Bookworm.”

“I don’t even like Casablanca. Hate it, actually.” He looked surprised. “Why? You wanted her to run away with Humphrey Bogart?” Now, I was the one surprised. “You’ve seen it?” It was safe to assume he hadn’t read it. No one read the screenplay for fun. He shrugged. “My grandmother loved to watch old black and white movies.” I couldn’t help but smile at the image I had of this big, burly man watching old black and white movies with his grandmother. “Did she have blue hair?” “No. White as a ghost. Loved IHOP, though.” He leaned in, his blue eyes bright. “You would’ve fit right in with her.” I laughed. “And how did she feel about Casablanca?” I asked, genuinely curious. “Loved that, too. She was a true romantic. Married to my grandfather for fiftytwo years. There was nothing my grandmother valued more than marriage.” His use of the past tense and his obvious affection for her tugged at my heart. I leaned in closer to him as if the touch of a stranger could give him comfort. But then I realized it was probably more for my benefit than for his. He seemed to be able to remember her without it hurting. I wanted that someday. “That’s very sweet,” I said. “You look skeptical. You don't believe in marriage?” he asked. “I do,” I said slowly. If anything, I’d had too much faith in marriage. It just hadn’t worked out for me. “But you think Ingrid Bergman should have thrown her marriage away for Humphrey Bogart’s pretty face?” he asked. Just a trace of bitter accusation was evident in his voice. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees, his shoulders more tense than they had been before. I looked out the window at the dark city still racing by. “No, I don’t. I agree with your grandma. Ilsa,” I said, using the heroine’s movie name, “ended up with the right man.” His forehead furrowed. “So then why don’t you like the movie?” “The whole premise is ridiculous. The idea that she might throw away everything over a whirlwind affair.” “Love can make you stupid,” he said with a shrug. “Has it made you stupid?” “Of course.” I waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, I filled the empty air between us. “My theory is they were never actually in love. They had a quickie affair in Paris, but all we get are the flashback scenes. They run around the city, visiting the Eiffel tower and doing some other touristy things, looking at each other with doe eyes the entire time. And then we’re supposed to believe that after a couple of dates, they are so entirely taken with each other they wanted to run away together. After what? A week? It couldn't have been too long because, at the end of it, they know virtually nothing about each other.” I was rambling, but I couldn’t seem to stop. “Then they meet up again in

Casablanca years later, and he learns for the first time she was married.” I held up the book as if to prove my point. “In fact, in what has to be the most ridiculous line in the whole thing, he says all he knew about her was she had straight teeth. Seriously? He fell in love with her because she had straight teeth?” His eyes were wide with surprise. “I’m getting the sense you feel very passionately about this.” “Well, I’ve been studying the story, so yeah. But you did ask.” “Did I?” “Didn’t you?” My cheeks were on fire again. He certainly had that effect on me. “I’m sorry. I went on a bit of a tirade, didn’t I?” He placed his hand on my leg and then removed it quickly as if he hadn’t really meant to touch me. But it was too late. My body reacted immediately to the slight touch I seemed to feel everywhere. My stomach did a cartwheel. My already inflamed cheeks threatened to burn up completely. My tongue suddenly felt tied. “Don’t apologize,” he said. "I’m completely enthralled with your analysis of a movie you clearly despise. But have you considered maybe we’re supposed to use our imaginations and assume there was more between them than what we saw?” “A great story makes you believe in the message based only on what’s presented to you,” I said. “They didn’t make me believe.” Like the wheels of the train, his laugh rumbled through the car. “Okay, let’s assume it was just a week. Or two. Whatever. Is it that you don’t believe they were in love or you don’t believe it’s possible to fall in love in such a short time?” I thought hard about it. I’d loved Chase for so much of my life that I couldn’t even remember how or when it had happened. But we’d been young and impetuous when we’d met, so I probably believed I loved him from the very start. When had it become real? I couldn’t even remember. Even so, I knew for a fact it was very different when you got older. Unmet expectations and life’s curveballs made the heart wary. “It’s not possible,” I decided out loud. “Real love takes time. Ilsa was ready to impulsively throw her marriage away—and probably would’ve if Rick hadn't forced her hand in the end. What she and Rick had wasn’t real. It was a mirage.” He rubbed his chin and considered what I’d said. “So you're a skeptic.” “You’re not?” I asked. “Absolutely, I am. But I'd like to believe it’s possible.” I smiled. It was very sweet. “How very romantic of you.” He leaned closer. I could feel his warm breath on my temple. “I’ve been told I’m a romantic guy,” he said softly. “I bet I could make you fall in love in a week.” The intoxicating scent of whiskey permeated the air between us. Clearly, he was drunk. Then again, I might be too. “No, you couldn’t.” His eyes twinkled. “Challenge accepted.” I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop my smile. “It wasn’t a challenge.”

“It was, and I accept.” He looked over at an older couple I didn’t even realize had boarded. Somehow, during my dissertation on the implausibility of insta-love, the train had stopped, and I hadn’t even noticed two people had sat down across from us. “We’re debating the romance between Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca,” he said to them. The elderly lady nodded. “Fantastic movie.” “Well, this beautiful lady doesn't believe you can fall in love in a week. I’ve just accepted her challenge.” I gaped at him. “It wasn’t a challenge,” I repeated. “You don’t even know my name.” “Adds legitimacy to the experiment,” he said with a single nod of the head. “Sixty-eight percent of experiments are botched from the start.” I pointed at him. “Now, I know you made that up.” He grinned. “I did.” I watched in disbelief as he turned back to the elderly lady and extended his hand to her. “Scott Russell.” "It’s nice to meet you, Scott Russell.” The woman shot me a wistful smile as she repeated his name. With emphasis. And for my benefit, I thought. They were both very sneaky. While the introductions continued, I turned his name over in my head, repeating it to myself. Scott Russell. An ordinary name for a man who was obviously anything but, which was exactly why he would not be learning mine. “You know,” she said, reaching over to pat her husband's leg, “I told my momma I was going to marry Hugh after our first date.” He nodded at her, and a sweet smile spread across her well-seasoned face. “You can see how that turned out.” “Gladys and I have three kids and eight grandkids. We’ve lived in the same house since we got married forty-eight years ago,” Hugh boasted. I nodded and smiled. “That’s wonderful.” Unbelievable was what it was. Scott couldn’t have picked a better couple to join us on the train at a better time. I felt as if I’d been interjected into a romantic comedy, and the man next to me had scripted the scene himself. Somehow, he’d unwittingly pulled together the perfect supporting cast. He turned his disarming eyes back to me. “Someone recently told me I needed to take a chance. I think I’d like to take a chance with you. Seven dates in seven days. What’s the worst that could happen?” He was serious. His eyebrows arched, daring me to say yes. It was a ridiculous idea. Preposterous. Yet I found myself actually considering it. No. That would be a huge mistake. You have rules. My more levelheaded and always very vocal common sense put her foot down. It's time to get out of here. I looked out the darkened window while I tried to gain my bearings again and realized I had no idea where we were. I’d been so caught up in our conversation I hadn’t been paying attention. “Ummmmm,” I began.

“We’re about to pull into Foster,” Scott said, answering the question I hadn’t gotten out. “Oh, my God. Are you serious? That’s twice in one night.” I opened my purse and tossed my book inside, so I’d be ready to hop up when we stopped. “I needed to catch the green at Davis.” Scott was grinning. “I thought you said you could take care of yourself. Take me up on my offer and you won’t need to. Let’s go get a drink, and we’ll make this day one. I’ll make sure you get home.” Almost before the words were even out of his mouth, his face fell. He scrubbed his jaw. “Except I don’t have any wheels.” He seemed to have just remembered something I would’ve found hard to forget. I shook my head. “I’ll just get off and take the next train back.” By the time I got off at the next stop, waited for another train, looped back, and walked over to catch the commuter, it was likely I would miss the 10:58 train and would have to wait another hour. It would be late when I got home. Oddly enough, I wasn’t upset about it. There was no way I could continue this absurd conversation but talking to Scott had been nice. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a normal conversation with someone who didn’t know my story or have some preconceived notion about me. Somehow, he'd made me forget about my meeting with my father and my disastrous stop at Wrigley Field. He’d talked me down from a panic attack, and I hadn’t even had to take any more pills. My father. Chase. Panic attacks. Pills. They were all grim reminders of my reality. “You don’t want to date me anyway. Not even for a week.” “I think I do. You’re enchanting.” He gave me that smile again, the one with the two dimples, and it was almost enough to make me rethink my stance on everything. “Enchanted is more like it,” I mumbled under my breath. His head tilted to the side. Before he could speak, I changed the subject. “Why don’t you have a car?” It wasn’t unheard of in the city, but I was still curious. Most of the people I knew could match their cars to their outfits if they wanted. “Haven’t really needed one until now. I drive an assigned car when I'm on duty, and public transportation works when I’m not. I used to have a bike, but I lost it recently.” “A bike?” I asked, picturing this gigantic man on a kid’s bicycle. It was like imagining a circus act. “Harley Davidson. Dayna Wide Glide. It was the anniversary edition. Custom everything.” There was a wistful gleam in his eyes as he shook his head at the memory of it. “God, I miss it.” I didn’t know what a Dayna Wide Glide was, but I had no trouble imagining him cruising the streets of Chicago with a rumbling engine between his legs. His hands on the handlebars, pulling his big broad chest taut. I went ahead and put the uniform on him too and nearly sighed at the magnificence of the image. And then I

pushed the image away because I didn’t need to be thinking about such things. “Was it stolen or something?” I asked. “Because that would be kind of ironic.” He chuckled. “People steal from cops too. But no. I had an … accident.” An untold story hung heavily in the air around us. I waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, I gave him an out. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay, but I couldn’t accept a ride with you anyway.” His lips curled into a smile. “Now that we’re dating, you’ll have to get in a car with me at some point.” He raised his eyebrows. “Of course, I’ll have to get one first. I’ll put it on my list of things to do tomorrow.” “We aren’t dating,” I protested, though I couldn’t help but smile at his insistence. “I don’t even know you.” The train began to slow. We both looked up to see the bright lights of the station ahead. He turned in his seat so he was more squarely facing me. His knees hit mine again, and I nearly fell out of my chair from the slight contact. “But I think you should. I have a feeling it would do us both some good.” His intense blue eyes, which had been laser focused on mine, dropped to my mouth. My stomach dived with them. He leaned forward, so close I decided he was actually going to kiss me. Right there on the train. A complete stranger. The faint but spicy smell of bourbon beckoned me. Something inside me tightened. Fortunately, a small gasp from the seats across from us snapped me out of it. I pulled back and glanced at Gladys, who sat with her hand across her chest, her eyes riveted on us. She must be appalled at the thought that I might kiss a complete stranger. My grandmother would’ve been. “Ilsa would approve,” she said, nodding her head and surprising me. I shook mine as the train came to a complete stop. Ilsa had been a fool. I would not be an Ilsa. I'd learned my lesson. “In addition to not taking rides from strange men, I also don’t kiss them.” I stood as the doors opened. I gave him one last smile before walking away from what could’ve been the next best thing to never happen to me.

HIM “YOU’RE NOT REALLY GOING TO GIVE UP THAT EASILY, ARE YOU?” GLADYS ASKED. I was a little shell-shocked after being shot down after what I’d considered a pretty good effort on my part. I’d put myself out there. Really stepped out of my comfort zone, thanks to Melinda. I wondered if she’d be proud of me, or if she might get a little satisfaction from the brush-off I’d received. Why had I let her get to me anyway? Sure, train girl was a brunette. Sure, she talked about Casablanca as if she was delivering a goddamn dissertation. That didn’t mean she was the brunette with big brains I was supposed to give a chance to. She’d literally been the first woman to cross my path, and I’d mistakenly thought since she’d seemed a little battered and beaten herself, she might be the perfect woman to help me get over Elena. And maybe Melinda, too. A week with a stranger? If that couldn’t cure a bruised ego, I didn’t know what would. But giving up was exactly what I’d intended to do. So when I slipped through the doors of the train behind her, it wasn’t because she was beautiful. Or because she had the most stunning green eyes I’d ever seen. Or because she’d blushed when she’d thought I might kiss her. I followed her because someone else followed her first, and I didn’t like it one bit. I knew it could be nothing more than coincidence, but something told me it wasn’t. So fueled by nothing more than intuition, I jumped up from my seat and took off after them. “Attaboy,” Hugh said with a raised fist. I made it through the train’s doors just as the buzzer sounded and they began to shut. The kid in the black trench coat was walking too fast, his steps too deliberate. The nagging voice in my head, a whisper before, became a thunderous roar I could feel in the tightening of my chest. The only warning she got was the pounding of my feet on the pavement behind her. I was still five steps too far away when he made a grab for her. She managed to hang on to the bag tucked under her arm, but he succeeded in knocking her off her feet. She fell across a bench, crying out as she landed. When he reached for her a second time, he was the one who got the surprise. I barreled into him full throttle. My back grazed the edge of the bench as we fell

and landed on the concrete below. Something clattered against the pavement and pain tore up my back, but I hardly felt it. When I raised my fist, I was no longer an officer of the law trying to apprehend a suspect. I was the man Trevor had warned me about. Anger roared through me as I thought of every woman I’d seen wronged by scum like this guy. I thought of the girl I’d saved and the one I hadn’t. I wanted to hurt him. Needed to hurt him. But as I looked down at him, my fist ready to fall, I realized I couldn’t do any more damage to him than I already had. He lay as still as the dead. My stomach clenched as I scrambled to my knees. My heartbeat, a deafening roar in my ears, racked my entire body. A trickle of blood fell from his nose. From the backside of his head, more seeped out, staining the concrete in jagged streaks that all seemed to point at me. A knife lay next to his lifeless hand. I closed my eyes and willed my heart not to explode as I listened for breathing other than my own. When I opened my eyes again, all the anger in my body had seeped out, replaced with fear. I watched his chest, praying it would rise and fall. Breathe, you asshole, I commanded. “Call 911,” I said while reaching for his wrist to look for a pulse. When she didn't answer, I glanced at the woman to see if she was okay. Surprisingly, she'd pulled herself up from the bench. She stood beside it, staring down at the kid with a remarkably calm, if not a slightly glassy expression. “No,” she said. I knew shock when I saw it. I’d had victim impact training. Fight, flight, freeze. That was the pattern. The woman was obviously in shock. It wasn’t surprising. A routine mugging was no big deal until it happened to you. And this wasn’t a routine mugging. He’d targeted her on the train and then followed her for the sole purpose of attacking her. Maybe he’d intended to rob her all along, or maybe he was pissed she’d brushed him off or because I’d lied to him about being with her. It didn’t really matter at this point. They both needed help, and there was only one of me. That was what mattered. “He needs medical attention,” I said more gently. “But I need my hands to stop the bleeding. Can you make the call?” Her gaze traveled to the knife on the ground. “No,” she said again. Her voice was firm with not an ounce of uncertainty. Her green eyes rose from the kid to me. So stunning before, they seemed darker now, colder. “Were you following me?” Was she serious? “I was following him because he followed you,” I explained. I gave up looking for his pulse and reached into my pocket for my phone. As the call went through, I watched her face soften a bit as she seemed to be considering what I’d said. She nodded once at me and then looked again at the bleeding kid. “911. What’s your emergency?” “This is Detective Scott Russell. I need a bus at the Foster station. We have an attempted mugging. The perpetrator took a fall and likely has a serious head

injury.” “Is the victim breathing, Detective Russell?” I checked again. “Yes, though it’s shallow. And it’s the perpetrator, not the victim.” “We have a bus en route. Approximately six minutes away. Are there any other injuries?” My gaze scanned over the woman. Her coat hung off one shoulder. She still held her purse tightly against her. “I think the victim is in shock.” She shook her head, and her eyes danced with panic. “Should I send a second ambulance, officer?” “I think that’s a good idea.” An approaching train—the one she’d been waiting for—rumbled from somewhere not too far down the tracks. “I’ll stay on the line until they get there,” the dispatcher said. I didn’t respond. My attention was torn between the kid bleeding out at my feet and the woman staring wistfully at the train. She turned back to me, her eyebrows pinched together in resolution. Before she even began backing away, I knew what she was going to do. “You can’t leave. You need to give your statement to the police. You need to tell them what happened.” If she left, it would be my word against the kid’s and my credibility was getting thinner and thinner with every incident. There was also the fact that I wasn’t even on the force anymore. My unemployment was only hours old, and I’d still managed to find trouble. I needed her to corroborate my story. “You are the police. You tell them what happened. They'll believe you.” There was something in the way she said it. As if she thought they might not believe her. She took two more steps away from me. A groan came from the kid. I looked down to find him grimacing. There was no way I could leave him to chase her. And I wouldn’t physically detain a woman who was in shock. I could do more harm to her than good. She looked from me to him and to the approaching train again. She surprised me then by returning to us and grabbing the phone from my hand. “Detective Russell and I were on the Purple Line when a Caucasian male approached me on the train and harassed me,” she said into it. “Detective Russell ran the guy off, but when I got off at the Foster station, the same man followed me. Detective Russell followed too to make sure I was okay. The man pushed me down and tried to take my purse. When he came at me again with a knife, Detective Russell pushed him away from me. The man fell down and hit his head.” She looked down at the bleeding kid. “He doesn’t look so good. You should probably hurry.” She said it matter-of-factly as if she’d watched it happen to someone else instead of living through it herself. She handed the phone back to me. “I’m sorry, but that’s the best I can do.” The train stopped and the doors opened. Like the one we’d been on before, it

was mostly empty at this late hour. She turned and walked toward it. Now, I was the one in shock. “How will I find you if I need to talk to you?” I called after her. Once on board, she turned and cocked her head and shrugged. “You’re the detective. I guess we’ll see how good you are.” As the train pulled away, she held my gaze through the window. The small, almost imperceptible smile on her face felt like an apology. Or maybe I just wanted it to be.

HIM I WATCHED THE MOVERS LOAD THE LAST BOX INTO THE BACK OF THE TRUCK AND WISHED, LIKE THEM, THAT I didn't have to go back inside. The truck pulled away and rolled down the street toward my future. I was right behind it. I just had to clean up a few things and walk away from life as I knew it. Piece of cake. I trudged my way through the lobby, up the elevator, and through the front door of my apartment. The landlord had already been by. He'd done the final walk-through, casually noting every scar my twelve years had left on the apartment. To him, each one was a deduction from my deposit. To me, they were itemized failures. Teeth marks on the baseboard from the dog my ex-wife had taken with her. A scorched countertop from the anniversary dinner I'd tried to cook years before that. Ruts in the living room carpet from her grandma's rocking chair where she'd worried herself neurotic when I'd worked nights. Four years and countless passes with the vacuum hadn't lessened those ruts. It was almost as if no time had passed at all. What Melinda had said was true. I hadn't given her a chance. Maybe it was because memories of Elena and my failed marriage still surrounded me. I walked through the apartment, flipping off lights and replaying the end in my head. It had come on a typical Tuesday night. The fight had started out ordinarily enough, too. It's funny how one bad decision about the most mundane and inconsequential thing can change your entire life. I'd worked the night before and had slept all day. Instead of waking refreshed and ready to spend the next two nights off with Elena, I'd been agitated, my mind still on a domestic disturbance I'd worked the night before. She'd come in exhausted from a day of preparing her college students for final exams, and I'd snapped at her over something as silly as her toothbrush touching mine on the counter—an irrational, but well-noted pet peeve of mine. Of course, if I'd known I was one snide remark away from a divorce, things would have gone down differently that night. But it would’ve just delayed the inevitable. We’d been

doomed from the start. “It won't happen again,” she said as she threw clothes and shoes into an overnight bag. I was quick to apologize. I could be an inconsiderate asshole, but I wasn't always unreasonable. “You're being ridiculous,” I said when my apology wasn't enough. I'd fought many times with my headstrong wife over the years but never had she threatened to leave me. “If you think this is about a toothbrush, you don't get it. You'll never get it.” When I'd stomped to the kitchen for a beer, she followed me. “You're never here, Scott. Even when you are, you're not.” “Neither are you.” She worked all the damn time. Long days teaching classes. Late nights writing papers for publications I never saw. My wife had always been ambitious, but the more respect and money she earned, the more she craved. “I called you yesterday and left you a message. Did you even listen to it?” she asked. I must've looked confused because she'd thrown her hands up in the air and stomped off. “If you had, you'd know the new cleaning lady came today. I didn't move your toothbrush. She did.” Apparently, since I slept like the dead, I'd had no idea she’d even been there, probably because my wife had been considerate enough to ask her to be quiet. “I thought it would be nice to have a clean house for your days off.” She stalked to the closet and pulled another bag off the top shelf. She haphazardly grabbed a handful of clothes from the rod. “Though I don't know why you even bother taking days off. It's not like you even allow yourself to enjoy them.” “You're one to talk,” I huffed. I couldn't count the number of Saturdays she was home instead of at the college. And that was the entirety of our problem. We were both obsessed with our jobs, never fully disengaging from them. I knew our marriage had suffered for it, but I already had a solution in place. “I have news,” I said. “I was going to take you to dinner tonight to tell you.” “What?” she asked as she threw the bag on the bed and began stuffing the clothes inside, hangers and all. “I made detective.” She stopped and turned. I breathed a sigh of relief as a smile spread slowly across her face. “You did? That's wonderful!” “So no more nights, babe. I'm on days starting next week. Monday through Friday. Eight to five.” I put my arms around her waist and attempted to pull her to me. Instead of melting into me as she usually did, she placed her hands against my chest and pushed back to look into my eyes. “But … how? When did you take the test?” “I've been waiting for a position to open up. Found out yesterday I got one.”

Her smile faltered, and she shoved me away. She repeated herself. “When did you take the test, Scott?” “Six months ago. I was waiting until a position opened up to tell you.” She glared at me and snatched her bag off the bed. I followed her into the bathroom and watched as she yanked out a drawer, causing everything to fall to the floor. She scooped the stuff up, throwing it into the bag on top of everything else. “You can't leave me. This changes everything.” “It changes nothing,” she said, waving her hair dryer at me. I was at a loss for words as I followed her back to the bedroom. I didn't see how it couldn't. She'd always said she wanted more time with me, and now, she would have it. “Six months, Scott? Who does that? Who takes the biggest test of his career and doesn't even share the news with his wife? Did you study?” “Of course, I did.” “Did you hide that, too? Didn't want me to know?” “I studied during the day. You weren't here. Besides, I thought I might not pass. I didn't want to disappoint you.” Elena was the smart one. She was the one with the big fancy job at the college. When she was home, she always had her nose in a book. I'd seen her walk through the apartment and run into walls while reading. She rolled her eyes and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Nothing has changed. Nothing will ever change. Your heart isn't in it. We both know it never was.” She was being dramatic for the sake of being dramatic. She knew I loved her, and I told her as much. “I don't know anything anymore.” “Everything I do is for us. For you. To make the world a little safer for you. For our kids someday.” She snorted. “If only. Everything you do is because of Daniela. You’re in love with a ghost. Not me. I’m not stupid enough to believe you’ll ever want kids with me.” She might as well have slapped me in the face. I’d never told her definitively I didn’t want kids, but apparently she’d figured me out on her own. I stood in a stupor as she stomped to the kitchen and pulled the dog leash off the hook on the wall. “You can't take Maddie,” I said. “This is her home.” “No, Scott. I am her home.” She met my eyes, and that's when I saw it. Resolve. She was leaving, and there was no convincing her otherwise. “Where will you go?” I asked. “I'll be fine.” She hadn't answered the question. “Is there someone else?” The question was born out of anger. An irrational stab in the dark since she’d never given me any reason to doubt her. But when she’d looked at the front door instead of at me, I knew the truth. I should've known Elena would never leave if she didn't already have a plan.

“I’m sorry, Scott. This is going to hurt.” At the front door of my now empty apartment, I ran my hand over the shitty patch job in the drywall. I'd put my fist through it that night. According to the landlord, it would cost a few hundred dollars to fix it properly. I was still paying for my mistakes. Melinda and Trevor were right. I needed to start over. Professionally and personally, my life was a mess. It was time to let it go. Highland Park will be a good thing. A clean slate. I pulled the door shut behind me and bent to shove the key under it. "Mr. Russell?" I jumped and turned, my stance defensive. A man held up his hands. "Whoa," he said, laughing. "I have a delivery for Scott Russell in apartment 402. He pointed at the numbers on the door. "That’s you?" I relaxed a little. "Yes." "Sorry if I scared you." I shook my head. "No, no. My fault. I was lost in thought. Did you say delivery?" He didn't appear to have anything other than a clipboard on him. "It's downstairs. Do you mind coming down?" "Sure. You just caught me on my way out. Is it big or something?" I asked as I followed him down the hall. "You could say that." We took the elevator in silence while I tried to guess what it could be. I suspected whatever it was had something to do with my move. It could be a housewarming gift from Melinda. She was thoughtful like that. Or it could be from Trevor. Maybe a peace offering. There was a chance it was a going-away gift from the precinct or even a thank-you from the Henson family. I looked up to find the delivery guy watching me with a curious smile. "You really have no idea, huh?" I laughed. "None at all." He shook his head and chuckled. "This is going to be fun. She said it would be." The doors to the elevator opened. Curious, I followed him through the lobby and out the front door. He led me to a motorcycle parked on the sidewalk. Momentarily distracted, I walked around it, admiring it. "Nice ride." The delivery guy smiled at me with a strange expression on his face. "It's got less than thirty-seven miles on it." I whistled and squatted down to take a better look. "I had a 2008 Wide Glide." "Well, now you have a 2016." I looked up at him and blinked. "Excuse me?" He shook his head and laughed. "The bike," he said, pointing at it, "is yours. Bought and paid for. I just need some information, and then I'll leave you to it." He waved the clipboard at me. "She?" I asked even as the meaning of his words settled over me. "If you don't want it, I'd be happy to keep it for myself."

"I didn't say that," I said, laughing. "To be honest, my mind is just sort of blown." "Sure. Shit like this doesn't happen to me every day either." He pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket. "I need your driver's license for the paperwork, which you can pick up at Windy City unless you want us to mail it. You'll need to insure it within ten days too, though I'd suggest sooner." I stared at him, my mouth agape, and absently fished my wallet out of my back pocket. "You said she. What was her name?" "She never said.” “And you didn’t ask?” I sputtered. He looked sheepish. “She paid the asking price and then some. I assumed the extra was so I wouldn't ask questions she didn't want to answer. I'm pretty good at reading between the lines." "What did she look like?" "Never saw her. She ordered it by phone and paid with a cashier's check. Delivered by courier. Didn't matter to me. All I needed was a name for the title, and she gave me yours. She sounded hot, too." "You can tell that by phone?" I asked. He laughed. "Not always. That's bitten me in the ass a few times, but she had a nice voice." I shook my head and stared at the bike. "This is crazy." "Totally." He scribbled something on the paper and thrust the clipboard at me. “Write your new address at the top and sign at the bottom. I'll mail you the paperwork but give me a few days, yeah? I'm swamped." I did as instructed and started to hand it back to him but thought twice about it. I skimmed the invoice quickly, noting the paid in full stamp. The only names on the piece of paper were the motorcycle dealership and mine. Reluctantly, I handed it back to him. "Don’t worry. You get a copy.” He pulled the invoice from the clipboard, tore off the back copy, and handed it to me. "There's a note in there," he said, pointing at the closest saddlebag. "Won't help you figure much out, though." I stepped toward the bike. "If we're good here, I've got to get going." He pointed at a truck with a trailer behind it, idling at the curb. I nodded, and he spun on his heel. He gave me a half wave through the passenger window as he pulled away. My mind swam, and I churned through the possibilities as I unfastened the buckle on the saddlebag. But for some reason, I kept coming back to one: the nameless woman from the train. She’d been on my mind all day. Her mysterious behavior should have sent me running in the opposite direction, but instead, it had made her intriguing somehow. It hadn’t helped that I’d been calling for updates on the kid’s condition all day. It had been touch and go for a bit, but he was out of the woods now.

I picked up the note by a corner, careful not to touch it more than I needed to, in case prints could be lifted from it. Not that I was in any position to call in favors to find out. Scott, you earned it. Please accept this token of my gratitude. It wasn't signed, and there was no letterhead. Each word ended with a swirly flourish, making the writing feminine. Was it possible that the bike was a thankyou gift for rescuing the woman on the train? I replayed our conversation on the train in my head, checking off the details I'd given away to her about myself. My name. The model of my old motorcycle. My stop on the L. It was enough. She could've tracked me down if she’d wanted to. A Google search would probably lead her straight to my door. Still, I dismissed the idea as crazy. It was too far-fetched. Who else did I know who would do such a thing? Mel? Unlikely. She lived conservatively and could probably afford it, but she was moving on with someone else and had urged me to do the same. Why would she then turn around and do something so generous? There was my mom. But she was an even more unlikely suspect. My parents did not have money to blow on extravagant gifts. Elena? That thought nearly sent me into a fit of hysterical laughter. And that was the end of my list. There were no other women in my life. A token of my gratitude. Could this somehow be related to the Henson case? It seemed like a possibility, though they’d be better served spending what little they had on getting their daughter well. My phone rang in my pocket, and I carefully dropped the note back in the saddlebag before answering it. "This is Russell." "We're here," said a masculine voice. "The landlord met us at the curb and opened the apartment for us. We thought we'd go ahead and start moving stuff in, but we don't know where to put it. The place is pretty full." The movers. Shit. “Just put it anywhere. I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.” I looked at the bike and a grin crept over my face. "Make that twenty." I walked around the bike once more before climbing on. It was exactly what I would have chosen for myself if money were no object. I didn’t know if I could keep it, but it would get me to Highland Park. I could figure out what to do when I got there. I heeled the kickstand up, held the brake and clutch, and then stopped myself. What if it wasn't safe? Maybe it was going to blow up when I started it. I mulled that over for a few seconds and then laughed at my own idiocy. I'd made a few enemies over the years, but I didn't think any of them had thirty thousand to burn on a plot to kill me. I revved the engine, thankful no one was around to watch me acting like a pussy. With a smile on my face, I drove past the Noyes station where I should have been catching the L. My shitty mood from earlier had completely vanished. Roaring away

from my old life certainly felt better than walking away. I pulled up in front of my new home—a middle unit in a row of older townhouses —with a new problem on my mind. I wasn't sure where to park. Luckily, a welcoming committee was waiting for me.

HIM “DON'T GET OFF," SIERRA SAID, HOLDING UP A HAND TO STOP ME. "YOU'LL WANT TO PARK ACROSS THE street now." She showed off a set of perfectly bleached teeth as she pointed at the bike. "Is this new?" Pretty and trim, I easily recognized the property manager from my tour of the townhouse a week before. I also recognized the noticeable difference in her demeanor. She'd been curt and dismissive then, as if she barely had time to show it to me. Now, she was grinning ear to ear. Apparently, she appreciated fine machinery too. "Just got it. Sorry, I'm late. I wasn't expecting you to be standing out here on the street." She waved a dismissive hand through the air. "As I told you, we take special care of our premiere residents." Funny. I didn't remember her telling me much of anything during our first meeting, and I was sure the single-bedroom townhouse I was moving into didn't qualify me as a premiere anything. With a smile, she handed me an electronic key card and pointed to an underground parking area beneath a newer apartment building on the other side of the street. "This will get you in that green gate over there. Spots four and five are yours. I'll meet you at the elevators." She left me in a wake of confusion, her high heels clicking on the pavement as she crossed the street. There was a swing in her hips that hadn't been there the week before, and she looked over her shoulder with an encouraging grin. She was flirting. A week ago, I might have been interested if she'd been nicer to me. But she hadn't, and now, I found her lacking somehow. Her hazel eyes weren't bright enough. Her smile lacked a sweetness I now found endearing. I wasn’t enchanted. I turned my gaze to the building across the street. Two double glass doors led to an interior lobby. With shiny brass accents, I could even imagine a doorman inside, like some of the ritzy apartment buildings downtown. Why she was allowing me to park below it was beyond me, but I wasn't going to argue. I needed somewhere safe to park the bike for the night while I figured out what to do with it. I pulled up to the security gate and used the card she'd given me. After I had

parked in the allotted spot, she met me at the elevators as promised. "We've had a little problem with the movers, so I'm glad you're here,” she said cheerfully. "Where are they? I didn't see them parked out front." "Behind the building. There's a service elevator. It's larger than this one," she said as the doors opened for us. "Let's go. I'm sure you're anxious to see it, and I know they're anxious to see you. It’s like a Mexican standoff in there." I stepped in behind her. I suppose I thought we’d get off on the first floor and walk back across the street. I was surprised when she pushed the button for the seventh floor instead. "How lucky for you I manage both properties, right? I wish I'd realized what you were looking for the first time you were here. I'm sure the misunderstanding is all mine, though." Since I had no clue what she was talking about, I wasn't so sure that was the case. "It was an easy fix, though, and you're going to love it here," she continued. "Your unit has it all. Quartz countertops and a gorgeous balcony view. You can even see the lake from up there." Quartz countertops? Balcony view? From what I remembered, the countertops were only marginally better than the scorched laminate in Evanston, and there was no balcony, period. The elevator doors opened again, and she flitted off the elevator and down the hall. "Follow me." "Sierra, stop." My voice echoed off the polished stone floors of the hallway. "Why are we on the seventh floor?" She stopped and turned slowly. The excited expression she'd worn before had morphed into one of confusion that surely matched my own. "You said the higher the better." "That's what I said?" I asked. She pursed her lips together and squinted her eyes. "Yes, that's what you said. This morning. On the phone." There was a hint of trepidation in her voice. "Sierra," I said slowly. “I didn’t call you this morning.” Trepidation turned into exasperation. "Yes, you did. You called me twice." I hadn’t called her once, let alone twice. “Could you maybe refresh my memory about what we talked about?" "Okayyyyy." Her annoyance was now on full display. "You said you'd lost your paperwork and asked for the address of the apartment. I gave it to you. Again." She ticked off each event on her fingers. "Then you hung up. A few minutes later you called back and asked for an upgrade." "An upgrade?" "Yes. The best I had, I believe, were your exact words." "Did that surprise you, Sierra?" I asked, switching into full detective mode. “Frankly, yes, it did. You seemed happy enough with the other one, and well, I ran your credit check so …”

So she knew what I could afford. And what I couldn't. I would’ve laughed if I hadn’t been about to snap instead. "Are you playing games with me, Mr. Russell? It's detective, right? Because I'm feeling sort of played right now." Someone was definitely getting played, but I didn't think it was her. "I promise, I'm not." "Okay. Then let me show you the apartment." "I don’t want to see the apartment. I want to see the paperwork. Where is it?" Her face fell. She pointed down the hall in front of her. “It’s in the kitchen.” “Take me there now.” “Okay. I also made a copy of the cashier's check the courier dropped off. In case you wanted a copy of that." Cashier's check. Courier. It was the same song and dance the Harley salesman had given me. The only difference was Sierra seemed to believe she'd talked to me directly, and the Harley guy had talked to a woman. "Do you happen to know what company the courier was with?" She shook her head. "Just let me show it to you. Please," she begged. "It's beautiful. I promise you're going to love it. Plus, the guys are waiting for you." She was on the move again, hustling down the hall. But there was no flirtation in her step now. She looked back every few seconds to make sure I was following. Her nerves were as frayed as mine were. "There are only three units on this floor." She paused briefly by a door labeled 7B and pointed at it. "All of the units in the building are rentals except for this one, but the tenants are rarely here. Same with the one on the other end of the floor. It's a corporate apartment that is hardly ever used. It's really quiet up here. You'll pretty much have the whole floor to yourself." She stopped again in front of an open door and gestured for me to enter first. "Here we go. This one’s yours. 7C." Sierra had a screw loose if she thought I was staying. I stepped into a barren entryway that was larger than my old living room. A dramatically arched doorway led to an impressive open living space. If my entire apartment in Evanston could have been picked up and plopped down here, it would have fit into this one room. In the center of it, two groups of men stood staring awkwardly at each other. On one side were my movers. The three men stood in front of my old furniture as if they were guarding it. The worn couch and recliner, souvenirs from my failed marriage, seemed more shabby and inconsequential than usual in the large pristine space. On the other side were two more men and a brand-new living room set. Except for a gigantic leather couch, it was all still wrapped in cellophane. I didn't need them to unwrap any more of it to know I'd never be able to afford any of it. In my current financial situation, I could barely afford a new lamp, let alone an entire room of furniture. Or the room it was sitting in, for that matter.

"Moving on up, aren't you, Mr. Russell?" one of my movers asked. He pointed at the other group of guys. "They want to know if they should haul off your old furniture. But I told them you wouldn't have paid us to move it if you didn't want it." "Where did all of this come from?" I asked the opposing side. A taller, skinnier man pointed at the print on his T-shirt and spoke. "Robertson's Furniture. She has the invoice." He nodded at Sierra. The pinched look had returned to her face. "It's in the kitchen with the other stuff. I assume you want to see it too?" she asked. "Rental?" I asked. She squeezed the bridge of her nose with two fingers. "Paid in full." The tall, skinny guy stepped forward. "All of our donations are taken to a warehouse for refurbishing. Your couch is pretty worn, so they'd probably have to reupholster it. The coffee table will probably need some restoration, but it's for a good cause. The owners of our store are involved with a women's shelter. When the women are ready to get their own place, they come shopping. It's pretty amazing really." It sounded like a good cause, but I wasn't donating all of my furniture. I would need somewhere to sit when we moved it all back across the street. I reached in my back pocket for my wallet and handed a twenty-dollar bill to each group of men. "Can you guys take a fifteen-minute break and go somewhere and get a drink? I think there’s a store on the corner." "There’s also a coffee shop," Sierra piped in. As the men filed out, Sierra gestured for me to follow her. "You have to see this first. It's unbelievable." She walked toward a wall of windows and flung a pair of French doors wide to reveal an outdoor terrace. "Perfect, isn't it?" I blew past her in a direction I hoped would lead to the kitchen. “Okay, yeah,” she said, clipping along behind me. I found a glossy white folder with the words “The Remington” embossed in gold on the front of it in the kitchen. I snatched it off the countertop and flipped it open "Anything you might need to know about the property is inside, too,” she said hopefully. “This kitchen is state of the art. That’s a Wolfe range, and these countertops are quartz.” “Sierra,” I said, silencing her. The photocopy of the check was on top of the stack of papers. I looked at the number while trying not to have a visible reaction. “This paid for what? The apartment? Or the furniture?” “That’s for the apartment,” she said. The check was for more than sixty-seven thousand dollars. Nearly six times what a year in the other place would cost. “To rent it?” I asked. She blinked at me a few times before answering. "Yeah, but that covers the whole first year. And the deposit. Just like we talked about." I gave her a hard look before returning my attention to the folder. I dug through

it in search of the lease agreement. When I found it, I scanned the first page for the renter’s name and found mine. I flipped to the last page. My eyes fell on the signature at the bottom. I wasn’t surprised to find it there, but whoever had forged my name hadn't even tried to copy my sloppy writing. The difference was so glaringly obvious I wondered how Sierra hadn't noticed. Then again, why would she when she clearly had only dollar signs in her eyes? "I know this seems like a lot of money, but it's market price and this apartment is totally worth it." She was still trying to give me the hard sell. I glared at her to shut her up, not caring if I was rude. “What else is there?” My voice reflected my annoyance. She reached across me and dug through the folder with shaky fingers. “The furniture invoice,” she said. “Before you ask, I don’t have a copy of the check for that. I assume the furniture company does. All I have is what those guys gave me.” She pointed in the direction of the now vacated living room. I skimmed to the bottom line and shuddered. The five-digit total was circled and stamped paid in full. I quickly did the math in my head. Bike. Apartment. Furniture. The number was somewhere around a hundred and fifty thousand. My head swam with questions, but I couldn't formulate even one. Sierra hardly seemed like the person to ask anyway. She pushed a manila envelope across to me. "I almost forgot this. The courier delivered it with the check and the signed lease." She emphasized signed as if it were enough to force me to stay. I stared at the envelope as if it might bite me, making a note of the courier company. Inside was a single sheet of paper. A business letter addressed to Scott Russell, The Remington, 1847 Green Bay St., Apartment 7C. The letterhead was that of the First National Bank of Highland Park, and Martin Marcus, the bank president, had signed it. I read the single paragraph, which requested me to visit the bank at my earliest convenience, a first and then a second time. “Did you read this?” I asked. She squared her shoulders as she nodded “It wasn’t marked confidential.” It wouldn’t matter. Nothing said anything of any importance. “But you didn’t find this all very strange? Me calling and asking for my new address and then requesting an upgrade when you know this place is completely outside my price range? You didn’t question any of it?” She shook her head. “The commission from this deal will pay my rent this month.” I placed the palms of my hands over my eyes and tried to find clarity in the darkness. I counted down from ten before I opened them again. “Sierra, I didn’t sign any of this. You surely realize that now.” She bit her lip and winced. “I shredded your check for the other apartment. And I leased it this afternoon.”

“Fuck me,” I yelled. I threw the papers on the island and stomped away. “Where am I going to live? Almost nothing in this town is affordable.” “Here?” she whispered. The tears she’d been holding back fell then. I ran my hand down my face. I felt like an ass. She’d obviously been duped too, but she should have questioned a few things. Too many things didn’t add up for her not to have been suspicious. “Do you have any other apartments for rent?” Her shoulders heaved. “There’s a one bedroom opening on the third floor next week.” “Let’s go ahead and assume I can’t afford anything in this building. What’s available across the street?” “Nothing.” “When?” “Maybe next month. I’ll know when people start giving their notice next week.” I placed my hands palm down on the countertop, willing the coolness from the surface to seep into me and calm me down. I couldn’t do anything to fix this situation. She couldn’t do anything. Not at five o’clock on a Saturday night. I’d have to wait until Monday when I could talk to Martin Marcus at the bank. Hopefully, he’d be able to explain what was going on. My phone rang in my pocket. I groaned as I fished it out. This mix-up would end up costing me more money. I’d have to rehire the movers when I found another apartment or rent a truck and move it all myself. Sierra began backing toward the door. “I’ll go wait in the living room. When the guys get back, I’ll tell them not to take anything away.” I took one look at the phone’s screen and silenced it. I'd been ignoring my brother for days now. As soon as my family had heard I was leaving my job with the Chicago PD, they'd started putting the hard sell on me to come home. My sister had called. My mother had written an actual letter. And now, they were siccing my brother on me too. Until this very moment, I’d thought it would never happen. For all of the problems I had here, they would be multiplied in Brooklyn. Now that I was homeless, I wasn’t so sure. As soon as the phone went to voicemail, I returned Luke’s call with a text. I sent him my new—though, now temporary—address as my answer. Hopefully, that would get him off my back for a while. For the first time, I looked and really saw the room around me. The stainless steel range had six burners. The refrigerator looked like it cost more than a small car. I'd never lived anywhere like it. Probably never would. The thought made me tired. I'd worked hard my entire life. Slaved away at a job that had robbed me of my time, my marriage, and, at times, my sanity. I'd risked my life. I'd walked into situations no rational person would ever choose to walk into. I protected everyone else's property, never believing I'd ever have anything like this of my own. What had all of my hard work gotten me? Nothing. I'd lost my wife, my job, and if Trevor didn't do as he promised … my reputation would be next.

Maybe it was a sign. Maybe it was finally time to return home and face my mistakes.

HER JUST HELPING AN OLD FRIEND, I TOLD MYSELF AS I PUSHED OPEN THE DOOR AT EPILOGUE. IT HAD ONCE been one of my favorite stores. Now, I had to give myself a pep talk just to get up the courage to go in. The bookstore was in the center of town. I avoided it as I did everything else, only venturing into public when I absolutely had to. Too many hushed whispers. Too many pointed stares. Too many stupid theories. It's all in your head, my husband had told me. Maybe initially, but after he was gone, the voices only got louder. People were cruel. My brief time in the spotlight had given them license to publicly try and convict me even when the legal system couldn't. The cruelty of the small town shocked me; the brazenness of people I'd once considered friends. More than once, I'd thought about selling everything and moving. The idea of reinventing myself somewhere else was appealing. But I’d always rejected the idea because pieces of my heart were buried in Highland Park. It was hard to imagine leaving them behind, but if I made it through the next few months, I might do just that. As expected, the line in front of Ryder's table was already long, winding its way almost to the front door. Every sports fanatic in town had come out for the book signing. I ducked my head and worked my way through the crowd, waiting for the inevitable and wishing I'd told him no when he'd asked me to come. Ryder's fans had also been Chase's fans, so I knew it wouldn't take long before I was recognized. When I reached his table, a pretty blonde sat behind it with him. I could barely contain my annoyance. He’d said he needed my help. As an author, I knew how book signings worked and I’d assumed he wanted me to sit with him and shove books at him while he signed them and visited with his fans. Now that I could see he already had help, I felt sandbagged. New plan: Say hello. Say goodbye. And go home. I was already looking forward to kicking off my uncomfortable heels, changing into some comfy pants, and curling up on the couch with a book. I had a new copy of Sunset Boulevard that was calling my name. "Celeste," Ryder said, standing up. "Get over here." I slipped past the line of people waiting in front of his table without looking at

them. He pulled my rigid body against him. "You came." The relief in his voice was unmistakable. I melted in his arms. I'd never been any good at telling him no, and I was incapable of staying mad at him for very long. Someone whispered from behind me, "Is that Celeste Reid?" "God, what a tragedy," another louder voice said. "The team hasn't been the same since.” "That's not her name anymore, is it?" "I think she’s getting what she deserved now," a gruff voice chimed in. I shuddered. Why had I thought I could do this? I curled into Ryder's chest and squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could do the same with my ears. "Don't pay attention to them," he whispered to the top of my head. "You and I know the truth." I wished I believed that, but there were so many things about what had happened to me in the past few years I still didn't understand. Sometimes, I didn't know what was true and what wasn't. "Enough. Or I'm out of here," Ryder threatened over my head. He pulled me tighter and squeezed. "Men can be hens, too." He clucked like a chicken quietly in my ear, bringing a reluctant smile to my face. I pushed away from him, purposely keeping my back to the crowd. Even if he could make me smile, he was still in trouble. "I see you already have help," I accused. He shrugged and looked sheepish. "If I'd told you, would you have come?" "Probably not." "Definitely not." I glared at him, which only caused him to laugh. "I want you to meet someone." He gestured to the woman at the table. "This is Natasha Knight. She's my coauthor and new personal assistant." "Editor and personal assistant," Natasha corrected as she stood. "He did all of the writing." She pointed at the stack of the books on the table. "It says so on the cover." Ryder turned his charming smile on her. "She's a jack-of-all-trades. And a liar." From the look they exchanged, I decided she wasn't just anything. Something was definitely going on between the two of them. I stuck out my hand to shake the pretty blonde's. "It's nice to meet you," I said. The smile she'd put on Ryder's face had me meaning it. She smiled sweetly. "You're in the book, so I feel like I already know you. It's nice to put a face with all of the stories." "I look forward to getting to know you, too," I said, politely. "Natasha didn't make this book, but she'll definitely be in the sequel." Ryder wore a sappy grin, and she gave him a bashful smile in return. I tried not to gape at

the reformed man. For years, I'd hoped he would meet someone and settle down. Instead, he played the field with a different girl on his arm every weekend. Natasha's timing couldn't have been better. For two seasons, he'd fought back injuries. Commentators and fans were already wagering this would be his last. I knew his PR team wouldn't officially announce his retirement until later in the year, but Ryder was already preparing himself for it. Riding the last wave of fame, he'd written an autobiography called The Good Years. The title alone had me dreading what I figured was further down the pipe—a detailed account of the bad years. Honestly, I'd been a little surprised—and maybe disappointed—when he hadn't asked me for help with the book. I'd thought it was because an autobiography was outside my usual genre. Now, I knew better. "Stick around," he begged. "We can all go to dinner afterward. This should only last another hour or so." I looked skeptically at the line now stretched to the front door. "I don't know." Like restless bulls in a pen, I could feel them getting more and more annoyed. Oblivious, Ryder steepled his fingers in prayer. "Come on, Celeste. I want to catch up." Our relationship had ebbed and flowed during the last few years. In my grief, I'd made mistakes, and he hadn't been shy in expressing his disapproval. Until recently, things had been tense, but I hadn’t given up. He was really the only friend I had anymore. "Come over when you're done. I'll cook for you," I offered. His smile faded slightly. "I could really use a steak." Prime was just around the corner, but it was the backdrop for too many memories. "I don't know," I repeated. "Come on, Celeste. I need meat." He beat his chest like a Neanderthal. "Go lose yourself for an hour. You love these things," he said gesturing to the shelves of books around us. "You mean books?" "Yeah." I laughed. "You should too. You just wrote one." "One that I'd like signed," somebody behind me muttered. I looked at the impossibly long line and groaned my answer. "I'll find somewhere to hide until you're finished, but I've got to say, this whole situation feels like an ambush, Ryder." "I got to see you, didn’t I?" he said as I walked away. I looked down at my watch and decided it would be all right. I was in one of my favorite places on earth. I'd simply wander around until I found a book I liked and then curl up in a corner somewhere. The next hour would be the easy part. Dinner would be another story. The scene at the restaurant wouldn't be any better than the one I’d just endured. At least, they have wine.

And I wasn’t alone. I could have more words with Ryder later about luring me to the store under false pretenses, but I wouldn't. He probably thought he was doing me a favor, and maybe he was. I was lonely. So incredibly lonely. Unless you counted my parents—and time with them was rarely enjoyable these days—I hadn't enjoyed anyone's company in a long time. Not true. There was the man on the train. Hmm, yes. I'd thought about Scott Russell more during the past two days than I cared to admit. He’d had my attention even before the hero act on the train and still had it now. Tall, dark, and handsome didn't do him justice, though the description certainly fit. The chiseled jawline, muscular build, and vibrant blue eyes—if I were writing, he'd make an excellent muse. But the handsome part wasn’t why he was still on my mind two days later. It was the intense and unapologetic way he'd watched me. As if he didn't care whether I knew. The way he stepped up to protect me without a single hesitation. Both times, there'd been something dangerous and volatile in his eyes. Like he would’ve done anything to keep me safe. Some part of me relished the idea of it. Then, on the train, as soon as the roach had scurried away, it was as if a switch had flipped in Scott. The viper became the snake charmer. As much as it scared me, I was drawn to both. I hadn’t been myself—my mind had been muddy, still overwrought from the familiarity of the stadium and the sense of loss it conjured—but I'd almost let him, a complete stranger, kiss me. Thankfully, my common sense hadn't completely checked out, and I'd resisted him. An amazing feat, really, considering the wine. As well as the fact that it had been more than a year since a man had touched me and even longer since I'd liked it. But I didn’t want to walk down that road again. I wasn’t in the market for a man. That was what I’d told my father mere hours before, and I’d meant it at the time. Yet something about the police officer with the crystal blue eyes had me thinking twice. It was why I had to walk away. It didn't mean I couldn't fantasize, though. I plopped down in a chair with an idea. I popped two anxiety pills and then pulled out my phone. I began scouring the internet and was surprised at the number of hits I got back from my vague search string: romance-novel-weekstranger. Apparently, a week of passion with a stranger was a well-oiled trope written about many times. I could see why. The more summaries and reviews I read, the more intrigued I became with the idea of it. There were the helpless books. Desperate women in need of money who sold themselves to the highest bidder to cure their problems. There were the blizzard books. Covers depicting cabins shrouded in snow, their windows glowing romantically. I skimmed past both kinds. I wasn't interested in stranded lovers thrown together by circumstance or women with no apparent choice. They wouldn’t give me the fix I was looking for. I wanted a strong heroine who made the

affirmative decision to spend a week with a stranger when she could have chosen otherwise. I wanted a book about me if I could’ve decided differently. Finally, I found the vacation books. Jilted brides who went on honeymoons with broken hearts and no expectations. A salacious offer at a bar and the promise of a week of passion would surely make them forget their ex-fiancés. It was close enough. I skimmed until I found one with a cover I liked. A couple kissing passionately on a beach with tumultuous waves crashing behind them. Deciding it held promise, I made my way to the romance section of the store. When I found the book, I snatched it from the shelf and returned to my comfortable overstuffed chair in the corner. I flipped open to the first chapter and dug right in. The heroine had arrived on the island too waterlogged by her own tears to make good decisions and immediately commenced to drowning her sorrows at the bar—something I could entirely relate to. The hero wasted no time swooping in to rescue her from her own misery. Perfect. I pictured Scott and myself as the main characters. I swapped her broken heart for my own. Was it weird? I didn’t care. It was my fantasy, and I didn't have to justify it to anyone. By the time I looked up again, more than an hour had passed and Ryder had yet to come find me. Even though the book had me hooked, I gathered up my things and made my way to the front of the store to pay for it. When I was done there, I would check on my dinner dates or maybe just sneak out and go home. A date with a hot book sounded better than suffering through dinner with two gooey new lovers and a bunch of prying eyes. As I approached the counter, a man leaned over it, talking to a salesgirl. I couldn't see his face, but I immediately recognized the voice. "But why would anyone want to read a screenplay?" he asked. "That is my question. I'm trying to understand." The salesgirl rolled her eyes, annoyance written all over a face I generally knew to be pleasant. "As I said before, sir, I don't know. Our customers don't usually share their motivations for their purchases with us." "So you do have customers who buy them?" His voice held an ah-ha tone, as if he'd finally tripped her up. "We have one. She special orders them because, as I said, we don't keep them in stock." Her words were clipped. "But aren't you curious? It seems like an odd purchase to me, but then again, I'm not a reader, so what do I know?" I smiled. I couldn't help myself. "Not really. I've never thought to ask. Besides, she usually places her orders over the phone and then sends a courier to get them when they come in." His entire body went rigid. "A courier, you say?” He leaned a little farther over the desk. “I don't suppose

you'd be willing to share her name with me?" The salesgirl looked over his shoulder and met my gaze. I shook my head but grinned so she wouldn't think she was in trouble. She hadn't said anything that wasn't true. "I don't think she would appreciate it if I did," she said. He must have caught the change in her face because he turned abruptly. I nearly laughed out loud at his wide-eyed expression. "Bookworm," he said under his breath. "Doing research, Statistics Man?" I hoped I was doing a better job of hiding my emotions than he was. He didn't need to know my heart was hammering in my chest or that my hands were suddenly clammy. "Just doing a little research on different types of women and the reading materials they choose. Highly scientific stuff." "Uh-huh." He shifted uneasily and then flashed a contrite smile. "I guess I'm busted." "Looks like it." I tucked the book I’d been reading against my leg. Of all the bookstores in the area, what were the chances? How was it possible he'd just happened to wander into mine? Highland Park was nowhere close to Evanston. He would have passed ten bookstores to get to this one. I'd been so careful not to tell him anything about myself. Yet here he was, asking about me. “Well, I should be upset that I just killed my chances of you accepting my offer, but to be honest, I’m a bit upset with you for leaving me high and dry the other night.” His tone was playful, but his gaze was keen. “Want to explain that?” It felt like I might not pass this test if I wasn’t careful. “I don’t know if I should. My serial killer radar is going off like mad right now." We both watched each other with measured suspicion. "Would you believe me if I said I came in here for something else, and this is purely a coincidence?" he asked. "Well, since I know what an avid reader you are …" My sarcasm earned me a laugh. It was deep and warm and melted over me like butter. On the train, that laugh had coaxed me out of my usually impenetrable shell. Hearing it again made me want to take his hand and lead him to the cozy corner I'd found in the back of the store and spend the rest of the night making him laugh. If he wasn't a stalker who followed you here, my common sense interjected. There was that rather glaring problem. But the trouble he would’ve had to go to to find me when I’d given him virtually nothing to go on—the idea of it was both frightening and delicious. Unless he’d known all along who I was. It certainly wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. "Ryder Nichols is here," he said as if that was the only explanation needed. "Yes." "I was walking by outside and saw the banner for the signing. I came in on a whim." He held up a copy of Ryder's autobiography. "Look! I bought a book."

"Good for you. You should read it," I suggested. "He's a funny guy." I immediately regretted the suggestion. There would be stories about Chase in it. I hadn't cracked open my copy yet, but Natasha had confirmed there were stories about me. We'd been through a lot, the three of us, and I felt about those stories the way Ryder felt about my house. I wasn't ready to go there and didn’t want anyone else to either. Least of all the man I’d been thinking about for two days. I reminded myself there was still a chance he didn't know my name. "Ready to go, Celeste? I'm starving." I cringed and turned to glare at Ryder. Scott's eyes were wide again. He looked from Ryder to me. "You know Ryder Nichols?" His expression fell. Awe turned to disappointment. "That's why you were at the game Friday night." I melted some more. "Ryder and I are just friends." Idiot. You should have let him believe you were together. I was letting those big, beautiful blue eyes get to me again. Ever protective, Ryder's arm came around my shoulders. "More like family." He stuck out his other hand to shake Scott's. "Ryder Nichols. And you are?" "Scott Russell." "You look familiar." "You signed my book." He held it up with considerably less enthusiasm than he had before. "Hey, yeah. Thanks for coming tonight." "I was looking for somewhere to eat and saw the sign outside," Scott said again, more to me than to Ryder. "Oh, I remember you," Ryder said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You bought the book for your nephew." Scott nodded. "His birthday is coming up, and he's a huge fan. I mean, I am too, of course—of yours and Chase Reid's. You guys were quite the team." My back went ramrod straight. Ryder tensed against me. From the corner of my eye, I could feel him watching me. Scott held the book up again. "This is going to put me in the lead for the best uncle award. It's a highly contested and prestigious position. Competition is fierce in my family." Ryder relaxed against me and laughed. "That's great, man. I wish I had something better to give you for him. You're a friend of Celeste's? Maybe I can send you something." "We only met after the game Friday night. But, oh man, that would be great. I'd be a shoo-in for the win, then." Ryder spun on me. "You came to a game? Why didn't you tell me? I would have set you up with my seats." I shook my head. Ryder's seats were right next to my old ones. The thought of someone else sitting in them made my eyes begin to water. "Ahhh, shit. I'm sorry," Ryder said, noting my flushed face and wet eyes. "It

was your first time back, wasn't it?" "It's okay. I made it to the top of the seventh." I swallowed the lump in my throat. "You know, I think I'm going to pass on dinner." I was going have a breakdown in front of them if I didn't excuse myself. "No way," Ryder said adamantly. "We're doing this. Who knows when I'll get you out of the house again, and you promised me a steak. " "But—" Ryder began backing away. "Nope. Not hearing it." I put a hand out to stop him. "One condition no steak. We can go to Alfonso's." He looked like he might argue with me but then thought better of it. "If that's what you want. Meet you at the front door in a few minutes." Ryder took a few more steps and then turned back to us, his eyes focused on Scott. "You were looking for somewhere to eat? Why don't you join us?" I looked at him incredulously. The four of us at a table? If people weren't talking about me already, they surely would be now. "That would be great," Scott said. I started to argue but was momentarily blinded by his bright smile and the two dimples that had made a reappearance. "Ahhhh—" was all I managed to get out before Ryder interrupted me. "Awesome. We'll meet you guys at the front in a few minutes," he said before finally walking away. I swallowed. "I just need to take care of something first," I said stiffly and then stepped to the cashier's desk to pay for the paperback in my hand, careful to slide it across the counter facedown. As I spoke with the salesgirl about another special order, I could feel Scott's watchful gaze on me. She rang up my purchases while I dug through my purse, looking for my wallet. By the time I found it, she'd already bagged the romance novel and Scott was signing the receipt. I stared at him like an idiot. "You can't pay for my books." "I sure can. That's what you do on a date.” His eyes narrowed. “By chance, did you make any other big purchases this weekend I need to cover?" I raised an eyebrow at the odd question. "Not unless you want to see my grocery receipt." He studied me for a second and then his gaze softened. "I bet I could learn a lot about you from that. It would probably be worth whatever it cost me." "You're impossible, you know that?" He chuckled and grabbed the bag from the counter. I reached for it, and he shook his head. "A true gentleman carries your bags, too. Especially on the first date." "This is not a date," I hissed, looking around to see if the salesgirl or anyone else had heard him. "In case you missed it, we're going to dinner. Three is an awkward number, but a little stiff competition never hurt anyone. Project Fall for Scott commences now." Dumbfounded, I met his eyes. "He's just a friend," I said. "And he's bringing his

new girlfriend." "Perfect. Then it's a double date.” He reached for my arm, wrapped his fingers around it, and ushered us to the front of the store. Instinctively, I knew I should pull away from him and the fire he’d just ignited beneath my skin, but it seemed his touch had caused some kind of nerve damage or temporary paralysis. For the life of me, I couldn't muster the strength to pull away. It might have also had something to do with the way he was gripping me. I had the odd sense he’d just taken me into custody. When we got to the front of the store, Ryder was still busy, signing some balls and jerseys for the store manager's son. Scott leaned against the wall next to the front door, and I stood awkwardly beside him. His eyes narrowed on me. "We need to talk about the other night," he said, breaking the silence. I nodded slowly, unsure of how or whether to respond. "Thanks for the save. You’re a regular modern day superhero,” I said, hoping my response would satisfy him. He continued to stare at me for a few long seconds and then cocked his head. "Don't you want to know how he is?" "Of course.” "He's out of critical care now. The doctors say he'll be fine, but it's likely he'll have memory problems." I thought I detected a bit of remorse in his tone. Was it because he was sorry he’d saved me? Sorry how it had turned out? I wanted to ask, but anything I might say would give away that my own memory of what had happened was fuzzy. "That's awful. I hate to hear that.” I reached out and touched his arm. "I'm really glad you were there, Scott, but can we not talk about it?" His forehead wrinkled in concern. "Are you having a hard time with it? If you are, that's completely normal, but it might actually help you to talk about it." I shifted on my feet and then attempted to distract him. "I'd just hate to ruin our first date." Even though he hesitated to smile, when it finally spread across his face, I nearly sighed from relief. It was a terrible idea for so many reasons. For one, Ryder talked too much. He'd already unknowingly given Scott my first name. If we spent the evening together, Chase would inevitably become a topic of conversation. Again. And that wasn't even the worst possibility for the evening, though I didn't really think Ryder wanted to talk about it any more than I did. What would Scott’s reaction be if he knew? Would it change the way he looked at me? It did for everyone else. I’d grown accustomed to the pitiful stares, the stumbling condolences, even the unspoken accusations of strangers, but for some reason, the idea of Scott treating me that way bothered me. If he found out the truth, I wouldn't be turning down his offer. He would rescind it. I looked up to find Scott watching me so intently I was sure he'd just heard every

thought that had gone through my head. "One date," I conceded. "Dinner tonight. But that's all I'm promising." He nodded, his eyes still shrewd. "I’m sorry if you feel like we pushed this on you. I got caught up in the moment, and I couldn't say no to an offer like that." "What? Dinner with the greatest arm in baseball?" I said with sarcasm. "No. Dinner with you." My cheeks warmed. My heart stumbled over a beat. "You're very smooth, Scott." He took a step closer to me. "And you give me every reason to try to be, Celeste." A few long moments of silence passed. "How old is your nephew?" I asked, trying to change the subject again. I could pretend that the idea of him walking into the store for the sole purpose of getting a book signed for his nephew hadn't turned me to mush, but it would be a big fat lie. "He's eleven." "So you have a brother or a sister?" "Both. My brother doesn't have any kids. That we know of, anyway. My sister has four." "Whoa. I bet that keeps her busy." "It does, and let me tell you, she loves to tell anyone who'll listen all about it." "If I had four kids, I'd need to talk about it, too," I said, laughing. "And drink a lot of wine." "No doubt." I dug through my bag, looking for a mint. The rustle of another bag got my attention. I'd completely forgotten he was still carrying my book. "No," I said, lunging for it. Surprised, he pulled it away from me. "Geez. What did I buy?" "Nothing," I said too quickly. "Just a novel." He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at me. His lips pulled into a mischievous smile. Oh, no, no, no, no. The master of observation chuckled at my expression. "It's a dirty one, isn't it?" Despite my squeaky protests, he pulled out the novel. "Week with a Stranger. Will one week in paradise with a sexy billionaire be enough?" he read from the cover. Loud and unnerving, his laughter filled the whole store. I prayed for a swift death. A meteor crashing through the ceiling would work. A runaway bus through the front window would be fine. Anything to take me totally and completely out. And maybe him too. I'd be okay with it, considering his complete disregard for my humiliation. Luckily, the store was mostly empty, but it didn't do much to lessen the agony of the situation since it was his opinion I was most worried about. And why is that? I asked myself. What difference did it make if he knew I was reading a book that casually mirrored what he’d offered? It didn't. It made no difference at all. It wasn't as if I was ever going to see him

again after tonight. Right? Right. "You're thinking about it, aren't you? Wondering what it would be like to throw caution to the wind and spend a week with me." His lips curled into a playful smile. "I am not. Give it to me," I said as I grabbed it out of his hands. I stuffed the book into my purse without looking at it. I was so completely embarrassed I would have pitched it in the trash if that wouldn't have made even more of a scene. "Don’t be embarrassed. I like knowing you’ve been thinking about it.” "Thinking about what?" Ryder asked, strolling up with Natasha tucked into his side. With a teasing smirk, Scott answered for me, "A tall glass of wine, I think." Wrong. I was ready for a bottle.

HIM CELESTE'S PLATE WAS EMPTY, AND HER THIRD GLASS OF WINE WAS HISTORY BEFORE SHE FINALLY EXCUSED herself to go to the bathroom, and I got my break. As if she'd read my mind, Natasha stood and followed her, leaving me alone with Ryder. It was an opportunity I wouldn't squander. Honestly, I still couldn't believe my good luck. Running into her at the bookstore was almost too good to be true, but unfortunately, I’d learned very little about her during dinner. Even though I’d hung on to every word she uttered, looking for some insight into the mysterious woman next to me, the effort hadn't earned me much. She remained guarded and talked very little about herself, seemingly content to let everyone else dominate the conversation. With everything that had been happening to me, I should’ve been more wary. Instead, I was intrigued. Occasionally, I'd catch her looking around the room, and her eyebrows would furrow. She was worried about something, and I sensed Ryder knew. Before I had a chance to grill him, he flipped the tables on me. "So you met Celeste at the game?” he asked as soon as the women were out of earshot. “Frankly, I'm surprised she talked to you." "Why? Because I'm not her type?" I answered, only mildly offended by his honesty. His laugh was quick and sharp. "Celeste doesn't have a type. If there's one thing I'll never accuse her of, it's falling for the same kind of guy twice." "Well, she hasn't fallen for me. She barely knows me," I said, feeling the need to stand up for her. "And you her, I presume?" "I'd like to know her better," I admitted. His eyes narrowed. "Why?" The question was such a simple one, yet it threw me completely off-guard. I was usually the one doing the interrogating. It wasn't often that I found myself in the hot seat. The most obvious answer was that I was attracted to her. It was what I would have said to Trevor if he'd been the one asking. Or my brother. No doubt, they both would have agreed with me—or any other man with a pulse, for that matter. I sensed, though, that Ryder was looking for something more.

"I came to her rescue the other night on the train, and she's been on my mind ever since." I was banking on his concern for Celeste's safety being our common ground. "Rescue?" he asked, his eyes widening. "I don't know why she insists on public transportation. It used to drive Chase nuts. It's not like she can't afford a cab. Or even a driver, for God's sake. What happened?" I didn't answer him. I'd gotten hung up on one word. "Chase?" I asked. His jaw tensed, and the lines around his eyes seemed deeper. "Celeste was Chase's wife." "Chase Reid?" I coughed out. "The one and only," he said sadly. I pushed against the table and leaned back in my seat as it all clicked into place. Her love of baseball. The misery in her eyes when she'd talked about going to Wrigley Field. Her reluctance to move on. It all made sense. "I'm sorry. I had no idea," I said. He shrugged. "I'm not surprised. She doesn't talk about him much. Or at all, really. I was shocked when she said she went to the game the other night. That's a big step for her." "Celeste Reid," I muttered quietly. "She's the black widow.” Ryder frowned. "We don't really care for the nickname." "I didn't mean—I'm sorry. I'm just surprised." I stumbled over excuses for my offensive comment. “He was a great ball player. I’m sorry for your loss. Hers too.” His expression softened by a degree. "He was an all-around great guy." I had nothing but respect for Chase Reid. He'd been one of my favorite players, hitting forty-three homeruns during his last full season with an on-base percentage of .492. And as amazing as those stats were, what made him truly invaluable to the team was his relationship with Ryder and how well the pitchercatcher duo worked together. The first two seasons after his death had been an adjustment period for the whole team. I'd caught a couple of features on him after his death. ESPN had loved him. With the look of a GQ model, statistics hinting at the Hall of Fame, and a history steeped in tragedy, his story had all the makings of an epic biography. His parents and younger siblings had been killed in a car wreck his senior year while traveling to one of his high school games. With no one but his high school girlfriend by his side, he’d worked his way through the minor farm system before being called up to the majors. The stories of late night partying and women chasing that plagued other big name players never touched him. He was squeaky clean, preferring to spend his extra time and money on the less fortunate, which pretty much included everyone since his contract had been worth millions. There’d been something else about money. Maybe he’d inherited a bunch before he made his own. I couldn’t remember exactly. I knew one thing: Chase Reid was a hard act to follow. "I'm sorry," I insisted again. "Really. I didn't mean anything by it."

Ryder stared at his folded hands on the table. "No, I'm sorry. The subject of Chase makes me twitchy. After four years, I shouldn’t let it bother me, but the way the newspapers treated Celeste wasn't fair. They branded her the Black Widow before … I mean, when she didn’t deserve it." "Why did they call her that?" I asked, surprised I couldn’t remember. “Well, you know how he died, right?” I nodded. It had been a freak accident at or after a charity ball game he’d attended. The glove he’d used to catch at the game had been an old one and a black widow spider had built a nest inside. His death had come as such a shock to everyone since bites like that weren’t usually fatal. It was a shame, really. After all of the records he'd set and all of the good he'd done for the city of Chicago, his death was what everyone still talked about. "It sucks," he said, sadly. "She wore a black and red dress to the funeral. It had been one of his favorites, so she wore it for him. It was stupid, considering the circumstances, but she didn’t think about it. The press certainly did, though. And then—" He stopped abruptly, looking in the direction of the bathrooms where the ladies had gone. I halfway expected to see them coming back and was surprised when they weren’t. "Listen,” he continued. “I didn't mean to jump down your throat before. I guess I’m overprotective of her. I promised Chase I'd take good care of her, and I've pretty much failed since day one." Ryder's face was long, his eyes sad. "By the way, she goes by Smythe now. It's her maiden name." “Can’t say that I blame her. I’d try to avoid the press too.” “Well, that’s damn near impossible, but she tries.” I felt like many pieces of the Celeste puzzle were within my grasp. I knew now why she was so guarded, why she hadn’t accepted my offer. Four years was a long time to hang onto a memory, but I could hardly throw stones. I'd been doing pretty much the same thing, and I didn't have the excuse she did. “She’s very complicated,” I suggested, hoping he would tell me more. Ryder nodded. "And that doesn't scare you? Most guys would be running for the hills." I shrugged. "I guess I'm not most guys." I was a masochist, that’s what I was. The only love I’d ever known had been the kind that hurt. I had a history of being drawn to women who were in even worse shape than I was. Even though Celeste had every warning bell ringing in my head, I still wanted to know more and maybe even be more. "Honestly, she's in a much better place now. If she's sad tonight, it's my fault. I suggested Chase’s favorite restaurant for dinner. To be fair, it was just the three of us at the time, and I thought it might do her some good to talk about him. I would've never suggested it if I'd known you were coming, too." He chuckled. "It was a really bad choice for a double date." "Sounds like it's still too soon for her anyway."

He barked out a laugh, which caught me by surprise. "That's not it, believe me." He leveled his eyes at me. "What are your intentions with her?" he finally asked. I suspected the direct question was another attempt to throw me off, but as sure as he could throw a wicked fastball, I could catch it. "I want to get to know her better. See where it goes." "I don't want her getting hurt again. She doesn't need any more heartache." "You won’t get any argument from me." Ryder nodded, seeming to accept that answer. "Good enough." I looked toward the bathrooms and saw Celeste and Natasha headed our way. We didn't have much time left. "One question, Ryder. Is there a reason Celeste would be scared of the police?” He looked confused by the change of subject. “We had a little altercation the other night with a mugger, and she just took off afterward. It was fine. I’m a police officer myself, but her reaction threw me." We stood to greet the ladies. It was too late for him to answer me without them overhearing, but he nodded. “A lot of bad blood there.” His lips pressed into a tight smile. “Good luck to you, man.” I followed them through the restaurant, replaying our conversation in my mind and wondering what he’d meant. As we weaved through the tables, I noticed for the first time the knowing looks and blatant stares of some of the people we passed. All of them directed at Celeste. A small group of women snickered as we passed, and I fisted my hands by my side. It took everything I had not to throw my arm around her and rush her from the building as if she was some sort of celebrity. It didn't make sense to me. After four years, I would've thought everyone would have lost interest by now. Especially, since an actual celebrity was walking directly in front of her and no one even seemed to notice. Highland Park might be small enough to be insulated from the madness of the big city, but it was clear it came with a circus of its own. The intimate everyone knows everyone feeling that made it so appealing also meant everyone knew each other's business. Or thought they did, anyway. On the sidewalk outside the front door, Celeste's shoulders slumped as she exhaled heavily. "Sorry," she mumbled under her breath. "For what?" I asked, trying to act oblivious. "Everyone was staring." "Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Totally my fault," I deadpanned. Her nose wrinkled. "Your fault?" "Yep. Handsome hero syndrome. I’m afraid this happens to me all the time." Celeste's lips turned up and her emerald eyes glittered. "Handsome hero syndrome, huh? It must get tiresome. All of that attention," she said, playing along. "You'll get used to if you hang around with me long enough. A week should be sufficient." I would need at least that just to figure out this woman out. She giggled. "You're relentless." Ryder smiled at me. His expression was one of amused appreciation. "We're this

way," he said, pointing over his shoulder in the direction of the bookstore. "We'll give you a ride, Celeste. You can get your car tomorrow." She laughed. "I got myself here. I'm sure I can manage to find my way home again." He shifted uneasily on the sidewalk. I understood his concern. We'd all watched her pound through three glasses of wine with dinner. "I've got this, Ryder," I said. "I'll make sure she gets home safe and sound." He nodded, and surprisingly, Celeste didn't argue. I stepped aside to let her say her goodbyes to Ryder and Natasha. After hugs, promises to call, and more promises to text, Ryder reached out to shake my hand. "He wished you luck," she said as we walked away. "What do you need luck for?" The correct answer was you. After everything he’d told me, she was probably the last woman I should be taking a chance on. But it explained why I couldn’t seem to stop trying. "I'm starting a new job next week,” I said instead. "Really? Where?" "Here in HP." I turned slightly to watch her reaction, and our arms brushed against each other. Her mouth fell open slightly, and she shifted toward me. "Well, isn't that serendipitous? And to think I thought we'd never see each other again after the train.” She paused for a beat. "That's some commute, though." "No commute at all. I moved here yesterday." Again, I watched her face for any sign that she already knew that piece of information. A twitch of a facial muscle. A diverted gaze. After quizzing her in the bookstore, I wasn't really expecting a reaction. She didn’t disappointment me now either. If she knew I’d moved into town or was responsible for the apartment, she didn’t give herself away. I had one more test, and it was parked a block up the road. She smiled. "Well, then it's likely we'll keep bumping into each other.” Her hand brushed the back of mine as she said it. The flirtatious glint in her eyes told me it had been intentional. "It's a small town." "I will definitely make it my goal." She laughed. "I'm sure you will." The farther we got from the restaurant, the more I could feel her relax next to me. We walked in silence for a minute. On a Sunday night, Central Street was quiet. The windows of the closed shops glowed brightly. At an intersection, we stepped off the curb in unison, and I instinctively placed my hand on her back as we crossed the street. I could feel the warmth of her skin through her blouse. The soft, thin fabric seemed to melt beneath my fingers. On the other side, I removed my hand before I was ready and gestured to my bike. "This is me." She gasped, and it was such a wonderfully satisfying sound. "You weren't kidding when you said you were moving it to the top of your list, though I thought

we were talking about a car." She stepped closer to get a better look. "Is this what you called a Dina Wide Glide?” “Dayna,” I said, correcting her. “But yes.” “Well, it’s beautiful.” Her eyes roamed over the bike. “Am I allowed to say that? Or is that not manly enough?" I laughed. "It works for me." "But that’s not how you would describe it?” How would I describe it in one word? Free. Extravagant. Mysterious. "I think I prefer beast," I said, instead. She laughed. "I like that." "How about the beast and I give you a ride home?" I eyed her outfit. The black pants would do fine. She'd be cold in the thin blouse, but I was already imagining how good she'd look in my jacket and how good she would feel with her thighs pressed against mine. "But my car is right there," she said, pointing to a silver Mercedes parked two spots away. "You don't need to take me home." I narrowed my eyes at her. "Seriously. I'm fine. Ryder is a worrier." Honestly, she didn't seem drunk. She wasn't slurring. We'd walked two blocks, and she hadn't stumbled once on the uneven sidewalk. If I gave her a sobriety test, I was sure she'd pass. But I had watched her plow through nearly an entire bottle of wine in little more than an hour. It was possible the alcohol hadn't hit her yet. "Look, I promised Ryder I'd take you home. Plus, I’ll be doing my civic duty of keeping the world safe." She looked like she might argue some more. "This is nonnegotiable, Celeste. Pick your poison. Motorcycle? Or I'll drive you in your car, if you want." "How would you get home?" I shrugged, but her eyes weren't on me. She ran a hand across the leather seat. "I've never been on one." There was a tinge of fear in her voice, but when she looked back at me, I saw an adventurous sparkle in her eyes. "I'll be gentle," I promised. "You'll have to be. I’m not sure my heart can take it." When she looked at me, I wondered if we were still talking about the bike.

HIM WHEN I FIRST REVVED THE ENGINE, ALL OF CELESTE'S TENSION HAD RETURNED. SHE'D OOZED IT, FISTING my shirt in her hands and holding herself rigid behind me with her legs spread so far apart she barely touched me. But when I rolled us around the second corner without throwing her off, I'd finally felt her relax. Her hands had fallen to my hips, and her legs had pulled in to hug mine. With her wearing my jacket, I should've been cold. Instead, I felt electrified; incredibly aware of every place her body touched mine. She was the first woman to ride with me since Elena. For that reason alone, the moment should've felt monumental, but if it did, it was only because it felt so natural. The drive, which couldn’t have been more than a mile, had been far too short for my taste. In front of the massive gate she’d pointed at, I pulled up close to the call box and looked away so she could punch in the code. The gate opened, and I looked questioningly at the fork in the road just inside. She pointed to the right, and we began the trek up the long, winding driveway to the top of a bluff where a house fit for a baseball king sat. Of course, I expected it to be nice. There was no way the widow of a baseball superstar would live in a hovel. But I hadn’t expected it to look like a damn fortress or for her backyard to include an actual piece of the Lake Michigan coastline. Even in the dark, I could tell the house was massive. The house had so many windows, its walls appeared to be made almost entirely of glass, and all of them burned brightly. As we approached, it occurred to me for the first time that she might not live alone. I pulled into the circular driveway and killed the engine in front of the broad front porch, hoping that wasn't the case. "So what did you think of your first ride?" I asked after I’d helped her off the bike. I needn’t have worried. Her eyes danced with excitement. "I have survived the beast!" she exclaimed, causing me to laugh. "Seriously, I've never … the wind in my hair … on my face … I loved it." She closed her eyes, stretched her arms out to the side, and began to turn in place. "When you were a kid, did you ever … spin?" She stopped and put her hands out to steady herself. When she stumbled anyway, she smiled. A long forgotten memory flitted through my mind. In another time and another

place, I'd known another girl who loved to spin. With my brother and her sister, we'd had contests to see who could last the longest and remain standing on their feet. I looked at Celeste's upturned face, her small nose, her wide green eyes. For the first time, I could see the resemblance between Celeste and the girl who'd had the biggest influence on my life, though she'd barely lived long enough to be a part of it. "That's what it felt like to me," she continued, still smiling so big I thought her cheeks might burst. "I don't know how else to explain it. I feel like all my problems just whipped away with the wind. Is that silly?" I stared at her. Mesmerized. Enthralled. Entirely infatuated. And not wanting to ask myself why because the answer was glaring me in the face. "Not at all. It's why I ride." Riding cleared my mind, leaving me weightless, as if I could conquer the world. I could do anything, be anything, have anything I wanted. "We didn't even get her over forty-five," I pointed out. "Backroads are where it’s at. There's nothing like it." "I bet," she said, shrugging out of my jacket and handing it to me. I tossed it over the seat. "I should take you to Starved Rock. The drive from Big Rock to the park is amazing. Especially in the spring and fall." Already, my wheels were turning. Up there and back could be done in a day. "I've heard the waterfall is beautiful there," she said as she unlocked her door. I tried not to gape as she punched in the code for the security system. For the first time, she hadn't immediately turned me down. "Do you mind if I use your bathroom before I go?" I asked. I wasn't ready for the night to end, but I also knew I couldn't stay. After talking to Ryder, slow and steady was my new game plan. "Not at all." She ushered me into the house. A small tan and black dog came wheeling around the corner. The dog paused when he saw me and issued a very vocal greeting. "This is Bear," she said over his noise. I bent to let him smell my hand, hoping little Cujo didn't bite it off. He sniffed for a moment and then, placated, flipped over onto his back. "He wants you to scratch his belly," she said. "He's a complete belly rub whore." I laughed and complied. Based on Celeste's adoring expression as she looked at him, I didn't stand a chance with the woman if I couldn't get in good with the dog. I noted the rubber mat just inside the door. A pair of purple rubber boots rested on top. "Should I?" I asked, gesturing to my own boots with my free hand. "Oh, no. Those are muddy. Bear and I like to go tromping through the woods together." At the sound of his name, the dog flipped back over, butt wiggling even as he tried to sit on it. He looked at her with the same adoration. "Come on. I'll show you where the bathroom is, and then I need to feed the

mongrel." I followed her into a large open living room with vaulted ceilings. The windows on the back wall extended a full two stories, even more open and impressive than the front. From the living room, she led me down an adjoining hall to a large guest bathroom. "I'll meet you in the living room," she said. When I came out a few minutes later, there was no sign of her or Bear, so I took the opportunity to look around. I circled the living room, taking everything in and wondering if she'd decorated it herself. Either she had a natural knack for it or she'd hired someone. It looked like something straight out of a magazine. The knickknacks and books that filled the shelves seemed more likely to have been chosen because they matched the color scheme of the room than because of the subject matter. I couldn't help but wonder if she'd rented this as a vacation house for the weekend. Like most of our conversations, there was nothing to give me any insight into her. No wedding pictures. No vacation pictures. No framed newspaper articles. No sports memorabilia. Nothing that would even hint she'd been married to the great Chase Reid. Other than a stack of books and movies on the coffee table and a blanket piled on the couch, nothing even suggested she lived here. I ventured into the attached dining room and finally discovered a framed photograph. Until I picked it up, I wasn't entirely convinced the picture of two small girls hadn't come with the frame. The lighting, the slight fading of color—it was almost too perfect. Even the excitement on the two girls' faces and the blurry balloons in the background looked staged. But I when I pulled it closer, I recognized the matching smiles and the emerald eyes on both girls. One stood in front of the other, looking directly into the camera, her lips pursed and arms up in a V in the sign of victory. The other stood slightly behind her waving at the camera, a more subdued smile on her face. I wasn't sure why, but somehow, I knew the one hiding in the back was Celeste. And now that I’d seen what she looked like as a child, the resemblance to Daniela was uncanny. A throat cleared behind me and I set the photograph down with a guilty thud. A very grown-up version of Celeste stood behind me, two glasses of wine in hand and an odd expression on her face. I felt guilty for snooping. "Twins?" I asked, gesturing to the photo. "Yes." "If you met my brother, you'd ask the same thing. It's one of the reasons I was happy to move to Chicago. I was tired of people confusing me with the jackass," I joked. Her face softened. "Really?" "He's only eleven months younger than I am, so by someone's bastardized definition, we are twins, too." "Irish," she stated matter-of-factly.

"In this case, Italian." She laughed. "That was my second guess." "It’s exhausting being confused with someone else. Does your sister live around here?" She bit the inside of her cheek, something I’d noticed her do a few times. "Not exactly.” "Probably a good thing you have your space. Your sister looks like she has a big personality, like my brother." She looked at the photo. “Yes. When we were little, she was always the freespirited one, and I was more serious. She was the golden child.” She smiled then, looking a bit wistful, as if she wished she could be a little more like her. “You’re not always serious,” I said, remembering the woman who’d twirled on the driveway, arms spread, eyes closed, nose pointed at the sky. She hadn’t seemed to have a care in the world. I was going to help her find that woman again. She held out one of the wine glasses for me to take. "I opened a bottle. I hope that's okay." I took it, happy it gave me a reason to stay.

HER THE SEXY POLICEMAN WAS HERE. IN MY HOME. Though I knew what I shouldn't do with him, the opposite wasn't as clear to me anymore. His fingers brushed against mine when he took the glass from me, making me momentarily forget the crooked photo on top of the buffet. I led him to the living room and headed for my usual spot on the couch. Instead of following me, he crossed the room. Gazing out the window, he studied the dark night. "Do you mind if we go out back?" he asked. “It’s a beautiful night.” I grabbed the blanket from the couch. "Not at all," I lied. I unlocked the back door and flipped the switch for the lights. Instantly, the exterior of the house glowed with illuminated stripes. The inky water of the pool turned an inviting aquamarine blue. I shivered and pulled my eyes away from it. Scott looked at me with concern. "If it's too cold, we can go back in." I shook my head. "No, you’re right. It's a beautiful night." He took the blanket from my hands and wrapped it around me. He rubbed his hands up and down my arms a few times before resting them on my shoulders. "Better?" "Yes. I guess I'm what you call indoorsy." He looked back toward the entryway, one eyebrow raised. I wasn’t used to having someone hang on my every word. I forced a smile. “Or maybe I just don’t know myself very well. After all, I had no idea how much I would love your bike.” That much was true, and I sighed, a bit dreamily, remembering the feel of the wind on my face and his body so close to mine. "Maybe I should get my own," I said with a smile. "Now, that might be the sexiest thing I've ever heard." A battle waged in his eyes as they dropped to my mouth. I didn't have to wonder what he was thinking. He wanted to kiss me. Yet I could see his hesitation as clearly as I felt my own. I wondered what his lips would feel like. Would they be soft and sweet or hard and demanding? Where would he put his hands? Would he leave them on my shoulders or drop them to my waist?

With the slightest shake of his head, he took a step backward, taking his warm hands and his inviting lips with him. The disappointment I felt was as severe as it was unexpected. How had I let myself get to this place when I'd fought so hard against it? I watched his back as he walked the path around the perimeter of the pool. Right on his heels, Bear explored the unfamiliar space with him. "Too bad it's too dark to see the lake. I’d sit out here every morning and drink my coffee if I were you. The sunrise must be amazing." I faked another smile and pointed at a two-seater bench closer to the garden. “Would you like to sit down?” After he had sat down next to me, I realized how small the bench was. When he leaned back, he had no choice but to put his arm around me. The left side of his body pressed against my right from knee to shoulder. I reached for my glass of wine. "Where's yours?" "Oh, I must've left it inside." I started to get up, but his arm wrapped around me tighter, holding me in place. "Stay. I still need to drive home anyway." I nodded and settled back in. "When do you start your new job?" I asked, making an attempt at small talk. "A week from tomorrow." I shot him a knowing smile. "A week, huh? What a crazy coincidence." He met my gaze and held it. "No coincidence. Until I met you, I was dreading this week." "Dreading a week of vacation? Why?" "I'm not good at being idle." "Why not go somewhere then?" I asked. “Like a real vacation. Maybe a beach somewhere?" "By myself? That doesn't sound like fun. I'd rather spend the week exploring my new town with a beautiful woman." "Any beautiful woman? Or do you have a particular one in mind?" I teased. He arched a dark eyebrow at me, his gaze very serious. "I think I've made my intentions pretty clear." I smiled and looked away, suddenly feeling shy. I sipped from my glass. His proximity was enough to make me foggy-brained by itself, but I needed a little more liquid courage if I was going to go through with this. My resolve to keep my distance from Scott was almost gone. Piece by piece, he had whittled it away. Like a typhoon, he'd breezed into my life, rattled my windows, and rained down a tumult of hail and debris. I was sure he had no idea the devastation our encounter Friday night had left behind. For two days, I'd told myself it was a good thing I didn't know how to find him. I'd stared out the living room window and let it be a reminder of what could happen when I let someone in. I had no faith that Scott would be any different. I'd almost convinced myself I was still content being alone.

Until I saw him at Epilogue and gave up the lie. There was no denying, even to myself, that he stirred things in me I'd thought didn't exist anymore. But he did it in a new and disarmingly unexpected way. Something was fiercely protective about him, a sharp awareness that was entirely new to me. The way he'd placed his hand on my back as we crossed the street together. The way he'd stood up for me with the man on the train. Oddly enough, this man I hardly knew made me feel safer than I ever had. It wasn't that Chase hadn't loved me. He most definitely had. But he hadn't had a protective or possessive bone in his body. Maybe because there'd never been a question that I'd always be there. Our relationship had been built on my devotion to him, not the other way around. Somehow, I knew that this thing with Scott—if I allowed it to happen—would be entirely different. That didn’t mean I should let it. "I know Ryder told you about Chase. Why aren't you running for the hills?" I asked. He chuckled softly. "He asked me the same thing." The idea of that was equal parts heartwarming and terrifying. "It might do you good to heed the warning." He turned slightly, pulling me even closer, if that was possible. "You said something on the train about being cursed. Enchanted was what you said, I think. You can't really believe that?" I looked at him with surprise. He seemed to remember the slightest details, able to recite bits of conversation most people wouldn't register the first time, let alone commit to memory. "Well, yeah. It's just that …" I stopped myself, the truth on the tip of my tongue. I waited for him to push me to go on, but when I looked at him, he had turned his face away from me, though his hold on me hadn’t lessened. The words burst out of me, needing to free themselves from the place I kept them locked up so tight. "Before he died, if you'd asked me if I could remember a time when we weren't a couple, I would've told you no. We went to grade school together. We went to church together. We were a couple by the age of fifteen. He was such an integral and constant part of my life, I didn't know any different. At times, we were all each other had, but we were never one of those couples that smothered each other. He had his dreams, and I had mine. We gave each other space. We were good together that way." I paused and looked down at Bear. He blinked up at me with an expression that suggested he agreed with my characterization of my relationship with Chase. Other than his thumb, which brushed gently across my shoulder through the blanket, Scott hadn't moved. "The week he died, he'd been sick with the flu. I'd been waiting on him hand and foot. Whatever he needed, I was there. After five days of it, we were both grouchy and stir-crazy. "There was this charity ballgame we'd helped organize to benefit the Pediatric

Asthma and Lung Center at the children's hospital. Of course, he wasn't planning to go to the game … on account of being sick. But that morning he'd woken up feeling much better, and he asked me if I thought we should go." I exhaled heavily. My body suddenly heavy with regret. "I told him yes. I wanted to get out. I even went out to the garage and found an old mitt and a bat for him. They were propped up beside the door, so I thought he'd set them out just in case. I didn't look inside. I just threw them in his car and off we went." Scott turned his intense gaze on me, but I didn't dare look or I'd lose my nerve. I blew out another breath and continued. "About halfway through the game, he started complaining that his whole body hurt. At first, we thought it was just symptoms of the flu—that he'd overdone it—but when he took off his glove, his hand was covered in bites." I shuddered at the memory. "Seventeen of them, so red and angry looking. Within an hour, hives covered his whole body and he was having trouble breathing. By that night, his heart rate was dangerously high, and he was vomiting. They gave him the anti-venin, but he had some sort of allergic reaction to it that caused a different set of problems. By morning, his organs were shutting down, and he'd slipped into a coma. "And then he was gone. Just like that." My voice broke. "It shouldn't have killed him. If he'd been healthy … if I hadn't pushed him to go …" Scott squeezed a hand I hadn't realized he was holding. "It was my fault. We'd had lots of spiders around here that spring. Chase had asked me to call an exterminator weeks before, but I hadn't gotten around to it. I was busy …" Doing what? I couldn’t remember now. For a few, long moments, the only sound was the quiet lap of water against the side of the pool. "You're so quiet. Either I’ve completely freaked you out, or you're the best listener in the world," I finally said. "A wise woman once told me that there are times when women just need to talk. Men—we're fixers by nature. We have a natural tendency to want to try to do something to make it all better." He placed his hand over mine so that it was completely covered. "Sometimes, you can’t do anything. I suspect you don't really need me to tell you what happened wasn't your fault or that he could've looked inside that dirty old glove before he stuck his hand in it." I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. "Please tell me someone's already told you those things?" he asked, his voice earnest. I nodded. I'd heard the rationalizations over and over from everyone I knew. My mom. Ryder. The therapist my parents had hired. No one could change how I felt. A few tears slipped down my face. I resisted the urge to wipe them away, hoping he wouldn't notice. "They have," I said, my voice giving me away instead. He turned to me and with a single finger traced a damp trail down my cheek. "Sometimes, we don't need someone to unpack our baggage for us. Sometimes, we

just need a little help carrying it until we're ready to unpack it ourselves." After a few seconds, I cleared my throat. "So who was this wise woman? Your Casablanca-loving grandma?" "My ex-wife. She left me four years ago." "Oh." "I know what the blame game looks like, Celeste. I've spent the better part of that time blaming myself and only recently decided I needed to let go of it. I definitely know what it's like to lose the person you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with." "What happened?" I asked. Maybe we had more in common than I thought. His thumb traced slow circles on the back of my hand. "Well, I told you I don't do well with idle time. I think it's fair to say I really suck at it." "So you're a workaholic?" I asked. "Your bosses must love that. It's good for catching bad guys." "And losing good women," he said. "I took the job home with me. A lot. Elena didn't appreciate it." Remembering the days Chase brooded after a lost game, I nodded. "Like you guys, we got married young. She was eighteen. I was twenty. Everyone thought we were nuts. Of course, we thought we had it all figured out. I worked for the NYPD while she went to college. When she finished, she got a job here in Chicago, so we packed up and moved. We rented an apartment, got a dog, did all of the domesticated things married people do." He gestured to Bear, who was snoring soundly by our feet. "Then one day after twelve years of marriage, we got into a fight about a toothbrush, and she took my dog and left." I nodded. "Chase and I once got into a huge fight over the optimal darkness of toast and didn't talk for two days." He laughed. "Well, it wasn't really about the toothbrush, as you can imagine. We had much bigger problems than that." "Who doesn't?" "We grew up together. We should’ve been a perfect match, but we weren’t. I forced a relationship when I shouldn’t have.” “You can be very tenacious,” I agreed. "I'm one of those people who doesn’t need much more than a purpose," he continued. “She gave me one, but the opposite wasn’t true.” “She was always more ambitious than I was. She was the first in her family to go to college. She always wanted more. Nicer cars. A nicer house. A different life, I found out later.” I looked around my backyard. At my house and my pool. At the dense grove of trees that hid my parents’ house to the north. I had an obvious overabundance of things I'd never earned. I suspected Scott had earned everything he had. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was make a difference. I come from a police family. My pop was one just like his dad before him. If anyone should’ve understood what made me who I am, she should’ve. But she never got it.”

I swallowed. He obviously loved his job if it had cost him his marriage. He didn't know it yet, but it would be a dividing line for us too. It was only a matter of time before he figured it out. “What happened?" I asked. "Elena is a professor of art history in Evanston. She was always dragging me to these stupid dinners and events with the other hoity-toity professors. I hated it and she knew it, but I went because she loved her job and I loved her. That's what you do. Until one day, I learned she wanted someone else sitting beside her instead." For the first time since I'd met him, his voice had a bitter, biting edge to it. I could certainly understand why. "So let me get this straight. You put her through school, moved halfway across the country for her dream job, and then she cheated on you with another man?" He looked away, but I didn't miss his answer. "Woman." "Ohhhhh," I said, surprised. "I guess that came as a shock?" "Honestly, I never saw it coming. Apparently, I was so bad at marriage I turned her into a lesbian." He smiled and chuckled, but both were forced. "Not the best day of my life." He watched me as if he was measuring my reaction to this new piece of information. Before that moment, if you'd asked me if Scott was an insecure man, I would have laughed in your face. If anything, he was overconfident, pursuing me even after I'd repeatedly told him no. But watching him now, I couldn't help but wonder if some of his masculine bluster was a façade. I acted even before I could think about it, spurred by the need to make him see what I saw. Facing me, he was so close I could feel practically every breath he took. I leaned over and placed my lips on his. He didn't react at first. His mouth held a rigid line beneath mine. My hands found their way up to his shoulders and then around his neck. My lips whispered a silent prayer as they moved gently against his. After my confessions of the evening, I wondered if he'd changed his mind about me. Or maybe he was still thinking about his ex-wife, comparing the curve of my lips to hers. I laced my fingers through his hair and tugged it gently, and it spurred him to life. His lips softened and then just as quickly became more insistent. His tongue swept across my lower lip, and I parted my lips in response, welcoming him. I wanted to erase any memory of her from his lips and his mind. His hands found my face as he took ownership of my mouth, all reservations gone. We kissed like two broken people in search of a missing piece of themselves. Every sweep of the tongue was a confession of loss, and every brush of our fingers a promise of redemption. My last experience with a man had left me feeling used, a means to an end. It had left scars. Rather than breaking them open, as I'd expected, Scott's touch seemed to heal them. The butterflies in my stomach awakened from their long winter of hibernation. They fluttered their ticklish wings, urging me to take a chance. My usually

argumentative common sense had gone oddly silent. The same instant I realized I wanted more—could handle more—the kiss was over. He pulled away and looked at me. "Well, it's official," I said before he could speak. "You didn't turn her into a lesbian. She did that on her own." TWENTY MINUTES AND TWO MORE KISSES LATER, I CLOSED THE DOOR BEHIND HIM AND RESTED MY forehead against it. I stood there until I heard the roar of the motorcycle fade into silence. He had my number now—in more ways than one—and had promised to return in the morning when I woke up to take me to get my car. He'd taken my keys and insisted, despite my objections, that he would move my car into his parking garage so that nothing would happen to it overnight. On my way to the living room, I took a detour by the dining room to straighten the frame on the buffet. My common sense chose that moment to reappear. You idiot, she admonished. When this doesn't work out, you're going to be a fucking mess. I shook my head to dislodge the negative thoughts. I didn't know where this thing with Scott was leading, but I was done fighting it. Our talk in the backyard felt significant. I was sure it actually was for me. Maybe for the both of us. Telling him about Chase's death had been a huge step for me. I had always carried the guilt of what had happened to him willingly with the knowledge that, in some small or big way, I deserved it. I sensed Scott understood and carried his own guilt over his failed marriage. I felt lighter as I moved through the house. As if he might have actually taken some of my guilt with him when he’d gone. If he’d left some of his own in its place, it didn’t feel nearly as heavy. I grabbed the red Valentina bag I'd carried to dinner and took it to my room. I flung it onto the chair in the corner to swap it out for something less flashy the next day. I slipped out of my black pants and pulled on my favorite flannel pajama pants, feeling as happy as the penguins on them. My hair came down, and then I twisted it up again into a messy knot on my head, secured with a ponytail holder. In the mood to celebrate, I went in search of my wine. When I realized I'd left it outside, I turned off the outdoor lights and looked for the one Scott had abandoned instead. Sunset Boulevard lay on the coffee table, but the book in my purse was the one I heard calling my name. I had just gotten comfortable in my spot on the couch when my phone rang. Thinking it might actually be Scott, I answered it without looking. I should've known better. "You missed dinner." My father was angry, as I'd known he would be. "I had a date.

"Celeste," he growled. I was antagonizing him. Not forty-eight hours had passed since we’d gotten into a fight because I’d refused to go out with the hotshot new attorney he’d hired. I didn't care that Weston Kingsley had graduated from Yale at the top of his class. Or that my father had stolen him away from our biggest competitor. I didn't even care that he'd successfully negotiated a deal that would make this Smythe Luxury Hotels and Resorts’ most profitable year yet. He was a beady-eyed worm who gave me a case of the creepy crawlies. "Isn't this what you wanted?" I asked with feigned innocence. “You told me I need to get out more.” "Only under controlled conditions." He paused and then continued, "Weston was here tonight, but you already knew that." Sunday night dinners at my parents’ house were mandatory. Every week, I trudged next door whether I wanted to or not. Outsiders were almost never invited, but my father had made an exception for Weston. My failure to show had been intentional, though I would have missed the family dinner for Ryder anyway. "That's on you. I told you I'm not interested." "You told me you weren't interested in dating, period. Sounds like you've changed your mind." "Only under controlled conditions," I said with a smile that I was thankful he couldn't see. He huffed. "It's one date, Celeste. That’s all I asked of you. I'm not asking you to marry the guy, though Lord knows you'll probably try." After everything I'd been through, it was a low blow. He'd said it for one reason and one reason only—to be cruel. I bit the inside of my cheek so I didn't say something I'd regret. I wasn't like my father. Words could be sharper than knives, and I didn't wield them as weapons. "Listen," my father continued, in a more subdued voice. Having not gotten his way by yelling, he was changing tactics, trying to appeal to my rational side. "He's a good match for you. Smart, educated, has a good head on his shoulders." Everything Chase wasn’t was what I heard loud and clear. “You've played the part of the grieving widow like a real champ. It's time to move on. Anything over a year is an acceptable waiting period. Becoming a hermit isn't helping your image, let me tell you.” Keeping up appearances was as important to my father as keeping Smythe Luxury Hotels and Resorts' five-star rating. "I'm not worried about my image." It was only partially true. I didn't particularly like the way people talked about me, but I certainly wasn't going to let my father in on that little secret. "You should be. If you act like you have something to hide, people will think it's true. You certainly aren't helping matters by looking like you're going to a morgue every time you leave the house. Enough with the drama." I opened my mouth and closed it again. I wasn't playing the role of a grieving

widow. I still was one. “You know exactly what I’ve done for you this year. The lies I’ve told. The money I’ve shoved under tables to keep you out of trouble. Do you really think you’d be standing here today if it weren’t for me? And all I want in return is for you to show up to dinner with a smile on your face and consider yourself lucky if Weston is interested.” He was on a roll, so I sipped my wine and waited for him to finish. “You always were the unreliable one, but it's time to get your head out of the clouds or there will be consequences. Imagine the questions you’d have to answer if everyone knew what I knew, Celeste.” My eyes began to burn. My head began to fog. All of my life, I’d dealt with his contempt. His never-quiet judgments. I was never enough, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. For years, I’d tried to win his love. His acceptance. But I would never be the daughter he wanted me to be. It was a fact I couldn’t change. “You will be at the benefit Friday night. This is not negotiable, Celeste. Your mother is beside herself because you didn't have the courtesy to call and tell us you weren't coming tonight. I had to give her medicine and put her to bed. You will not stand her up this weekend. You know how important this is to her. And Weston is coming with us, and you are interested." The fog in my head was now so thick I'd swear the clouds outside had moved indoors, yet I still managed an answer. "I’ll talk to mom. Tell her I'll call her tomorrow." My father huffed again. "One more thing. What was that god-awful racket a few minutes ago? It sounded like a motorcycle." "That was my date leaving. Don't worry. I was in very capable hands. He's a cop." I hung up, knowing that would give him a few things to think about. I curled into a ball on the couch, my book forgotten.

HIM I STOOD IN MY OVERLY FURNISHED LIVING ROOM AND TURNED IN A CIRCLE, TOO WOUND UP TO GO TO BED. With twice as much furniture as it needed and not a single box unpacked, the apartment was a disaster. But I couldn’t do anything about it until I went to the bank and got this whole mess straightened out. I was looking for a box. One particular box. And after searching for it for nearly an hour, I was beginning to panic. I stepped around my old couch to look for it there when I didn’t find it behind a pair of cellophane-wrapped chairs. I’d marked the box specifically so I’d know it when I saw it, and I’d personally loaded it on the truck in Evanston. After my conversation with Celeste, I needed to find it. I was relieved to cross her off my list of suspects. Now that I had a singular interest in her, I needed a reminder of why I wasn’t such a bad guy. As I’d listened to her describe the guilt she felt over something that was clearly an accident, I couldn’t help but wonder if someone as good as Celeste could ever find happiness with someone like me. I searched each of the bedrooms next, ending in the master bedroom. The new bed hadn’t been slept in even though Sierra had insisted on putting on the new sheets that had come with it before she’d left the night before. Instead of the master, I’d slept in one of the smaller guest bedrooms where my old bed sat like a reject. The room lacked the windows with the view Sierra counted as the apartment’s main selling point, but I felt more at home there. The only concession I’d made was showering in the master bedroom because … well … with three showerheads, it was the most badass shower I’d ever seen. Aside from that, I was drawing a hard line with the apartment and its amenities, only taking advantage of what I had to. Rather than cook in the kitchen, I’d eaten out for every meal. The only things in the refrigerator were leftover pizza boxes and a few bottles of water that I could toss when it was time to move. When I still hadn’t found the box, I returned to the living room. I pressed my hands to my eyes and tried to think. It was time to start over. I returned to the front door and stood with my back to it. I would search the apartment again from top to bottom and front to back. My eyes swept the entryway and fell on what I assumed was a closet door. I had an ah-ha moment as I realized it

was one of the few places I hadn’t looked. I flung the door open and, filled with relief, pulled the heavy box into the middle of the room. After ripping the tape off the top, I sat down on the floor beside it and began to dig through its contents, most of which were more than twenty-six years old. I was looking for a picture. A specific picture taken when we were fourth graders at Washington Elementary. I sifted through newspaper articles I didn’t want to read and maps of streets I didn’t want to revisit. And then I found it, sticking out of my fourth-grade yearbook. I pulled the photo out and stared at another set of green eyes, though these were so faded I could only recall their brilliant color from my time-worn memory. Just like that, I was ten years old again. “Watch this! I bet I can get to nineteen today.” Daniela’s smile was bright, her head tipped back, and her arms spread wide. Her hair, which usually hung over her shoulders, caught the wind as she spun on the sidewalk in front of her parents’ brownstone. “Show-off,” her sister muttered from the stoop. My brother patted the younger girl on the arm. “You got to fifteen yesterday. I bet you can hit sixteen today.” “I nearly threw up,” she said, clearly discouraged. “I might, too,” Daniela said, giggling. “That’s twelve.” I watched her through the lens of the new camera I’d gotten for my birthday and clicked the shutter. “Thirteen. Fourteen. Oh God, I’m done.” She fell to the ground in a heap. She lifted her head and nodded to her sister. “See you win!” I smiled and took one last picture of her. She looked like an angel, lying on the sidewalk with her hair fanned out around her head like a halo. A sweet, innocent fallen angel who I knew had thrown the game. I could still hear her laughing. It had been infectious, that laugh of hers. The kind that filled houses with happiness. Daniela had been one of those special people who lit up an entire room just by walking through it. Twenty-six years later and I still missed her. It wasn’t the last picture I’d taken of her, but it was the one on my mind after watching Celeste in her driveway tonight. The resemblance wasn’t as clear to me now. Maybe I’d just wanted to see it that way. My eyes fell to a newspaper article. It was one of the later ones, reporting the discovery of Daniela’s body. The date circled at the top of the page was more than five years after her disappearance and four years after the case had been considered cold and unsolvable. The latter was a fact I still had trouble digesting since she’d been found less than half a mile from our front doors and had been dead less than two days. She’d been just a few houses away, right under our noses, and no one had suspected. No one had come to save her.

The unmistakable sound of a door shutting from out in the hall pulled me back to the present. I dropped the photo back into the box and pushed it away from the front door. I'd yet to meet or even lay eyes on any of my neighbors. My hall had been a ghost town, and it was starting to feel like I really did have the entire floor to myself. Curious for a glimpse of my new neighbor, I stuck my eye up to the peephole and thought for a moment the woman in the hall was an actual apparition. Standing in front of the door closest to the elevator—the one Sierra had said was the only privately owned apartment in the building—was a woman. Even with her back turned mostly to me, her hair down, and wearing a different outfit, I recognized Celeste. She flicked her dark hair over her shoulder and tucked the unmistakable red purse under her arm. The bag was large and shiny with a big red bow on it. Impossible to miss. Other than her emerald eyes, it had been the only bit of color she'd worn at dinner. That was no longer the case. She'd traded the conservative black pants and white shirt she'd had on when I left her for a red dress that matched the bag. Her hair was also different. It flowed down her back in dark waves. Through the distorted peephole, I couldn't actually make out the features of her face, but I knew it was Celeste. I was sure of it. I stood rooted in place as if any movement might alert her to my presence. I didn't even take a breath as she locked the door and turned toward the elevators. I couldn't make sense of it. I'd left her at her house not two hours ago. So why was she coming out of the apartment next door? Especially when her car was parked downstairs in my extra spot? Did she have another one? Probably. Based on the size of her house, she probably had one for every day of the week. Unless it wasn’t actually her … I thought about the photograph in her dining room. If the past were any indication, the two women would definitely be able to pass for one another. When I'd asked if her sister lived around here, Celeste had said no, but maybe her idea of around here was different from mine. Either way, this had to be one of the biggest coincidences in the history of coincidences. Or not a coincidence at all. I stared, unblinking, as the woman stepped into the elevator and disappeared from sight. Turning slowly, I leaned against the door. If it was Celeste … The apartment. The motorcycle. Doubt niggled at me again. What had seemed impossible after dinner now seemed entirely likely again. Maybe instead of reading screenplays, she should be starring in them. I looked at my wristwatch. It was after ten. When I'd left her, she'd said she was ready for pajamas and her book. She certainly hadn't looked like she was going to put on a sexy red dress and go clubbing.

Maybe it’s not her, I reminded myself. I ran through the apartment, threw open the door to the balcony, and leaned over the rail to peer down at the parking garage exit. I watched for a car to pull out of the garage. After only a few seconds, I spotted her. She wasn’t driving away as I'd expected but instead walking across the street. From seven stories up, I couldn't make out much in the dark but the red dress was hard to miss, especially when she passed beneath a streetlight. When the Celeste-ish woman reached the other side of the street, she turned right and walked in the direction of the sports bar on the corner. It was still lit up, and I watched her shadow disappear through what I assumed to be the front door. I flew through the apartment, grabbing my keys from the table by the door. I stuffed my feet into my boots and locked the door behind me. My mind was a flurry of conflicting thoughts during the elevator ride to the first floor and the short walk to the bar. Was I doing the right thing by chasing her down? If it was Celeste, she really would think I was a stalker. But it wasn’t like I’d sought her out. It didn't really matter. I had to know. I was going after her whether it was the right thing to do or not. So the question became, how best to approach her? Was it better to sneak in and try to act like I was there first? I could casually bump into her and act surprised. Or I could enter with both barrels blazing and confront her. Confront her for doing what? Maybe it was the walk down memory lane I’d just taken, but I was thinking like a whack job. I couldn’t confront her when she hadn't done anything wrong. What if she didn't even live in the house you took her to? What if she lied to you about that? That was my most ridiculous theory yet. Her books had been stacked on the coffee table. The dog was clearly hers. My mind flip-flopped. No thought lasted long enough to stick and become something coherent. I didn't want the woman to be Celeste, but there was only one way to find out. Go in and approach the woman. If she didn't recognize me, I'd have my answer. If she did, I’d also have my answer. I pulled open the door to the bar, and a gust of wind slammed it shut behind me, announcing my arrival. So much for sneaking in. My eyes roved the dim restaurant and found the red dress in front of the mahogany bar on the far side of the room. She leaned over it, causing the already short skirt to hike up even higher and reveal more of her skin than I'd seen before. My eyes devoured her, from her narrow ankles up the smooth curve of her calves to the creamy skin that disappeared beneath her skirt. Thanks to the dress, almost everything I'd wondered about was on display. I had a sudden flash of her in that same position, leaning over the island in my new kitchen, baring the two obviously perfect globes of her ass at me. I shook off the thought. If this wasn't Celeste, I definitely didn't want to be having these thoughts about her sister. And if it was

her … well … I had a lot of questions for her. A grin spread across the bartender's face, and despite my confusion, I wanted nothing more than to knock it off. "Well, well, well. Long time, no see," he said. "I've been a little busy," she answered in an annoyed, dismissive tone I didn't recognize. Not Celeste. He shook his head once. "I heard the good news." "The whole thing is ridiculous, but I don't want to talk about it." She swiped her hand through the air as if to wipe whatever he was referring to away. "Sounds good. Are you here to see me or are you on the prowl tonight?" Rage surged through me. Unbidden, likely irrational rage. Do not be Celeste. Do not be Celeste. Do not be Celeste, I silently begged as I approached the seat next to her. "That depends. How much have you missed me?" Her tone had changed. The flirtatious suggestion in her voice was like a knife in my back. There was the woman I knew, the one I’d kissed in her backyard, though I’d obviously been since forgotten. She ran a finger down his arm, proving I wasn’t alone in the forgotten department. Chase clearly wasn’t on her mind either. "More than you know.” My stomach tied itself into a knot. "What’s a woman have to do to get a drink in this shithole?” she asked. It was only then that I noticed the slight slur in her words. It was the first thing that made sense. I'd watched her down three glasses of wine at dinner and one more at home. She hadn’t seemed drunk when I’d left, but for all I knew, she'd killed the entire bottle afterward. She certainly sounded like it. So how had she gotten here? Another flash of anger tore through me. Instead of answering her, he looked past her at me. "Can I get you something, too?" He gave me a tight-lipped smile that was nothing like the one he'd given her. "Gentleman's Jack, if you have it. Neat." The woman turned slowly. A familiar set of green eyes scanned me from head to toe and back up again. A full, pouty mouth identical to the one that had kissed me less than two hours before tipped up into a smile. "You know, following women can get you into a lot of trouble, Statistics Man. One hundred percent of women are opposed to stalking." My hopes fell into a heap at my feet. "I wasn't stalking you," I asserted rather blandly. "I saw you cross the street and come inside. I wasn't even sure it was you." "Hmm," she said, as if she didn't really believe me and might not even care. "Do you need me to get rid of him or make you your drink first?" the bartender asked with obvious annoyance. I noticed he'd made no move to make mine. Instead, he stood watching us, ready

to spring into action if she gave the signal. I could tell he relished the idea of it. He looked like the kind of guy who could get excited about a bar brawl. He certainly didn't look like someone a woman like Celeste would go prowling for. I grimaced. "No, Eric," she answered, still watching me. "He can stay." Eric the bartender glared at me but went right to work short-pouring my bourbon. "What about you, Celeste? The usual?" "Yes, please." I bristled at the fact that this sleazeball knew what her usual was, but then he surprised me by pulling a second tumbler down from above the bar. I thought I knew her usual—it was one of the few things I had figured out about her—and it didn't belong in a cocktail glass. I watched with satisfaction as he made her drink but became even more confused when he went straight for the soda gun. He filled the entire glass with a clear liquid and squeezed a lime over the top of it. He threw another one in for good measure. "A club soda with a twist," he said, pushing it toward her. "Just like you like it." He flashed a smug smile in my direction. "Perfect. Exactly what I need." I was confused. "Have too much already?" I asked. "Yes," she said in an annoyed tone. Either she didn't care for the question or she didn't like her own answer. I picked up my drink and twisted on my stool, putting my back to Eric the jackass. I was glad when she did the same. Our conversation was going to be awkward enough without an overly interested bartender hanging on every word. I took a long pull from my drink and looked around the dimly lit bar while I waited for him to realize he'd been dismissed. Booths lined the perimeter of the room, which was mostly lit by big-screen televisions mounted on the walls. Each one displayed a game or some sort of captioned sports show. At the back of the room, men played pool around two tables. Based on what I could see, it seemed safe to assume the location drew her here and not the atmosphere. In my periphery, Eric finally moved farther down the bar to help someone else. With him out of earshot, I decided the direct approach was the best one. "Most people don't come to a bar to dry out. So, if not for the drinks, what brings you to this fine establishment?" There was no mistaking the sarcasm in my voice. "I could ask you the same thing, Detective." "I don't believe I've ever told you I was a detective,” I said, testing her. She didn't miss a beat. "On the train platform. When you called 911. You introduced yourself to the operator as Detective Russell." "Ahhh. Of course." I'd forgotten. "I thought you didn't want to talk about that?" "Nobody wants to talk about that, Scotty," she said, slurring my name. "Okay, then. Want to talk about why you're in a shady bar two hours after I left you at home and so drunk you can barely talk?"

She huffed. "Who are you? My father? I hardly think one dinner gives you the right to dictate where I can and can't go." It was a fair point apart from her obvious transportation problem. And my wounded pride. "But how did you get here, Celeste?" I asked, trying to focus on the former rather than the latter. She laughed. "Tending to your civic duties again?" "I'm concerned about you." I stared at her expectantly, wanting an answer. "I called a cab,” she said with a shrug. "You wanted to come here so badly, you called a cab?" I didn't mention that I'd first seen her in the apartment building across the street and that this was obviously not her first stop. "I got lonely." She raised her eyebrows in what was either a challenge or an invitation. "You could've asked me to stay." "Would you have?" I shook my head. "Probably not." "Because?" "Because I didn't want to rush things with you. I wanted to take things slow." Her expression changed instantaneously. "Wanted? You're giving up?" I looked away, unsure of how to answer. I didn't know how I felt about her at the moment. If we hadn't spilled our guts to each other earlier and I didn’t have so many lingering questions, I'd probably already be gone. "But I have six more dates," she argued. "Project Fall for Scott is well underway." "Yeah? Then why are you in a bar, trying to pick someone else up?" Disappointment sat heavily on my chest. It was pretty clear to me why she was here, and it bothered me more than I wanted to admit. Earlier at her house, I’d done the honorable thing by leaving, even though I hadn’t always been such an honorable guy. "We covered that already." She took a sip of her club soda. I finished my drink in one gulp and slid my glass down the bar. I reached into my back pocket for my wallet and pulled out a twenty. Without another word, I threw it on the bar and headed for the door. I didn’t want to talk to her like this. I wanted to give her a drunk and disorderly and throw her in a drunk tank to sober up. I was almost at the door when I decided I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. As mad as I was, I didn’t trust her to find her way home safely. I whirled around and smacked right into her. She wobbled on her high heels, and I grabbed her by both arms to steady her. "Where are you going?" she asked. My eyes narrowed on her. "Home." She grinned. "Good. I'll come with you." Her big red purse was tucked under her arm. Without answering her, I grabbed her by the hand and pulled her out of the

bar. "I don't understand why you're so mad." Her heels clattered across the pavement beside me. "Oh, I don't know. I just found the woman I bared my soul to earlier prowling to get laid. That might be it." "Don't you dare judge me," she sputtered. "Don't act like that's not exactly what you had in mind when you saw me the first time. Project Fall for Scott, my ass. It could've just as aptly been called Project Bed Celeste. I saw you watching me. I know what you wanted." I thought back to my first impression of her. A beautiful woman, lost in a book and riding alone. Taking her home was exactly what I'd had in mind. But after only a few minutes of talking to her, I'd decided she was more than a one-night distraction, and she hadn't seemed like the type. Apparently, I'd been wrong. I shook my head in frustration and kept walking. "So you're telling me, if I'd asked to go home with you, you would have told me no?" "Yes." "Because you've never taken a stranger to bed?" she said, sarcastically. "Of course, I have." "Then what gives you the right to judge me?" Her heel got caught on something, and she stumbled behind me. I stopped and turned. "This isn't judgment, Celeste." I knew what it was like to be alone, especially when you knew what it was like not to be. I'd been there, too. "Then what is it?" "Jealousy." "Really?" She seemed genuinely surprised. I shrugged. "I'm as puzzled by it as you are." I didn't like thinking about her being with other men—something I'd been doing all night, unfortunately. First, her late husband, and now, the bartender. "I thought you were different." She chewed her lip and blinked at me. "I am different." "Prove it." I was walking again, pulling her with me, and not even caring if she thought I was crazy. I was pissed off at her, I was pissed off at myself, and I was pissed off at Melinda for convincing me to take a chance on the first pretty woman to come along who could speak in full sentences. We were silent as we crossed the street. I didn't even acknowledge her surprise as I opened the door to our building and ushered her inside. When I hit the elevator button for the seventh floor, she finally spoke. "Where are we going?" I didn't answer her. Instead, I counted down the seconds until I could get out. "You know, you're actually pretty cute when you're mad," she said. She fluttered her eyes and wrapped a piece of her shiny, dark hair around her finger. She was still flirting with me. I watched, momentarily mesmerized, but then the doors opened, giving me directional bearing again. I strode down the hall in the direction of my apartment but came to an abrupt

halt in front of hers. "I believe this is your stop." Her eyes lit up with understanding. "You saw me come out of here, didn't you? You did follow me." "Yes." I glared at her, not caring anymore what she thought of my answer. “And I would suggest you go inside and stay put for the night.” "But I don't live here,” she said, confirming what I’d feared all along. I threw my hands in the air. "Well, no, of course not. You live across town. So the question is, who does?" I hadn’t come up with a single good reason why she'd have two homes within a mile of each other, and believe me, I’d been trying. But as weird as that was, I hadn’t wanted it to belong to some other man she’d visited before she went to the bar. I swallowed the foul taste in my mouth and walked farther down the hall in the direction of my own apartment. I wouldn’t stick around to meet him. "It was my husband's place," she called after me. A waver in her voice was reminiscent of the woman I’d gotten to know earlier in the evening. Well, shit. The last thing I wanted to do was to make her cry, especially in her condition. I had more questions, but they’d have to wait. I walked back to her, grabbed her by the hand, and then silently pulled her the rest of the way to my front door. I led her past the box I’d abandoned in the entryway and through the maze of furniture and piles of boxes in my living room to my old couch. "Have a seat. I'll get you some water and then call you another cab." “Whoa. Looks like you’re in the middle of redecorating.” She looked around the room with wide eyes. At least, they were dry. I shrugged as I turned away from her. “Something like that.” She plopped down on my ratty old sofa and sighed. “Wow, this is comfortable. You should keep it.” I grumbled my way to the kitchen, still trying to figure out what this new piece of information meant. Was it possible that telling me about Chase had dredged up memories, and she’d come to the apartment because she wanted to be closer to him or something? I played through a sad scenario in my head where she'd arrived grief-stricken and drank herself into a stupor. It didn't answer my other questions, though, about why he'd have an apartment in the first place or why she was still hanging on to it after four years. I tried to remember if she'd actually said that she and Chase had lived in the big house together but drew a blank. Maybe they'd lived here, and she'd moved there after he died. Maybe he’d been thinking about moving out before he died. Maybe he already had. Regardless, if she was hanging on to the apartment after four years, she was a long way from being over him. I pulled two bottles of water from the fridge, while I stupidly continued to grasp at straws when the answer to my questions was sitting in my living room. I was on my way back to her, with a good old-fashioned interrogation in mind, when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out to find a screen full of missed calls and

texts, all from my brother within the last forty-five minutes. At 10:15, Where are you, man? A few minutes later, Call me. At 10:45, Where are you, jerk? Met a friend of yours. At 10:59, Never mind. I'll talk to you tomorrow. I slid it back into my pocket to deal with later. When I returned to the living room, it was empty. Celeste's shoes sat in front of the couch, her purse on the coffee table. Room by room, I searched the apartment, not finding her in the dining room, the spare bedrooms, or on the balcony. At the far end of the apartment, in the master bedroom, I finally found her. She’d curled herself into a ball under the covers on the bed. The red dress lay in a crumpled heap as if she'd unzipped it and just let it drop to the floor. A pair of black lacy panties and a matching bra were tossed to the side of it. Celeste was naked in my bed. I refused to let myself think too long about it. "Celeste?" Her eyes were closed, and she didn't answer. She looked small and vulnerable with only her head sticking out from under the big duvet. I sat down on the edge of the bed, careful to keep my distance. "I'm guessing since you're naked, you want to stay?" I muttered, not expecting an answer. Her eyes didn't open, but she mumbled a response and nodded her head. I leaned closer. The scent of her perfume mixed with the wine on her breath was enough to get me drunk. "What did you say?" I asked. She sighed sleepily. "I said Project Bed Celeste is one-hundred-percent successful.” I would have to disagree. When I'd thought about taking her to bed, this was not what I'd had in mind.

HER AS SOON AS MY EYES WERE OPEN, I SHUT THEM AGAIN. THE HEADACHE WAS SO THOROUGHLY ROOTED IN MY brain I couldn't tell where it even originated. My forehead. The top of my spine. Behind my eyes. I felt like it was everywhere all at once. Only one culprit could cause a headache like this, and I knew her well: red wine. Water was running somewhere. I pulled a heavy blanket over my eyes to block out the sun … and noise … and guilt. I took a deep breath. Along with the unfamiliar scent of the sheets came a more familiar sense of dread. No, no, no. What had I done? I racked my brain, but it was on sick leave. Only one thought came to mind: Scott. I touched my lips, remembering the secrets that had spilled from them and then the kisses that had followed. The water running in what I assumed was a nearby bathroom made me sick to my stomach. I'd ruined everything before it could even start. Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time I'd woken up in a stranger's bed with more questions than answers. I needed to get out of there, but I knew better than to run out like a coward. Experience had taught me it was best to own these situations and avoid an even more unpleasant experience later. I opened one eye and then the other and peeked out at a stark white ceiling. Finally, I attempted to sit up. The motion caused my brain to bang into something else inside my head. I winced and looked around for my clothes. It was time to put on my big girl panties—both literally and figuratively—and fake it. I noticed a red dress I hadn't worn in several years draped neatly over the back of a chair. The bright color brought my father to mind, and I wondered if he would appreciate whatever bold statement I'd been trying to make the night before. Somehow, I doubted it. Oh, God, I thought, remembering his phone call. Had I gone over to my parents’ house after Scott had left? Had that somehow led me to Weston Kingsley's apartment? I took in the impressive room around me. The expensive furnishings and wellcoordinated decorations looked like a decorator had picked them out. The obvious focal point of the room was the massive four-poster bed. It was a statement piece,

conjuring up expectations that only a man with a lot of confidence would dare purchase. I knew Weston could afford it, but somehow, I had my doubts about the rest. Was there really enough wine in my father's well-stocked cellar for me to end up going home with him? God, I hoped not. I'd take a no-name stranger over Weston Kingsley. As I slipped into the dress, the water in the bathroom turned off. A shower door clicked open and shut again, and a shadow darkened the open doorway. I smoothed my hair down with my hands, sure that my mascara was smeared and my breath was as rancid as my stomach. Anxious to get this over and done with, I strode into the bathroom as if none of those details mattered, like I knew exactly who I'd find in there. The man's broad and muscled back faced me as he used the towel in his hand to dry his hair. Water drops from the shower still glittered across his shoulders. I probably should've given him a little longer to at least get a towel wrapped around himself, but I wasn't disappointed with the view. He was tall … like Scott. With dark hair … like Scott. "Good morning," I choked out, my voice still gravelly with sleep. In one seemingly fluid motion, he wrapped the towel around his waist and turned. If he was embarrassed, he didn't show it. It took everything in me not to break out in song. I mean, the situation was still bad, but it could definitely be worse. Scott's lips quirked into a half smile. "You're awake. How do you feel?" "Okay." "Liar." He moved to the sink and turned on the water, letting the bowl fill. "I was going to let you sleep. I'm guessing you could use a few more hours. There's a Starbucks coffee with pastries in the kitchen. I didn't know what you liked, so I got a selection." I moved across the room and sat on the counter beside him. "How very thoughtful of you." He arched a brow. "I'm a thoughtful guy." "So you've already been out?" I asked. "I went for a jog to clear my head." Hmm. That didn't sound good. "Did it work?" "Yep." He turned off the water and moved to stand directly in front of me. My eyes traveled down his firm chest to his abs and back up again. He placed his hands on my knees, pushed them apart, and cocked his head to the side. His lips turned up mischievously. "Do you mind?" "I suppose not," I said, trying to sound coy and not completely freaked out. "Been there, done that, right?" My laugh came out strangled, sounding much less confident than I was aiming for. "I just need in here," he said, obviously trying not to smile. He reached between

my legs to the drawer directly below where I sat and pulled it out. "Razor," he said holding it up. "Ahhhh. Yes, of course." I smiled to hide my embarrassment. He moved back to the sink while I rallied some more courage. Except for the fact that I was wearing my clothes from the night before, something was so incredibly ordinary about watching him smear shaving cream on his face. As if I did this every day. "Look, I've been thinking," I began. A pinched line formed between his eyebrows as he took the first swipe, starting near his ear. "About?" I watched him, transfixed by the lines of his face, the razor clearing a path through the dark stubble surrounding it. I touched my own cheek, wondering if it was red and burned from rubbing up against his. "Last night." "Which part?" he asked without taking his eyes off the mirror. He wasn't being funny and flirty. Maybe it was simply because he didn't want to slice open his carotid artery, but it troubled me. Other than when we were baring our souls the night before, I’d never seen him this serious. Even on the train, after he’d had an obviously heated discussion with whoever was on the other side of his phone, he’d joked around with me. Maybe the sex had been awful. I was rusty. It had been more than a year since I'd been with a man—and admittedly, those had been less than ideal circumstances— but it wasn't like I'd forgotten how to do it. Even if I had been completely trashed the night before. I groaned internally. I couldn't even remember calling him, though I must have. Or maybe he'd called me. I probably should've looked at my phone before I'd barreled in here like I knew what I was doing. "Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. "You look like you're going to be sick." There was a slight smirk on his face, which I found promising. It sounded more like the Scott I thought I kind of, sort of knew. "I'm okay. I'll take something for my head in a minute." I picked an invisible piece of lint from my dress. Why was this so awkward? After what we'd done the night before, it should be no big deal. Instead, I was analyzing his every move, reading more into his expressions than was probably warranted. "I was just thinking … some more … about what you said … about having the week off … and spending it together," I said, drawing it out. "Oh?" "Yeah, I mean, now that we've slept together, I was thinking we could do something really crazy." His eyebrows rose and he smiled. I nearly sighed in relief. "Like what?" he asked and then puckered his lips into something positively kissable while he moved the razor around them. "Well, you said you wouldn't want to go to a beach alone. But what if we went together? We have a resort down in Turks. We could be there by this evening. Spend the week together."

He glanced at me. "What do you mean, we have a resort?" "My family. I'll get us the nicest suite available. We'll eat the best food. We'll do nothing but kick back and relax. Everyone knows that vacation sex is the best sex," I added, in case I really had been awful the night before. Even through the mask of shaving cream, I saw the disdain on his face. Ouch. I was preparing to tuck tail and run when his eyes widened suddenly. "Wait a minute. You're part of the Smythe family? As in the Smythe hotel chain?" I looked down at my hands folded in my lap. "Well, yeah. I figured you knew that." "How would I?" I shrugged. "I guess I thought Ryder might’ve told you." "So Clayton Smythe is your father?" he asked. He wasn't making this situation any less awkward for me. "Yes and sometimes I even claim him." He leaned down and rinsed his face with clean water. I waited for him to finish. After he toweled off, he finally spoke. "So you could pretty much buy this entire town if you wanted to?" I cocked my head. "I'm sure he's tried, but I'm not really into that sort of thing. I've found I'm happier when people choose to be around me of their own volition." When he just stared at me, I continued, "I don't have that kind of money anyway. I mean, I'm more than comfortable. I have the money Chase left me, and my trust gives me a generous allowance, but I don't have access to most of it yet." I wasn't sure why I was spilling the details of my finances to him. Nerves probably. He still hadn't given me an answer, and now that he was more interested in my money than spending the week with me, I wasn't sure I wanted him to. "Your trust?" He shook his head in disbelief and then his lips curled into something that resembled disgust. "Did you rent this apartment for me, Celeste? Is this your doing?" "What?" I couldn't begin to fathom what he was talking about. "Ever since I met you, weird things have been happening to me. I didn't want to believe it was you. I convinced myself it had to be someone else … but no matter how hard I keep trying to find another answer, I keep looping back to you." I shook my head. "I don't—" I began, but he cut me off. "You own the apartment next door. But wait. You don’t actually live there because you also have a big fancy house on the other side of town. By your own admission, you have a generous trust. I told you I wrecked my bike. Poof. New bike. I rent a shitty apartment. Oh wait, here's a better one. Your old couch sucks? I can fix that too. I thought I was the one trying to win you over, but now, I'm wondering if it's the other way around.” His words came fast as he hurtled angry accusations I didn't understand at me. "Scott, slow down. What are you talking about?"

He stepped over in front of me again and placed his hands on either side of my legs. He leaned forward so that we were almost nose-to-nose. "On the train, I told you I wrecked my bike. I told you my name. I even gave you an idea of where I lived. It wouldn't have been too hard to find me. The very next day, a brand-new bike shows up. Bought and paid for by some anonymous woman with a sexy voice. I told myself it could be you, thanking me for saving your ass at Foster Street." He was in my face, freshly showered and smelling delicious, but the things coming out of his mouth were too confusing for my still slightly inebriated brain. I blinked stupidly, and he continued, "Then I get to Highland Park, fully expecting to find the movers hauling my shitty furniture into my equally shitty new apartment, and lo and behold, I find I have a new apartment. A penthouse that takes up nearly the whole goddamn top floor of the building. And it's full of fancy new furniture I can't afford. But don't worry about it, they tell me, because again, it's all paid for." He threw his hands up in exasperation. "I know it's not a coincidence. The bike and the apartment. And again, I'm thinking, could it be you? But I don't even know your name, so why would you do all of this for me? It doesn't make any sense. Then I run into you at the bookstore, and you act surprised. Legitimately surprised. You act like my move to Highland Park is news to you. You were so convincing. No one's that good of an actress, I tell myself. So I'm back to square one.” My head was spinning, trying to keep up with him, trying to fill in the blanks from the night before, and hoping it was enough to intelligently deny the accusations he was making. "Even when I see you coming out of the apartment next door," he continued, "I think it's just some crazy coincidence. Or even better, maybe it's your sister." "My sister?" I asked. "I guess I was just hoping. I didn't want it to be you who I followed to the bar last night. After everything that had happened between us, I didn't want to believe that five minutes after I left you, you were getting ready to go out and find someone else to fuck." I winced at his words. Had I actually done that? It was hard to imagine when he was the only one thing on my mind. But I couldn’t doubt the truth of what he was saying. Whatever I'd done had pushed him over the edge. I could feel his distress, and I wanted to reach out and take some of it from him, relieve him of it as he’d relieved me of my guilt the night before, but I knew better. Something raw and volatile in his expression stopped me. Something warned me from touching him. "Even this morning, I went for a run to try to figure out how, after everything, I could still want you. How I could be making excuses for a woman I barely know? It took me six miles to decide that none of last night mattered. Six miles to decide that you were drunk and didn't know what you were doing. Six miles to figure out why I care so damn much. Because I barely know you. It shouldn’t matter what you do. But when I saw you at that bar, flirting with the bartender, I nearly lost my damn mind."

Shame kept me silent while I let him work through his tirade, and I put together the pieces of the night. His face was red, his neck bulging. I was slightly terrified and completely spellbound by the amount of emotion pouring off him. Jealousy was an emotion I knew well. I’d experienced it my whole life, though I’d rarely been the object of it. He was furious with me and still somehow wanted me. He was so close and the air between us so electric. I would have wrapped my legs around him and pulled him even closer if he had stopped there. But he didn’t. Instead, he said the one thing that I’d fought against my entire life. "I came back here ready to give you another chance, only to find out that you're some spoiled little rich girl who probably thinks she can buy men like she buys purses." "Stop!" I screamed at him, my heart pounding, my blood racing. "I am not a spoiled little rich girl! You don’t know anything about me!” He stepped back and eyed me silently. I hopped off the counter and blew past him, a venomous tirade of my own pouring from my lips. “I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but I'm not responsible for any of it.” I spun around the bedroom looking for my shoes. Surely, I had shoes. And maybe a purse? "I don't know anything about your motorcycle, Scott. It wasn't me. And this apartment is nice, but I didn't have anything to do with it either.” I stopped and glared at him. “And I'm sorry for whatever I did last night, but I don't even remember it, so I'm not even sure what I should be apologizing for.” "I drink sometimes. It started after Chase died. A glass to ease the pain turned into a bottle to completely forget. Sometimes, I lose control. I don't know what happened last night. I was so happy when you left. For the first time in years, I felt like maybe something good was happening to me. I just wanted to celebrate a little bit. I had only planned to have one." My eyes burned with threatening tears. "I guess it turned into more." I fled to the living room, where I found my shoes sitting next to a worn couch and my purse on the coffee table. I slid my feet into my heels ready to go home where the only judgment would be my own. "Wait." I turned to find Scott standing in the doorway, watching me, a perplexed expression on his face. His chest heaved as if he'd just returned from his run, not the shower. The towel still hung from his glorious hips. I looked away, wanting desperately to remember what he felt like, sure now I’d never know. "What is it with bathrooms and women? It's not a good combination for me." I picked up my purse from the coffee table. "My keys?" He shook his head. "You can’t go yet. Not like this." Something inside me clenched. I didn’t want to go, but it was becoming clear that we were a dangerous mix. Our relationship was like a live grenade, just waiting for one of us to pull the pin to detonate it, and we'd only just begun. What would

happen when real feelings were involved? It was too much to deal with. Especially for something that would burn out soon enough whether I wanted it to or not. "I need to go let Bear out." It was a legitimate reason even if not the real one. “Why do you keep your husband’s apartment, Celeste? What’s over there?” He pointed toward the front door, and I realized why the layout of Scott’s apartment was so familiar to me. I exhaled a heavy breath. “I don’t know. I have the paperwork to sign to put it on the market, but I haven’t been able to pull the trigger.” “Are you hanging onto it for sentimental reasons?” That definitely wasn’t it, but I didn’t want to explain what was in there or how I kept losing the paperwork. I didn’t want to tell him that the last time I’d gone on a bender I’d woken up the next morning to find the paperwork in the trash. Scott was asking questions I couldn’t answer. If I told him that, he’d realize how screwed up my head really was. I resisted the urge to open my purse and pop a few pills. That would be another red flag he wouldn’t miss. “I need to do something about it.” I glanced around the living room and found the distraction I was looking for. It was full of furniture. Too much furniture. Some of it still wrapped up. “It sounds like you have bigger problems to worry about. Somebody bought you all of this?” “I really thought it might be you.” He almost sounded disappointed. “I’m sorry, no. If you'd just asked me, I would've told you. Maybe I could've helped you figure it out." “Then who?” he said, running his hand through his wet hair. I pressed my lips together in a line and shook my head. "I don’t know. An old girlfriend maybe?" I hated the suggestion, and it immediately put things into perspective for me. I understood now why he was so angry with me this morning. I couldn't stand the idea of some other woman buying him the motorcycle I'd ridden on with him the night before. I looked around at the new furniture still wrapped in protective cellophane. Had she picked all of it out for him? Had she picked out the bed I’d slept in? The possibility made me irrationally angry. He paced in front of me. "No. I haven't had a girlfriend since my wife. The only woman who even came close is seeing someone else now. And I don’t think she could afford this anymore than I could." He scrubbed his hand down his face. "Maybe it has something to do with a case I worked on in Chicago. I don't know.” He stopped pacing and stared at me. His blue eyes burned with intensity. Distress poured off him. I took the steps needed to put myself in front of him and did the only thing I could think of, knowing it had worked once before. I ran my hands up his arms, over his shoulders, to his neck. I rose up on my tiptoes and brushed my mouth against his. This time, he hesitated only an instant, and then his arms were around me. The towel around his waist was practically non-existent as he pulled me against him. I furiously kissed him and waited for the memories of our night together to come

racing back. When they didn’t, I pulled away and practically begged him to remind me. “Please spend the week with me.” He ran his hands up and down my bare arms. “What is it about you? It’s like you’ve completely erased the word no from my vocabulary.” I felt exactly the same way. Every minute with him violated the rules I’d written for myself. “I’ll make us some reservations.” He shook his head. "No. If we do this, we do it on my terms. No fancy resort on some island your daddy owns. I get to pick the place, and I get to pay the tab. I won't be a kept man." "Okay," I whispered. "Okay." He smiled. "So it's settled." "On one condition.” I looked at my feet and steeled myself before looking back at him. I didn’t want to say the words, but I had no other choice. "After the trip's over, we go our separate ways." His eyebrows furrowed, and he dropped his hands from my shoulders. "Is this because I'm a cop? Dear old dad won't approve? My bank account isn't big enough?" "No," I lied. My father would most definitely not approve. He would hate everything about Scott, and he certainly wouldn't approve of my plan to go away with him for a week. But my life wasn't my father's to dictate, and he wasn't the reason this thing with Scott couldn't last. I was the one who'd dug my own grave. He was new to town. But in a week, he wouldn’t be. He'd start his new job. He'd meet new people. It wouldn't be long before he'd want nothing to do with me. It was easier if I negotiated the end now. He had his terms, and I had mine. "It's more likely I'm not good enough for you," I said quietly. He shook his head. "For someone who seems to have it all, you sure don't seem to know it." "For someone who had it all and lost it, I think I have realistic expectations." My voice quaked. "What's the point in getting to know each other if you're already planning to walk away?" I looked back and met his eyes. "I like you. For just a few days, I want something normal. I want to go somewhere where nobody knows our names, where when we walk in a room, they're staring at you instead of me." He laughed. "Why would they be staring at me?" "Look at you," I said, gesturing to him. "You’re gorgeous. No woman in her right mind wouldn't want you. And you're funny and smart and crazy intense. Here I am standing in your living room because I'm lucky enough to have had you but not smart enough to remember it." "If we walk into any room together, Celeste, I can assure you they're going to be looking at you, not me." He blew out a long breath and looked away. "You just want a little piece of normal for a week? That's all you want from me?" "Yes." It was all I could hope for. Wasn't this what every guy wanted? A woman

who had no expectations? "You do realize normal couples don't have conversations like this after knowing each other for three days, right?" he asked. I chewed the inside of my cheek. I wouldn't agree with him if it meant he might walk away now. He shook his head slowly. "I don't know what's going to happen between us, but I have a feeling it's going to be anything but normal. There's a reason why I can't let you go, and you don't want me to," he said, taking my hands in his own. "This is different. It's not some fantasy in a book." He was right. The connection between us was the kind you fell into and drowned in if you weren't careful. When it was all said and done, I already knew it would be me who would be broken and alone. My banged-up heart was already showing a few new dents this morning. But I didn’t care. I would take whatever I could get, but he had to accept that as well in order for this to work. I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I can give you a week, but I can't give you my heart. It’s all I can do." Scott’s mouth curled into a smile. "Celeste, if I want your heart, I won’t wait for you to give it to me. I’ll take it instead."

HIM I HAD NO INTENTION OF AGREEING TO HER TERMS. SHE WAS OVERCOMPLICATING WHAT SEEMED PRETTY simple to me: I liked her, and she liked me. Until one of us changed our minds, I saw no reason to arbitrarily slap an end date on it. I wasn't going to spend a week with her already thinking about how and when it would end. "I agree to take it one day at a time. Good enough?" She quietly considered it and then gave me a tiny smile that I took as a victory. "Are you at least going to tell me where we're going so I know what to pack?" "Remember when I told you about Starved Rock? It's beautiful down there. There's a resort. It's probably not what you're used to, but I think you'll like it. It’s pretty secluded." "So we'll take the bike?" she asked. Her eyes seemed to light up at the idea. "Yes. I have some errands to run this morning, but we can leave later this afternoon." The smile on her face grew slowly at first but then exploded. When she was happy, Celeste lit up from the inside out. It was only the second time she'd let that smile loose on me, and I vowed to see it a lot more over the next few days. We decided on a departure time and discussed what she should pack, since storage on the bike was limited. She laughed when I told her “no evening gowns” but looked a bit forlorn when I limited her to one book instead of ten. After we’d decided everything, I took her face in my hands and looked into her eyes. “And lay off the alcohol this afternoon, okay? When we have sex for the first time, I don't want there to be any question about whether you remember it." Her eyes widened, and the gold flecks in them seemed to spark with fire. Before she could say anything else, I laid a kiss on her that would give her something to think about until I could make good on the promise.

_______________

I’D

BARELY HAD TIME TO GET DRESSED WHEN THERE WAS A KNOCK ON THE DOOR.

THINKING CELESTE

HAD

forgotten something, I flung it open. My brother grinned back at me with equal enthusiasm. My smile fell as my body went rigid. Luke was the last person I would’ve expected to see on my doorstep. "What are you doing here?" I asked before I could stop myself. "Hey, there! It's good to see you, little brother," he said in a mocking tone. "Did you drive all night? You must be exhausted. " "I'm sorry. I'm just surprised," I said, forcing a smile. Texting him my address had apparently been a mistake; though I would’ve never thought in a million years that he would make the twelve-hour drive to see me. Inwardly, I groaned. I already had a full plate with figuring out the apartment and bike situation and taking Celeste on a trip. Adding my brother to the mix wasn’t necessarily a welcome surprise. I also wasn't foolish enough to believe this was a friendly visit. It was a trap. "You could've called,” I suggested. He cocked his head. "I did. About a hundred times. When you never answered, Ma insisted I drive up. I have the rest of the week off. You going to let me in or leave me standing out here in the hall all day?" I stuck my head out and looked around. "Did you run into anyone on your way in?" I asked. His eyebrows rose. "Beautiful brunette in a red dress, doing what appeared to be the walk of shame? Is she yours?" "Maybe. Maybe not." "That explains the shit-eating grin on your face when you opened the door. And why you didn't call me back last night. Seriously, can I come in? I'm tired as fuck." I opened the door wider, and he breezed past me and straight into the living room. He stopped so suddenly I almost ran into the back of him. "Holy shit. Did you win the lottery or what?" His head swiveled around the room in awe. "Something like that,” I said because I still had no real answer and wouldn’t until the next day. He walked around the living room, scoping it out and whistling under his breath. He met my eyes and his narrowed suspiciously. "Seriously, man. What's going on?" I sighed in defeat, dreading having to voice all of my suspicions aloud. "Let me get some coffee in me, and I’ll tell you about all the weird shit that has been happening." As I headed back to the kitchen, heavy boots clomped along behind me, and I considered whether coffee was strong enough to deal with the conversation ahead of me. Too bad it was only eight thirty in the morning, and I was still a little browbeat by the problems alcohol had caused the night before. I found my Starbucks cup on the counter and drained it while my brother inspected the gourmet kitchen with wide, curious eyes. He made a complete circle around the room before stopping in front of me. "Do you have one of those for me?" he asked, nodding to my coffee cup.

I raised an eyebrow. "Did you tell me you were coming?" He mirrored my expression. "Umm … have you listened to your messages?" Grimacing, I reached into the fridge and pulled out two bottles of water. After he had taken one from me, I reached back into the fridge for a slice of supreme pizza and shoved that at him too. Maybe if his mouth was full, he wouldn’t ask all the questions I knew he had. My phone vibrated on the counter where I’d left it. I swiped it up and glanced at the screen to find a text from Celeste. I did just leave you at your door in a towel, right? Another version of you was getting on the elevator when I was getting off. Wanted to warn you. Too late. A cheap imitation. My brother just got here. I hope you didn't fall victim to his charms. Only the real thing for me. A smile pulled at my lips. "Red Dress?" Luke asked through a full mouth. "Mmm," I barely confirmed. His eyes roved the room as he swallowed. "This kitchen is really nice. Too bad you don't know what to do with it." I sighed. "The microwave works great, though." "Do you care if I entertain here tonight?" "Entertain?" I asked. "Who do you have to fucking entertain?" Five minutes with my brother and I was already talking like him—thick Brooklyn accent, foul language, and all. "I didn't really drive all night. I came by late last night, but you were out so I made other arrangements." "Nine-hunred number?" I asked. I was giving him a hard time, but it wouldn’t have surprised me. On that point, we couldn’t have been more different. As far as I knew, my brother had never even contemplated a serious girlfriend, let alone marriage. He probably had a woman in every major city. Luke was a pretty boy, a serial womanizer, and a general pain in humanity's ass. He rolled his eyes as if he could read my mind. "Downstairs. Her name was Sarah. She works here. Said she knows you." I shook my head. "Her name is Sierra, not Sarah." "Yeah. That's right. She said she'd let me into your apartment since it was obvious I was your brother, but I told her it would be rude. I asked if I could hang with her for a couple of hours until you got home. One thing led to another, and I decided to stay." "And you didn't think it was rude to sleep with her before learning her name?" "She told me her name first. It was Sienna." It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Sierra." He waved his hand in the air. "Right. I have her number. We're supposed to have dinner tonight, but now that I've seen this kitchen, I think I'd rather cook

than go out." No one knew where my brother had picked up his amazing skills in the kitchen. It wasn't as if he'd spent his teen years hanging out with Ma in hers. More likely, he'd been picking locks and smoking bowls in abandoned houses. Before he’d started upholding the law, he'd tried to make a career out of bending it. He surveyed the room again as if he was already imagining what he would whip up in the gourmet kitchen. He seemed to have completely forgotten the absurdity of the situation, which was yet another example of the vast differences in our personalities. He pointed at the stove. "That’s a Wolfe range." I shrugged as he ran his hand across the top of it and left a smear of pizza sauce in his wake. He must have been truly impressed because he actually grabbed a take-out napkin from the island and cleaned it up. He crumpled up the napkin and tossed it on the island, apparently not as impressed with it. "That stove, as you would call it, is worth more than you make in two months’ time. So what gives?" Apparently, he hadn’t forgotten. “Does Red Dress have something to do with this?" I stepped back and leaned against the bazillion-dollar stove. “I don’t think so. I’ve only known her a couple of days. I have to admit some really weird shit started happening right after I met her, but she says she doesn’t know anything about it.” I began at the beginning, filling him in on my chance encounter with Celeste on the train and the subsequent rescue from the mugger. “Then yesterday, just as I was locking up my apartment in Evanston for the last time, a guy from Windy City delivered a brand-new Dayna to me,” I continued. Luke’s eyebrows furrowed deeper and deeper as I recounted the even more bizarre switch out of the apartments. I showed him the signed lease and the note from the banker. When I told him about running into her again at the bookstore, he looked as suspicious as I’d felt at the time. “That’s an awful lot of coincidences,” he said. “It gets worse,” I admitted. “Last night, just after I’d talked myself out of believing she had anything to do with it all, I caught her coming out of the apartment next door. I followed her to a bar across the street and confronted her.” “About the apartment and the bike?” he asked. “That came later.” I ducked my head, a little embarrassed that my jealousy over the idea of her hooking up with someone else had taken precedence over my common sense. “Every time I bring it up, she gets upset. I decided to drop it for now but only because I really believe she didn’t have anything to do with this.” I raised my hands and gestured to the kitchen. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave me a pointed look. “Are you sure about that? Or do you just really want it to be the case?” I shrugged. “Honestly? Maybe a little of both. But she looked genuinely surprised when I told her I’d moved to town. I was watching her closely, and I don’t

believe she could have faked that kind of surprise.” “Hmm,” he said. I could tell he was only halfway sold on the idea of Celeste’s innocence. “So I guess you made up this morning?" I thought about Celeste, perched on my bathroom counter, the red dress riding up her smooth legs, and the look on her face when I'd pushed her legs apart. "Not completely, but we're going away together for a few days. I need some time with her to figure her out. She’s just …” I shook my head. “I don’t know … complicated. I can’t explain it, but for some reason, I trust her. She acted like I'd slapped her across the face when I accused her of buying me all of this shit." Luke rubbed his hands together. "Give me ten minutes with her. I'll get the truth out of her." I had no doubt he could. Luke operated like a truth serum. It was what made him a good cop. It was also the reason I'd avoided calling him back all week. I hadn’t wanted him to know the trouble I’d gotten myself into. “I'd prefer to keep her as far away from you as possible." He scratched his chin and smirked. "I can understand why. Won’t take her long to figure out she’s with the wrong Russell." I crumpled my water bottle and threw it at him. He crumpled his and threw it back before turning and heading back to the living room. "Let’s go, Romeo. We’ve got work to do,” he said over his shoulder. “What’s that?” I asked, following him. He picked up his bag from where he’d dropped it in the living room. “Don’t we have a date with a banker? If we’re going to pin this mess on someone other than Red Dress, that’s where we need to start.” I stared at my brother, suddenly overcome with gratitude. No one else in the world would drop everything and drive twelve hours to check on me. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how overwhelmed I’d been dealing with everything by myself. It would be nice to have someone to bounce ideas off. He’d keep me in check if I let Celeste sway me when I shouldn’t. Because I couldn’t admit the sudden epiphany I’d just had, I sniffed the air around him instead. "Not before you shower. You smell like sex and …" I scrunched up my face. "Is that syrup?" "Yep. Simone made me homemade chicken and waffles this morning before she headed down for work." "Her name is Sierra, and why are you eating my pizza if she already fed you chicken and waffles?" "Because we worked up an appetite afterward. You know, maybe I'll ask her to go away with me for a few days, too. Where are you going?" "Look at you," I said, leading him down the hall. "Settling down after one night. And to think I could've had her first." He tackled me, throwing me into the wall. "But you didn't,” he said. “You let a real man do the job." I ducked under his arm and threw mine around his neck, pulling him into a

headlock. "Who's the real man now?" I asked, ruffling his hair before I let him go. "Did you really ride all the way here?" "Nah. I trailered the bike. I want to ride around Lake Michigan while I'm out here." He cocked his head. "Can you do that?" "Don't you think you should've checked before you hauled your shit here?" "Doesn't matter. I figured we needed something to haul your shit back in anyway." I leveled my eyes at him. The truth was out. "If you're here to try to convince me to go back with you, just save your breath. It's not going to happen." "Red Dress?" he asked. "Maybe. Maybe not," I said, trying to sound casual. A week ago, he might've been able to convince me to go back with him. It was probably the reason I'd been avoiding him. But there was no way he'd convince me to leave now. He chuckled. "Well, I've got a Franklin in my pocket that says she'll be done with you by the weekend and that fancy-ass couch will be in the back of my trailer on Saturday. Until then, I'll just make myself at home on it." I shook my head. “You might as well hand over your money now. The couch is going back to the store, and I’ll find a new apartment to rent. I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes widened. "Oh, man. You've got it bad. That's cool. I'll just hang with Savannah while you're gone." "Sierra," I grunted before shoving him inside the guest bedroom where I’d been sleeping and slamming the bedroom door behind him. I pulled out my phone to call the resort to make a reservation and found another text from Celeste. Does your brother change our plans? I'll understand if he does. I typed out my answer, knowing it should probably be different but only feeling slightly guilty. Not at all. Don't forget to pack hiking shoes. Throw in those black heels with the red bottoms while you're at it. She responded right away. I don't think those qualify as necessities. Oh, but they do. Do I need a dress now too? No dress. Just the shoes. I like the sound of that. ;)

HIM "I’VE TOLD YOU EVERYTHING I CAN TELL YOU.” MARTIN MARCUS TAPPED THE PIECE OF PAPER RESTING between us on the desk as if it held all the answers, when all it had really done was raise more questions. The banker wore a custom pinstriped suit and a golfer's tan. After only a few minutes with him, it had become clear he was not accustomed to dealing directly with something as mundane as a new account, which was something I’d just learned I had. That wasn't to say he hadn't been nice to us. On the contrary, the bank president had been pleasant and patient, but he'd provided absolutely no information other than what the piece of paper had written on it, which wasn’t much. I pulled it toward me and read it again.

Everyday Heroes P.O. Box 2584 Chicago, IL

Scott Russell, Everyday heroes are hard to find. Enjoy your new life. The money is yours to do with as you please. You earned it. Sincerely, Everyday Heroes MY HEAD WAS SWIMMING IN FACTS THAT DIDN’T ADD UP. I’D COME TO THE BANK TO GET ANSWERS ABOUT the motorcycle and the apartment, and instead, I discovered that someone had opened an account in my name. The situation was spiraling out of control.

“How much are we talking about here?” I expected him to look it up on his computer or call someone else to do it. Instead, he recited the nice round number from memory. "One million dollars." "Excuse me?" I sputtered. "Is this some sort of joke?" Luke, who'd broken out into a sudden coughing fit next to me, pulled it together long enough to ask, "Can you please pass along that I’m a hero, too?" I shot him a look before turning back to Mr. Marcus. "Well, I can't accept it." The banker smiled pleasantly. "That's not an option. It's already yours. You can give it away if you like, but you can't return it. If you don't want to spend it, it will sit here with your name on it until you change your mind." "This is crazy." "I can't say I disagree, Mr. Russell. I’ve been in the banking business for twentynine years, and I’ve been this bank’s president for eight of them.” He puffed out his chest. "And I've never seen anything like this. Can’t say I’m not enjoying it, though." “So let me get this straight. This organization, Everyday Heroes, picks random people to receive huge extravagant gifts?” I looked at the letter again. “A new life, it says. They’re giving me a new life? Why? There was nothing wrong with my old life.” “I don’t believe there is anything random about it,” Mr. Marcus said. “Nobody’s life is perfect, and I understand you’re in a state of change right now.” “You know this about me, yet you have no idea who I can even thank for all of this generosity?” I asked. Mr. Marcus was feigning ignorance, but I’d already deduced he was holding back. He knew a lot more than he was letting on. "I’m afraid I cannot. I can tell you that the money is yours to do with whatever you like. Naturally, the bank would like to keep your business, but you may move it if that is your wish." He stood, signaling the end of our meeting. He handed me an envelope. “Your debit card is activated and ready to use. You’ll need to set up a PIN when you use it the first time. There are temporary checks in here to get you through until you receive the permanent ones in the mail.” I matched his movement, so we were still eye-to-eye. "In the mail? To my new address that you know nothing about?” “That is correct.” I glared at the man. “I'm not a charity case, Mr. Marcus." "That's certainly not my impression either. I was told you earned the money, and I have no doubt that’s true." He stuck his hand out for me to shake. "Now, I hate to cut this short, but I have a meeting to get to." Unsatisfied, I shook my head. "Tell me how. How did I earn it?" He sighed. "I wasn’t given that information. I was merely told you helped someone else and are now being helped yourself. If I may offer a suggestion, though?"

I nodded. "If I'd recently come into a large sum of money like this, I'd move most of it into a savings account. That's a lot of money to be sitting in a checking account where it won't do anything for you. You should think about getting a financial advisor if you don't already have one and invest some of it. Municipal bonds are reliable, solid investments if you're not a risk-taker. But at a minimum, I recommend moving anything you don't need for your general operating expenses into a savings account. At least, you'll make a little bit on the interest." As if I needed more. "I suppose you have someone who can help with that?" Even if I couldn't keep it, I should safeguard it until I figured out where it belonged. Celeste would have a financial advisor or someone who handled her investments. I would ask her when the time was right, but I wasn't sure I wanted to share this new piece of information with her quite yet. After our heated conversation this morning, she’d made it perfectly clear she wasn’t responsible for the apartment and bike. "Roseanne, my assistant, will take you downstairs and get you set up with our manager of new accounts. He'll help you move some over to a savings account if you’d like." He walked us to the door. "I do have a favor to ask, though, Mr. Russell." I looked at him curiously and began to carefully fold the Everyday Heroes’ letter, touching it only where I had to. "Yes?" I asked, as I slipped it into the envelope he’d given me. "If we could keep the details of this quiet, I would appreciate it. I'm sure you can appreciate how unorthodox this is. We don't typically open accounts at the request of someone other than the account holder. Only under the most exceptional and rarest of circumstances." "I would imagine a few federal laws were broken today, Mr. Marcus." His gaze hardened. "Spend it wisely. Spend it unwisely. No one's watching. I’m sorry, but I have another meeting to get to." He directed us to his secretary’s desk and then closed the door between us. An hour later, Luke and I sat in a diner around the corner from the bank, hashing over what we knew and what we didn’t still know. It all amounted to a whole lot of nothing. I’d searched the internet on my phone for Everyday Heroes and found absolutely nothing. No website. No social media accounts. No articles discussing previous recipients of gifts. The organization was either brand new or non-existent. "Well, money bags, what do you want to buy first?" Luke asked. "I can't spend the money. Are you crazy?" "The hell you can't," Luke said. "You heard the man. You can't give it back, so you might as well enjoy it." He leaned forward. "Dude. You have a million dollars. One. Million. Dollars. What I could do with one million dollars. I'd buy a restaurant, that's what I'd do. My own Wolfe range. Or maybe a Thermador."

My phone vibrated on the table. I swiped my finger across it to find two new texts. The first was from Trevor, who I hadn't talked to since Friday night. I hope you’re getting settled in. Give me a call. I thought I just might. I now realized what a pickle I’d gotten myself into. I wasn’t sure why I’d thought I could straighten all of this out before I left town. When Celeste was standing in front of me, I seemed incapable of acting rationally. It had become painfully clear, though, that I wasn’t going to have anything straightened out before I left with her. I knew I should cancel the trip and keep digging. Maybe spend some quality time with my brother. Fix my shit, so to speak. But her incoming text message waged another war against my common sense. The shoes are in the bag. I found something to go with them that will help make up for my behavior last night. I typed out a response. How about a sneak peek? I think you should wait for the real thing. I’ll make it worth it. I looked up to find Luke watching me, a smug smile on his face. "Red Dress?" "Her name is Celeste, but since you can't remember the name of the woman you slept with last night, I guess I can't really expect you to remember my girl's." His eyebrows rose. "My girl's? Oh, man. You really do have it bad." I shrugged, noncommittally. "I don't know her well enough to say yet." "Hmm. Well, I know you well enough, so let's put some odds on it." The need to quantify everything with a number was a trait that ran deep in the Russell family. "What's the over-under?" "Maybe thirty-five percent," I offered. "I'm definitely taking the over on that. I think, based on that dopey look on your face just now, that you're sitting at a good quality sixty-six percent and you haven’t even banged her yet." “Banged her?” I shook my head in disgust. "I just met her. Besides, she’s a mess, Luke. You think I have hang-ups? I’ve got nothing on her.” I started listing everything I’d put together about Celeste. “She blames herself for her husband’s death when it was clearly an accident. Her house looks like she’s bleached it of his memory, yet she can’t let go of his old apartment. Which I still don’t understand, by the way. She talks in circles. She’s completely unpredictable. And that’s when she’s sober! She was so blasted last night she didn’t remember not having sex with me.” “Could be worse. She could’ve not remembered having sex with you.” I looked out the window but didn’t see much beyond my own confusion. “I don’t want to want her. She’s like a storm I can see coming, but I’m just standing in the front yard like an idiot, waiting for her to suck me up and spit me out somewhere. I can’t seem to stay away from her. Even when I’m not looking for her, she’s there. What’s worse, I don’t even want to try. And that is stupid and crazy.” I looked back at him. “This morning, we were screaming at each other, and all I wanted to do was shove her up against the wall and fuck her until she forgot him. It’s not normal.

None of it. Normal people don’t have conversations like ours after knowing each other for two days. I told her that, too.” Luke rolled his glass of soda between his hands. “So don’t be normal. If you ask me, she sounds like your kind of crazy. If anyone understands obsessively hanging on to the past, it’s you.” I gave him a pointed look. “Do you still have the box?” he asked. When I didn’t answer, he shook his head in disappointment. “My advice should probably be different, but frankly, I'm looking forward to meeting this woman. I was beginning to think I'd never see the day." I rolled my eyes and made a move to get out of the booth, but he grabbed my arm, pulling me back down. "No, I have something to say, and you're going to listen. You owe me that much.” “I owe you?” I asked. “Yeah, you owe me. I drove all the way from New York yesterday only to find out you're leaving town today. And I haven't even complained about it. Do you know why?” During the past twelve years, my brother had visited exactly twice. The fact that I'd chosen a woman I barely knew over him wasn't exactly cool, and I knew it. "I'm sorry. It’s an asshole move to leave town with you here." He leveled his eyes on me. "Don't apologize. I couldn't be happier about it. Look, Elena fucked you over good, but let’s be honest—you wouldn’t have been with her if you weren’t already pretty fucked up yourself. She did you a favor by letting you go, but you’re not suited for the single life. It doesn’t fit you." I took some offense to that. "I've done all right. Melinda was good for me." He harrumphed his disagreement. "She was safe because she let you get by without actually feeling something. So did Elena, if we’re being honest. I think this might be the first time in twenty-six years that you’ve let yourself actually feel something. So maybe it’s crazy, maybe she’s all wrong for you and it’s going to be a big fucking disaster in the end, but I’m inclined to say go with it.” “That’s your advice? Go with it?” He shrugged. “You’re never going to be happy unless you’re trying to fix someone.” “And what if she can’t be fixed? What if I can’t? It’s highly likely that when this is all over, I’m going to be more screwed up than I am now. She might be too.” “Don’t be such a pessimist. Shove her up against a wall and see what happens.” I shook my head. “You’re as crazy as I’m afraid she is.” “Maybe.” The grin on his face slipped a little. "Listen, since we're being serious, we need to talk about something else. Saving your stupid ass from yourself isn’t the only reason I'm here." "Something other than me moving back to New York? Because that’s not going to happen." He shook his head. The unusually grave look on his face caused me to cross my

arms across my chest almost as if I could protect myself from whatever he was about to say. He wiped his hand down his face, another Russell trait, and one I recognized well as a sign of distress. "No, it's Pop,” he said. I knew immediately what was coming. I gripped the sleeves of my shirt and waited for my life to come to a screeching halt for the second time in five years. "The cancer's back." My burly brother's eyes misted over. When it came to my parents, the six-foot-four behemoth turned into a big ball of mush. We both did, really. Family was our Achilles’ heel. "Why didn't they tell me?" "Well, for one thing, you haven't been returning anyone's calls. But Ma didn't want to tell you over the phone. That's why she sent me." "So what kind of treatment is he going to get?" "He says he's not going to fight it this time. He says they're tapped out." Our father had retired from the NYPD five years ago and found out he had bladder cancer a week later. In the year that followed, our family had learned cancer is a formidable and expensive adversary. The financial ramifications had nearly ended my parents even when the cancer hadn't. They'd sold their cars and taken out a second mortgage on their house. They had only recently recovered from their first round with the disease and were now being hit with it again. "How's Ma?" "She won't make it six months without him, and you know it." "Is she trying to talk some sense into him?" "Of course, but you know Pop. He's made up his mind. He said he's not leaving her with more debt." "And if he fights? What's the prognosis?" "About the same as last time. Maybe a little worse. It's in his liver, too, but his doctor said it’s treatable." I pushed my plate farther away. The burger and fries I'd just inhaled felt impossibly heavy in my stomach. "He survived it once. He can do it again." "Not if he doesn't fight." "We’ll make him fight. We can pull together the money." Luke leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest. "Well, now that's the thing, Scotty. It seems to me that you're in a unique position to help now, aren't you?" The meaning of his words settled around me. "The money?" He nodded. "You can pay off their house. Pay for his treatments. And still have a shit ton left to spend on yourself and Red Dress." I shook my head and grimaced. "But it's not right. It's not my money." "I don't give a shit if it's right. You can save him. Give the rest to charity if you want. I really don’t care." I thought about it for all of five seconds. Even if I didn’t accept the money, I could take a temporary loan out against it until I figured something else out. "I'll

make some arrangements and call them this afternoon." "Good," he said with approval. "Now, let's get out of here. You need to pack, and we need to see what we can find out about Everyday Heroes." “Does it even matter if I’m not accepting the money?” He cocked his head and gave me a look that said he wasn’t buying my nonchalance. “So you’re just going to let it go then?” “No.” “I didn’t think so, which means we’ve got work to do and very little time to do it.” We walked to the register to pay for our lunch, and Luke handed me his ticket before stepping aside to let me take care of it all. I gave him a sideways glance. "Seriously?" He clapped me on the back. "Thanks for lunch, moneybags,” he said before walking away. He was on his phone when I stepped outside. "Good deal, doll. Call your boss and see if you can get the time off. We'll be there in fifteen." The person on the other end of the line said something that caused the dimples in his cheeks to pop out. “Later, doll.” I rolled my eyes and popped a mint into my mouth. He hung up and grinned. "What? She likes doll. It works for us." He tapped on his phone and held the screen up for me to see. Her contact information was pulled up, and all it said was “Doll” with her number below it. "By the way, she’s in for the trip. She’s checking to see if she can take the week off." “What trip?” I asked, my eyes narrowing. “We’re going with you.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t need a wingman.” “No, but it sounds like you might need backup if shit goes south. Don’t worry. Sierra and I will get our own room or cabin or whatever we need.” I narrowed my eyes at him. He smirked. “Yeah, yeah. I know her name. She left quite an impression last night.” I was shocked. Coming from my brother, that was a compliment of the highest order. “You and Red Dress will have plenty of time alone,” he continued. “And this way we can hang out a little bit, and you and I can work on this hero stuff on the side." I wanted to argue, but I couldn't find it in myself to do so. He had driven a long way to come see me. Our conversation in the diner had been a grim reminder that no one is promised tomorrow, and frankly, I could use the help. I pulled out my phone and texted Celeste. How would you feel about a couple of stowaways? Bubbles danced across the screen as she typed her response. Your brother? And a friend. The more, the merrier. :)

Don’t you dare change whatever you're wearing. I wouldn't dream of it. Oh, but I would.

HIM "IT'S NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL," CELESTE WHISPERED. HER BREATH WAS WARM AND INVITING AGAINST MY ear. "Promise." "It's just not what I had in mind." We'd stopped in Utica because Sierra needed to use the bathroom. And because two hours was too long for my toddler of a brother to go without a snack. "It will be fine. It's not like they'll be in the same room with us, and Sierra is nice." The two women knew each other casually from the building. It had made introductions unnecessary and traveling together a little less awkward. "You're right. I know. I'm just adjusting my expectations." "No need. Nothing changes.” She gave me a sly smile. A perfectly manicured finger traced a circle on my leg I felt through my whole body. The heated beginning to our day, along with the suggestive text messages we’d lobbed back and forth, had turned me into a live wire of sexual tension. I was done saying no, done holding off, done being the perfect gentleman because I thought that’s what she needed. She'd made it perfectly clear all day she had something else in mind. Since confessing how I really felt about her to my brother, it was all that had been on my mind, too. But I had to get us to the resort first. She leaned her head against my back. “I don't care if they hang out with us. You and Luke are funny together." As if on cue, he came out of the store with a bag of beef jerky in his hand. I shook my head as he danced past a small blue sedan. I glanced at the driver inside to see if he was watching, but his eyes weren't on Luke. They were on us instead. The attention Celeste attracted was something I'd have to get used to. Even here, where no one knew she was the widow of a famous ballplayer or an heiress to the Smythe family fortune, something about her caused people—men, especially— to stop and take notice. I glared at him until he finally looked away. LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER, WE PULLED UP IN FRONT OF THE LODGE. THE BEST PART OF THE DRIVE HAD been from Utica to the resort, and I'd timed it perfectly. The setting sun had

painted a kaleidoscope of color across the scenic hills. "How gorgeous was that?" Celeste exclaimed as she pulled the helmet from her head. I was glad it had lived up to the hype since I’d talked it up so much. But as beautiful as it had been, it couldn’t even compare to my current view. Celeste’s smile was wide and beaming as she smoothed her hair back into a ponytail. "We would've been here half an hour ago if it wasn't for slowpoke leading the way," Luke said. "Well, I, for one, enjoyed it," Celeste countered. "Sometimes, the journey is as important as the destination." She turned and took in the rustic lodge. "So, this is a hotel, huh?" I couldn't help but laugh. The oversized log cabin that operated as the reception and dining center was certainly no Smythe resort, but it was a hotel nonetheless. "Yes. I got us a room in one of the cabins down by the trails." "Ohhhhh." Celeste cupped a hand behind her ear. "Do you hear that? Music," she said her eyes wide. The faint strums of an acoustic guitar trickled around the side of the building. "There's a band." I added loves live music to the short list of things I knew about her. "Why don't you ladies go check it out while Luke and I check in?" I said. They nodded and headed off in the general direction of the music. Clustered seating areas were sprinkled around the inside of the lodge. A large, loud group had parked themselves directly in front of a massive stone fireplace, and they tipped up pints of beer and glasses of wine as we passed. Their inebriated voices echoed against the exposed rafters of the ceiling. "Very cool," Luke said, also taking in the scene. "Did you get a room in the lodge or what?" I asked as we approached the front desk. He looked at me blankly. "Luke, please tell me you called and got a reservation." I’d texted him the number as soon as he’d announced his plan to tag along. "I figured I'd do it when I got here. You got yours when? This morning?" "Yeah, but I got a room in one of the cabins only because somebody canceled right before I called." He waved a hand in the air. "It will be fine." The middle-aged woman behind the desk smiled pleasantly at us. "What can I do for you gentlemen?" "I have a reservation," I said as I slid my ID and credit card across the desk to her. “He does not.” She laughed as she stared at her computer. "Uh-oh. Well, we're completely full tonight. It's the busy season, ya’ know." I glared at Luke. He merely shrugged. "Oh, looky here, though. You have a double, Mr. Russell. The room sleeps four, and I only have you down for two. You boys got lucky tonight." "Yes, lucky me,” I said through gritted teeth. I wondered what the resort would

charge me after I put Luke's head through a wall. "Hmm," she said, fingers still clicking on the keyboard. "I sense this is not an ideal situation. I do have a king in another cabin opening up tomorrow. Should I reserve it for you?" "Put it on his tab," Luke said, hitching his thumb at me. She glanced up from her computer to see if I agreed. I nodded, too angry to speak. "I'll let you know as soon as it's clean, Mr. Russell. We can move your stuff over for you. No worries. Tell you what, I'll even send a complimentary bottle of wine from one of the local wineries to your room tonight.” I grunted something that barely resembled a thank you as she slid two keys across the desk to me. I stalked through the lobby, still furious with Luke. "You should've called," I growled at him. I pushed open the door to the outside and scanned the crowd on the balcony in search of Celeste. I found her and Sierra sitting at a table near the railing, a blanket of stars burning brightly behind them. Celeste had her chin tipped up, her eyes were bright, and a small smile played the corners of her mouth as she lifted an already half-empty glass of wine to her lips. I started for her, but Luke grabbed my arm to pull me back. "Look, I’m really sorry. I realize this puts a damper on wall banging, but I promise it’s just for one night. If the room doesn’t come through, I’ll come up with something else." "I'm an adult, Luke. I don't share rooms. Especially with my brother and his doll." He frowned. “I said I was sorry.” I shook my head. “Well the better of the two rooms is mine. You can have the double.” He grinned as if he’d won. “Hey, I really like Celeste, if it makes you feel any better.” He fell silent but looked like he still wanted to say something else. “Has it occurred to you that she looks a little like—” I cut him off. “Don’t even say it. There was a minute the other night that I thought so, too, but I pulled out a picture last night and compared them. It’s not even close.” His eyes narrowed. “We don’t know what Daniela would look like today, but if I was a betting man …” I held up a hand to stop him again. “We aren’t going to go there.” He gave me a hard look, but when I turned away to look for the girls, he didn’t stop me. "LOOK WHAT I FOUND IN THE LOBBY," SIERRA SAID, HOLDING UP A SMALL BLACK BOX. "CARDS AGAINST Humanity. I thought we could play." After a few hours of listening to music on the patio at the lodge, we were all a little drunk. With every drink, I became more aware of how close Celeste was and

how many bodies were packed into our small hotel room. Sierra pulled out a chair at the table and began to deal a stack of little white cards for each of us as she explained the rules of the game. “I'll turn a black card over on the table and read it aloud. Then everyone picks a white card from their hands and lays it face down on the table. Funniest and most inappropriate answer wins." "What's at stake?" Luke asked. "Nothing," I said, sensing where he'd take this game. "There is no such thing as strip Cards Against Humanity." Luke fanned his cards out in his hand and shrugged. "There could be." "Not enough walls in this room," I muttered. “You only need one.” I gave him the evil eye, and he laughed. I nodded at the complimentary bottle of wine left in our room. “Pour me a glass of that, would you?” I asked him. As he slid a glass across to me, Celeste put her hand on my leg and squeezed. "Drink up,” she whispered next to my ear. “This will be fun." She’d been touching me all night. A brush of her fingers here. A bump of her shoulder there. A hundred innocent touches that reminded me she was still offlimits. I couldn’t be sure since we hadn’t had a single moment alone together, but I had a feeling she enjoyed tormenting me. Unlike the night before, not a second had passed when I’d wondered where her allegiance was. I had all of her attention, and it still wasn’t enough. "Okay, so first question," Sierra said, flipping over a black card. “I got ninetynine problems, but blank ain't one.’” I picked through my cards for an answer to replace the blank. I found one I considered apropos for the evening, tossed it face down on the table, and then waited for everyone else to do the same. Sierra scrambled them on the tabletop, scooped them all up again, and read them one by one, starting with mine first. "I got ninety-nine problems, but running out of semen ain't one," she said. Since everyone was still laughing when she read the others, mine was declared the funniest, making me both a winner and a loser for the night. It put me in the hot seat to read the next round. "During sex, I like to think about blank." I looked at Sierra, the self-declared game expert, for guidance. "Are they all about sex?" I asked her. I wasn't going to make it through the game if they were. Sierra shrugged. "Pretty much. There’s some pop culture in there, too." "Wonderful,” I said, digging through my cards for one to play. Celeste chuckled next to me, and her hand moved farther up my leg. I glanced down at it, wondering once again if she was intentionally making the situation harder. A sly smile played on her lips. If she kept it up, I was going to grab her by the hand and drag her out into the woods.

Three cards were tossed at me, and I threw mine on top. After mixing them up, I read them quickly. "During sex, I like to think about … panda sex … a salty surprise … funky fresh rhymes … and being a motherfucking sorcerer." Even I had to laugh at the last one. I waited expectantly for my brother to claim it, but it was Celeste who raised her hand—the one not still in my lap—and whooped when she was declared the winner. "I win. I win. I win," she chanted as she pulled the next black card. "Ohhh …” She paused for dramatic effect and licked her wine-stained lips. “What brought the orgy to a grinding halt?” It was as if someone had created the game with no other purpose than to torture me. I perused my cards for anything that was funny but found my hand woefully lacking. I settled on something and threw it down with the others, while simultaneously downing what was left in my glass. I shoved it back to Luke for a refill. "What brought the orgy to a grinding halt?" Celeste read again. "Was it fiery poops? A bitch slap? Or penis envy?" Her fingers brushed against the crotch of my pants as she read the last one, proving she really did have an evil vixen hidden inside her. The temperature in the room was suddenly stifling, the air thick and unsharable with half its occupants. I put my hand over hers and squeezed it before returning it to less dangerous territory. I polished off the second glass of wine in one gulp. “Oh, wait. I forgot to read the last card. What brought the orgy to a grinding halt? Your weird brother.” She leaned over so that her lips were just beside my ear. Her breath was warm against my neck. “It should’ve said ‘your cock-blocking brother,’” she whispered so only I could hear. I bolted from my chair and grabbed some clothes from my bag on the bed. I stalked to the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower and hit the sack,” I muttered, pulling the door closed behind me. I heard Luke say something about me being a sore loser. I was aware I’d just thrown a colossal and somewhat embarrassing temper tantrum in front of the woman I was still trying to impress and another I barely knew. I could blame the sudden influx of Celeste’s favorite beverage, but I just really didn’t care. I yanked my T-shirt over my head and looked down at my waste of an erection before turning the cold water on in the tub. How had I let myself get so worked up over a stupid card game? And a few text messages. And a black bra that had been taunting me from beneath her thin white shirt. And the return of drunk Celeste. Impossibly frustrating and incredibly sexy, drunken Celeste. All day, I'd let myself imagine what would happen when I got her alone tonight, the things I would do to her, the things she might do to me. And now, we were stuck in a room with my brother and a virtual stranger who I’d already shared way too much of my

personal life with than was comfortable. Yet Celeste didn’t seem to care. I switched the water to come out of the showerhead instead of the bath spout and ran my hand under the frigid water. I was so wrapped up in talking myself down that I didn't hear the door open and close behind me; I didn't realize I wasn't alone anymore until a pair of slim hands slid around my waist. Without reservation, they crawled their way across my stomach and up to my chest. “Not all women and bathrooms are a bad combination.” Her voice was low and husky and full of promise. The shower forgotten, I turned in her arms and enveloped her in mine. "That's twice you’ve seen me naked.” I could tell her how unfair it was, but I would rectify the situation instead. My hands cupped her backside, pulling her against me and then lifting her so she could wrap her legs around me. I pushed her back against the flimsy door, not caring that it was the only thing separating us from the others. I wanted her right then, and if a circus had marched through the room, I wouldn’t have cared. I wouldn’t be satisfied until I tasted her … felt her skin against mine… buried myself inside her. A day’s worth of frustration dissolved on our tongues as mine found hers. I kissed my way down her neck to the collar of her shirt. I’d dreamed about what her skin would taste like, and now, I was sure it was laced with cocaine. It was already an addiction I’d never be able to kick. Her hands found my hair, and she pulled it with the desperation I felt. “They went to return the game. We only have a few a minutes.” She whispered it. As if talking any louder might bring them back sooner. I set her on the floor and grasped her shirt, pulling it until the buttons popped and fell to the floor. The silky fabric slid down her arms as I took in the sight of her. I trailed a finger across her creamy pale skin to the rougher lace of her black bra. It was quintessential Celeste. A perfect contrast of sweet innocence and delectable sin. A heady combination I’d never stood a chance of resisting. Her jeans fell to the floor and then it was only lace between us. I skimmed my fingers across the edge of the delicate fabric and then slipped my hand inside. She was soft and warm and impossibly bare against my palm. Her eyes fluttered closed as I found what I was looking for. Needing to hear my name on her lips, I slid a finger inside. My palm rubbed against the sensitive bundle of nerves that would give her the release I wasn’t ready for her to have. Her jaw fell open, and her head lolled back against the door. She filled the room with a moan, but it wasn’t enough for either of us. I slipped another finger inside her warm center, and she gasped. Her fingers clutched at my chest. Her eyes opened, and the gold flecks in them sparked fiery hot. She dragged her nails down my body. Across my ribs. Over my abs. Until, with a much more tender touch, she wrapped a hand around my length. “Fuck me now,” she begged.

I wanted nothing else more. I scooped her up and lifted her onto the edge of the sink. We clawed at each other with raw desperation as our lips found each other again. She tasted like sweet wine, but I was the drunk one. Intoxicated by her scent. Bewitched by her filthy mouth. Robbed of all reason, I positioned myself at her center and pushed inside. The water, still running in the shower, wasn't nearly loud enough to cover my name when it finally fell from her lips.

HIM I WAS TANGLED UP IN HER. HER HAIR. HER ARMS. HER LEGS. THERE WASN'T A PART OF ME THAT WASN'T co-mingled with a part of her. Celeste's head was nestled in the crook of my arm, her hair spread across my shoulder. One arm and one leg were flung across my body so that the entirety of her lay flush against me. It was the most intimate moment we’d had yet, but I didn’t mind that she’d slept through it and I could keep it for myself. A slant of light snuck in through the gap between the heavy curtains. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept past sunrise. I extracted myself from Celeste's grip in slow measured movements, careful not to wake her. As I slipped away from her, she rolled onto her side and curled into a ball. With the slightest touch, I brushed the hair away from her face. Long eyelashes feathered across her high cheekbones. I studied the gentle slope of her nose and the curve of her full lips. She was angelic in her sleep. No sign of the vixen from the night before. I eased off the bed and headed to the bathroom to finish the shower I'd started the night before. I took my time since my roommates were all asleep and let the hot water pour over me. When I turned off the water and pulled the shower curtain open, I had company again. Celeste met my eyes in the mirror over the sink. I was getting used to her barging in on me while I was naked. I’d discovered that not all women and all bathrooms were a bad combination. I wrapped a towel around my waist, enjoying the familiarity of her smile in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. Her hair was a crazy, wavy mess that she hadn’t bothered to tame. Her usually wide eyes were still heavy with sleep. It felt as if we'd been doing this for months or years instead of just days. "Want to go get some breakfast?" I asked. She spat toothpaste into the sink and finished rinsing out her mouth. "Sounds good. Let me shower real quick." I moved to the side and watched as she peeled the tank top she'd slept in over her head and tossed it on the floor. With almost a shy look in her eyes, she hitched her thumbs into the waistband of her sleep shorts and pulled them down her legs. Then she kicked them to the side and stepped into the shower. I shook my head as

she pulled the shower curtain closed. The water turned on, and I took a step toward the bathtub just as a groan came from the other room. "Why are you people awake?" Luke's voice was muffled through the closed door. I dressed quickly before marching into the bedroom and flinging the drapes open. He was still a trespasser after all. TWENTY MINUTES LATER, WE SAT IN THE DINING ROOM OF THE LODGE. PLATES PILED WITH BREAKFAST food, we were planning our day. Our waitress had warned us that a rainstorm was coming, and we should plan on being stuck inside all afternoon. Celeste's only request for the day was to see the waterfall before the storm hit. Luke and Sierra were already dressed in their swimsuits to go kayaking. While the three of them chattered about what they hoped to see, I scoped out the room. A creature of habit, I roved my eyes around the restaurant, taking inventory of the people in it. At a nearby table, a mother wrestled two small children while her husband sipped his coffee, a newspaper pulled in front of his face. He appeared to be oblivious to the chaos around him until one of his kids let out a bloodcurdling scream, and he winced right along with everyone else in the restaurant. An elderly couple sat at a table next to a window. A chair had been removed so that the woman's wheelchair could be pulled up next to his regular one. One side of her face was slacker than the other was, and he fed her small bites of food from a fork. The scene would have saddened me if it weren’t for the smile on his face. As he pointed outside at the nearby mountains, the light in her eyes was reflected in his own. My gaze skipped to another table where a man decked out in hiking gear sat alone. He was a swirl of khaki from head to toe. He’d pulled his bucket hat low so it covered his eyes, and he ate his breakfast on autopilot as he studied one of the trail maps from the front desk. That had been me only a few days ago. Sitting alone at a breakfast table, I would plan my day, which would inevitably include more alone time. Grocery shopping alone. Going to the post office alone. Occasionally, I’d go to happy hour with some of the guys after work, but every day ended the same, with me always going home alone. I'd gotten used to the solitude of my life. I'd even come to a point where I thought I preferred it. Now, I looked at the three people sharing breakfast with me … my brother … my quirky apartment agent … and Celeste. And I found comfort in the sound of their voices even though I couldn’t tell you what they were talking about. Celeste said something to Sierra, and the women doubled over in laughter. Luke leaned back and put his arm around the back of Sierra's chair, rubbing his full stomach.

Under the table, Celeste slid her hand onto my leg and gave me a smile. A deep sense of satisfaction fell over me as I came to a realization. The trip wasn’t about some silly bet about whether I could make Celeste fall in love in a week. Or even whether or not she would push me away at the end. It was a lesson on what I was missing in life. I didn't want to be the hiker anymore, trekking through life by myself. I didn't want to end up only half of the equation of the older couple. I didn't want to be the mom, trying to do everything myself. I was tired of being alone. I placed my hand over Celeste’s and squeezed it.

HER "IT'S THE MOST GORGEOUS THING I'VE EVER SEEN." Scott, who had his back to me as he took in the massive waterfall, turned and smiled at me, his dimples on full display. "So you like it?" I nodded. "The waterfall is nice, too." He rolled his eyes, but the smile didn't waver. "Silly girl. You're supposed to be taking in the sights." "I was, and it's quite lovely." He reached for my hand. "Come here." He bent his head down to brush his lips over mine. It wasn't a heated, let's-seehow-fast-I-can-get-your-clothes-off kiss, but there was the underlying current of the possibility of one beneath it. We'd decided we had come as high as we could on the trail without risking being stranded in the rain. The clouds were already rolling in overhead. They were dark and flat bottom but extended upward into big fluffy piles of cotton balls. Every few minutes, Scott would look up at the sky, and a crease would form between his eyebrows. "We'd better start heading back down, or you're going to get your pretty head wet." He pulled my ponytail before turning back to the path. "Wait." I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "I just wanted to say thank you. I love it here." “I thought you would, and you’re handling roughing it rather well." "I hardly think any hotel room with a bathroom and running water is roughing it, even if it was decorated in the eighties." His eyes darkened. "I bet our new room is ready. We'll go by the front desk and ask when we get down the mountain." My stomach knotted in anticipation as I looked forward to an entire afternoon of being trapped inside our room. If I had my way, it would rain the rest of the day. Maybe the rest of the trip. It had been too long since I’d been touched, and the small taste I’d had of him wasn’t nearly enough. "Come on. If we hurry, we can stop at the most romantic spot on earth on the way down," he said, teasing me about the name I'd given to a small ledge we'd passed earlier. The ledge jutted off the path, and the canopy of trees over it formed

a window that was almost a perfect heart, providing an ideal viewing spot for the waterfall. We started back down the steep path. Just like our trip up, we took turns lobbing questions at each other. What kind of movies did we like? I preferred romantic comedies while his favorites were action flicks with lots of gunfire and adventure. Favorite foods? He described the texture and taste of his mother’s meatballs with a reverence that made my mouth water. I told him about my favorite Thai restaurant in Highland Park, a place I hadn’t visited in more than a year. The conversation turned to our childhoods. He described loud holiday dinners and his mom's always real and always lopsided Christmas tree. He told me about his sister's kids and the ornaments they made for it every year, boasting about them as if they were his own. I wouldn’t allow myself to wonder if he wanted his own. Then I told him about my parents, our quiet holidays, and the artificial Christmas trees my mother placed in every room, each one coordinated with the color scheme of the space. They were show trees, just like everything else in our lives. A perfect fit for a house where, for as long as I could remember, holidays had been treated with dismal disregard. Scott looked surprised when I admitted we didn’t celebrate birthdays. “My mother would die before she would let that happen. No one has a birth day at my house. It's more of a birth week. In my sister's case, it's more like a birth month because she's a spoiled brat. It requires weeks of planning. The actual day is reserved for family, but the weekend after, my mom cooks a ton of food and invites practically everyone we know to the house. It's loud and obnoxious, and when it's over, you feel like you've aged another year." "Last Christmas, I went to Mexico," I said, shocking myself with the admission. "By yourself?" he asked, coming to a sudden stop. "Yeah, I needed to get away from life for a bit.” "Sounds lonely but I suppose it was more relaxing than what I endured.” We walked for a while in silence, and then I changed the subject. "Tell me about your first kiss." We were nearing the most romantic spot on earth. "Her name was Daniela." I could tell she’d meant something to him by the way he said her name, and I felt a stab of jealousy. "How old were you?" I asked. "We were ten." His head was down, watching the ground as he carefully considered his next step. "I married her sister.” "Ohhhh. Well, then. I'm sure that was an awkward transition, getting from point A to point B." He stopped and looked at me. With the overcast sky, his usually vibrant blue eyes looked darker than usual. "I didn’t really have a choice." He sighed and then kept walking. "Daniela was the pretty one. Elena was the cute one. They were our next-door neighbors and a year apart just like Luke and I

were. Dawn to dusk, we ran the streets together, like the heathen kids we were." "My ma adored those two girls. I swear she was planning our double wedding before I was six. Luke and Elena. Me and Daniela. That was the plan. Until it wasn’t anymore." His head was down, and his feet sounded heavier on the dirt path, if that was possible. “So how come the switch from Daniela to Elena?” I sensed, based on the slight hitch in his voice each time he said her name, that she was an even bigger regret than his ex-wife was. Something told me if he'd married her instead, I wouldn't be walking with him now. “Somebody snatched Daniela when we were eleven.” My feet stopped with my heart. “Oh, Scott.” He turned to face me. “We were hanging in front of the girls’ house one day after school, like we always did. Elena had already gone inside to do her homework when our Ma called us in for dinner. We left Daniela out there by herself, skipping rope. We didn’t think it was any big deal. We’d done that same thing a thousand times before, but when her mom went out to get her for dinner, she was … just gone.” I reached for his arm. “I’m so sorry, Scott. And they didn’t find her?” He looked away from me into the dense trees that ran alongside the path. “They found her body four years later, in a wooded area a few blocks away from our houses. She hadn’t been dead for more than forty-eight hours.” I slid my hand down his arm and squeezed his fingers. “I’m sorry,” I repeated. I’m sorry. It’s such a benign statement and—I knew from experience—of terrifically little value. If I had a dollar for every time someone had told me they were sorry, I could’ve funded a small third-world country. But sometimes there was really nothing else to say. He shook his head once and then met my eyes. “They caught him. His house was just a block away from ours. All that time, she was right there—right under our noses—and we had no idea. Luke and I walked by there practically every day. There was a tiny window, and afterward I would sit and just stare at it. I couldn’t help but wonder if she could hear the cars going by outside. Or us bouncing a basketball down the street when we were on our way to the community center. I wonder if she recognized our voices out there and wondered why we hadn’t come to rescue her.” You hear about the atrocities that happen to children in the news, and it’s human nature to wonder about the people directly affected. To put yourself in the place of the parents, the siblings, the friends who feel the loss. Or to imagine such a horror in your own life and how you would deal with it. In my experience, though, fewer people could actually bear to imagine themselves in the place of the one who’d actually had to endure the suffering. But, as Scott squeezed his eyes shut, I sensed he he’d transported himself back to Brooklyn, and he was sitting on a stoop staring at a frosty window and imagining himself on the wrong side of it. Then again, sometimes it’s easy to confuse empathy with blame and guilt.

“Is that why you’re a cop?” I asked. His brows furrowed. “Luke would tell you it’s why I do everything I do, but I was always going to be a cop. Even before Daniela.” He looked up at the sky, which seemed to have gotten more ominous with his story. “We should probably get going. It looks like it’s going to pour on us soon.” We walked for quite a while in silence. Scott, who’d been so relaxed before, suddenly seemed on alert. His back was rigid, and occasionally, he looked over his shoulder, not at me, but beyond me as if he sensed some sort of danger lurking in the woods around us. "How about your first kiss?" he asked. “How old were you?” I’d thought we desperately needed a change of subject, but apparently, he still had first kisses on his mind. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. The air had changed abruptly, becoming crisper and more electric with the impending storm. I looked up as I answered the question. “Nine.” “That’s pretty young for a first kiss.” I laughed. “Only one year younger than you.” I sighed. “He was a beautiful boy from the wrong side of the tracks. My father didn’t approve of him, so kissing him served dual purposes. And much to my father’s dismay, I actually did go on to marry him.” I nearly stopped in my tracks when I realized it hadn’t hurt. In the past, there’d been no casual mention of Chase. Even the vaguest of references to him had felt like rubbing salt in a gaping wound. Apparently, Scott had helped me across some imaginary bridge that allowed me to finally talk about Chase with ease. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and I looked up at the sky with a smile. Scott looked over and asked what I was grinning about since we were about to get rain dumped on us. I shook my head, not wanting to spoil the moment. "Tell me," he insisted. "I’d better not." "Well, now I really want to know. Don't make me slip into interrogation mode." I laughed. "We don’t want that. Okay, well … sometimes, I think Chase controls the weather." He arched an eyebrow at me. "Come again?" "On the day of his funeral, it poured buckets. I swear it was the gloomiest day of the year. The cemetery was a muddy mess. I had to switch out of my heels and into rain boots in the car. We all stood around his plot as the sky pelted fat, angry raindrops at us. Then when we lowered his coffin into the ground, it just stopped. By the time we got back to the cars, the sun was shining. I let myself believe it was Chase telling me it was going to be okay. It got me through." Scott nodded at the sky just as it rumbled again. "So what do you suppose this is about? Is he pissed off and growling at me?" "I’m not sure. Maybe he’s laughing at us. I think he would've liked you.” Our conversation died off after that, and we walked silently, each lost in our own thoughts. I watched the clouds tumble and roll. Even as the sky darkened, it didn’t

feel oppressive to me. Quite the opposite, I was looking forward to the rain, hoping it could wash away any remaining doubts I had. It wasn't long until Scott stopped on the path. "The most romantic place on earth," he said, gesturing to the opening in the trees. It was only three or four steps off the path. I stepped onto the ledge and looked up at the sky at the exact moment that the first fat raindrop fell on my face. I raised my hands in front of me to catch a few. I was incredibly aware of Scott’s presence behind me. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do it, yet here I was, losing little pieces of my heart to him. Bit by bit, I was handing them over, each one wrapped in a story from my past. Slowly but surely, I was falling. I was so sure of it. When I felt the push that sent me over the edge, I wasn’t sure if it was a dream. But as I tumbled toward the rocky cliffside below, it was reality that hit me first.

HIM I HEARD THE BOOTS CLOMPING ALONG THE PATH BEFORE I SAW HIM. A BLUR OF KHAKI CAME AROUND THE turn at an impressive pace. His hat was pulled low over his head, protecting him from the rain that had just started to fall. Just as he reached us, he looked up and met my eyes, and it was then I recognized him. Not only as the man who'd been having breakfast in the lodge but also as the man in the blue car at the convenience store in Utica. He veered off the path, and I saw the determination in his eyes before I could register what it meant. Shoulder first, he barreled into me. "Hey," I hollered as I stumbled backward into Celeste. I twisted and reached for her. Her arms shot out, but with her back to me, I was left only with the material of her shirt to grab. The soft fabric slipped through my fingers, and she tumbled over the side. I watched her body break and bend as she crumpled into a ball and slid down the rocky cliff. Her scream ended when a tree finally stopped her fall. My heart stopped. I tried to lunge for the man, but my feet felt like they'd sprouted roots. The air, which felt crisp with the promise of rain before, was too thick and heavy to breathe now. The moan that crawled up the side of the mountain was the encouragement my feet needed to move. I backed myself over the edge, repeating her name over and over as I dropped to the ground below. Slowly, I made my way to her, bracing myself against one tree after another until I could squat in front of her. I pushed her hair away from her face. Her eyes fluttered open, and she shrunk away from me like a scared animal. “Don’t touch me!” Her voice was shrill. My chest constricted. She thought I’d done this to her. I raised my hands in surrender. “I didn’t—” I started. “You did! You pushed me!” She wrapped her arms around her legs and pulled herself into a ball. She glowered at me with hot, angry eyes. “Celeste, no. It wasn’t me. There was a man. He pushed me into you.” I needed her to hear me and believe me. I looked up at the ledge as if he might still be standing there to confirm my story. Her eyes followed the path mine had, and she shook her head. Then they widened as if she understood. “He put you up to this.”

“No, I don’t know him. I saw him this morning having breakfast in the lodge. He was alone, and I smiled at him as we were leaving. He passed us on the trail on the way up. Do you remember a man dressed in khaki hiking gear?” I begged her to remember. When she didn’t say anything, I raked my hands through my hair. “I recognized him from before. He was at the convenience store in Utica. He was watching you then, too. Do you know why someone would do this?” She blinked at me and chewed her cheek as she seemed to consider what I was saying. Her shoulders suddenly sagged, and she let out a heart-wrenching wail. I sat down beside her and pulled her into my arms. She heaved against me. I stroked her hair and whispered the miracles I could count in her ear. She was alive. It would be okay. I would take care of her. When the tears had stopped, I inspected her piece by piece. Gently picking up one arm and then the other, I twisted and turned each to look for bruises or breaks. Her ponytail was crooked. The white T-shirt she wore was torn at the neck and streaked with dirt. But other than the knot forming on her forehead and scratches on her arms and legs, I didn't find any wounds. “I’m going to call for help,” I said, pulling my phone out. I held my breath as I waited for the call to go through. If I got any signal, I would count that as another miracle. After a few very long seconds, it began to ring. Luke answered right away and immediately launched into a story about how he and Sierra had been caught in the storm near the lake. I looked upward, and fat, angry raindrops hit my face. I hadn’t even noticed the rain had started. I pulled Celeste closer to shield her from it. I cut Luke off mid-sentence and launched into an abridged version of what had happened. I described the man, his clothing, and his car. I explained where the outlet of the trail was. Prompted by the urgency in my voice, Luke was already moving. A door slammed. His breath became more labored as he ran. "He's here, but he's too far ahead of me," Luke said. "He's running for his car. Dammit." I commanded Luke to run faster and not to lose him. Luke went silent for a few seconds. "He's gone, but I got his plates.” “He got away?” Celeste asked after I hung up. She’d gone rigid in my arms again, and I worried she was back to thinking I’d made it up. “Luke got his license plate. We’ll find him.” She tipped her chin up and stared directly into the rain. "I was looking up at the sky, and then I was just … falling …” “We’ll get him, Celeste. Luke’s already calling the state police and then he’s coming for us.” She nodded. “It’s really coming down. Chase always did have terrible timing." The corners of her mouth pulled into a tiny smile. "A little help here would be nice," I called out to the sky. Her smile grew, and the sight of it filled me with relief. "I think I have to be the one to ask," she said. “But I don’t think I want it to stop.”

"How's your head?" I asked. "You've got a knot.” I pointed at her forehead, though I knew she could probably feel it. She blinked her eyes a few times. "I feel foggy. Fuzzy." "Are you going to pass out?" I needed to keep her awake. I needed to get her to a doctor. She shook her head slowly. "I’m trying to push it away." She lay her head and a hand on my chest. "I’m sorry I accused you before.” “I’m sorry I couldn’t catch you.” I hadn't protected her. I’d let my guard down and let the man use me as a weapon to push her over the edge. His face flashed behind my eyes and surge of heat flushed over me. I would find him and make him pay for this. I closed my eyes and could picture him there, his eyes bulging as I held him over the edge of the same cliff he’d pushed Celeste over. He’d wish he’d given me more than a warning. “I’m so tired.” Celeste’s voice pulled me away from the vile thoughts and back to her. Her eyes fluttered shut, and I unclenched my fists to brush the back of my fingers gently across her cheek. "No sleeping, Celeste." She shook her head. "No sleeping," she repeated. "I’m not going anywhere." I nodded. "That's right. Stay here with me. Tell me a story.” If she was talking, she was still awake. She forced her eyes open and looked around the landscape. "I had a bunny once,” she began in a small voice. “I caught it in the backyard and begged Momma to let me keep it, but my dad hated animals in the house. I put it in the bathtub anyway and waited for him to get home so I could ask." Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a movement in the nearby brush and saw the animal who’d inspired Celeste’s story watching us curiously. "Did he let you keep it?" I asked. She shook her head, her eyes still on the rabbit. "No. He asked me if I'd touched it. Of course, I had. I was the one who’d caught it and brought it into the house.” She took a deep breath. “He told me I’d contaminated it and the momma rabbit wouldn't want anything to do with it anymore. It was going to die." My mouth pulled into a hard line. It was a terrible thing to tell a child who thought she was doing something good. "He put it in a box and took it to our neighbors' house." "And your neighbors kept it?" I asked. "Did you get to visit it?" "I went over to their house a few days later to see it. I never liked him much, but his wife was the sweetest old lady. She used to make me cookies. I asked to see my bunny, but he just laughed at me and said, 'You want to see your rabbit? Hang on.' And then he pulled out a bag of meat from the freezer. I ran away.” Horrified, I looked down at her. "Good Lord, Celeste. That's a terrible story. How old were you?" "Seven," she said. Growing up, I remember the front door of our house being a revolving door for

pets. My brother and I had dragged home whatever we found in the neighborhood. Mice and rats and even a garter snake once. My sister, with her more feminine sensibilities, had carried home stray cats and puppies by the armloads. Except for a dirty old rat, I couldn’t remember my dad ever turning one away. I didn’t trust a man who didn’t like animals. "But now, you have Bear," I said, wanting her to replace the rabbit story with something good. She sighed wistfully and smiled. "Yes, I have Bear." Maybe it was because I’d watched her be hurtled over the side of the mountain. Or because she was now tucked into my arms. Maybe it was because she'd just shared a horrible, traumatic story about her childhood, but she seemed more child than woman as I tightened my arms around her. "I bet if you kissed me, I'd stay awake,” she said, reminding me otherwise. I conceded to her wish, only because it had once been the most romantic spot on earth, and I wanted her to remember it that way. SHE'D BEEN ASLEEP FOR HOURS. I WOKE HER EVERY HOUR ON THE HOUR JUST TO MAKE SURE SHE COULD. Each time, she'd looked at me groggily, smiled, and slipped back away. Outside, it was raining again. Oddly enough, the storm had hit almost the very second I'd carried her through the door of our new cabin and hadn't stopped since. Watching the deluge through the window, I thought about Celeste's theory regarding the weather. I’d oblige her belief that Chase controlled the weather because I sensed it gave her peace. But I had my own theory. I was pretty sure it was Celeste’s smile that commanded the sun and it wouldn’t show itself again until she was ready. Then again, maybe those first few drops we’d felt while we were still on the path had been a warning from Chase. I was certain of one thing. The man had intentionally pushed me into her. The raw determination in his eyes as he'd barreled into me was all I could think about. The officer who’d interviewed Celeste had seemed devoted enough, but I wasn't waiting for the state police to do a job I could do myself. The state park might be in his jurisdiction, but protecting Celeste was now mine. Her safety was now my primary concern, and I was second-guessing everything, even reconsidering the kid from the train and whether he’d had more sinister motives than just taking her purse. When we returned home, I would pay him a visit and find out. I realized now that having Luke on the trip was a blessing. Without him, we wouldn't have gotten the plate numbers off the man's car. We would have had nothing concrete to give the police. Celeste and I might still be sitting on the side of the cliff waiting for rescue. And thanks to Trevor, I now had a name to go with the face. He’d said he would do anything to help me, and I put his offer to the test. As soon as Celeste had fallen asleep, I’d called him. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about it, but the question of

whether I would reach out to him had been an easy one to answer. And he’d come through, delivering Burris’s name and arrest record in minutes. He’d even done a drive-by of Burris’s house in Englewood earlier this evening. Now, all we could do was wait for Burris to resurface. I put down the book in my hand, picked up my phone, and willed it to ring with news. The black screen continued to mock me. I tossed it on the bed beside me and looked over at Celeste. Her dark hair fanned out across the pillow. Even with the now purple goose egg on her forehead, she was still beautiful. The sun had been warm and hot before the clouds had rolled in, and she wore a bit of it on her cheeks now. It was a welcome sight, considering how pale she’d been when I’d first put her to bed. Her chest rose and fell under the quilt as I studied her. It was a wonder her injuries weren't worse. I still worried I should've insisted on taking her to the hospital, but she'd been adamant she didn't need to go. Since her eyes didn't show any signs of a concussion and she hadn't gotten sick to her stomach, I'd given in. But the longer she slept, the more I worried that it had been a bad decision on my part. At some point, Luke and Sierra had brought me some dinner. Sierra placed it on the table in the corner with apologetic eyes and sat with Celeste while Luke and I stepped out onto the porch to discuss the plan I’d come up with. “Are you ready to talk about it now?” he asked. “What?” I asked, handing him my driver’s license and credit cards. He shoved mine into his wallet and handed me his. We were too somber to even make a joke about the illegalities of what we were doing. “The reason you like this woman.” I scanned the trees surrounding the cabin for any movement. “Because she’s intelligent and beautiful?” I asked, though I knew that was not where he was going with this. He shook his head. “And because she needs saving.” “I don’t know what you mean.” He turned to me. “Don’t play stupid, Scott, because I know that somewhere in that twisted head of yours, you’ve already figured it out. How many times have you saved her now?” I scrubbed a hand down my face. “Three.” “Three times in five days.” As if to settle in for a nice long conversation, he leaned against the side of the cabin. “Listen, if you don’t want to tell me what happened in Chicago, fine. But you’ve been teetering on the edge ever since. I know that case got to you. Lord knows, I know why, but I’m worried about you. First, you quit your job and run off to the ‘burbs. And now, you’re doing things that seem completely out of character.” I raised an eyebrow at him but couldn’t deny it. He crossed his arms over his chest. “With all of the crazy shit that’s happening to you—the apartment, the motorcycle, and the money—you still just walked away

from it all to come on this little trip. Now, you want to whisk her off to somewhere else, and you’re willing to break every law along the way.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You told me she was my kind of crazy. You encouraged me to go for it.” He managed a smile. “And I’m not discouraging you now. I just want you to recognize why you’re doing it and keep your wits about you. I don’t want you doing something stupid that can’t be undone later.” I harrumphed, but it was just for show. If he knew the illegal things that had led me to this point, I was sure he wouldn’t be standing beside me now. And, as I scanned the woods for any sign that someone was watching us, I felt incredibly lucky to have him standing beside me even if he was chewing my ass and forcing me to face something I’d been purposely avoiding. “Everyday Heroes couldn’t have picked a more heroic recipient of their award, if that’s what it is,” he continued. “There’s never been a man more deserving than you. I fear there’s no length you won’t go to save a woman or a child in danger. Your need to protect is legendary and almost obsessive, but we both know where it comes from. Hell, you married a woman and wasted twelve years of your life out of a sense of guilt and obligation. Now, you’re willing to commit credit card fraud and hide away in a city with a woman you barely know.” “If you’re not comfortable with it, I’ll find another way,” I said, reaching for my back pocket again. He grabbed my arm and stopped me. “No. I’ll do anything you ask of me— anything at all. I just want you to recognize that this hero complex of yours runs deep and wide and Celeste—I like her. I really do—but she feeds it. She’s got a vulnerability about her that I’m afraid speaks to some dark side of your soul. Just keep that in mind, will ya?” I nodded, and he slid his hand up to my shoulder and squeezed it in a way that made me wonder briefly which one of us was the wiser, older brother. He slid his arm around my shoulders in a half hug and then turned to the cabin door. “I’ve got your back. Just remember that, okay?” he said, as he opened it. Our conversation weighed heavily on me after he and Sierra went back to their cabin. Reactively, I took care of some of my own personal business while Celeste continued to sleep. I called my parents again and made sure that appointments were being made on their end. And then I did another fruitless search on my phone for Everyday Heroes. When that didn’t get me anywhere, I looked up the address for the courier company in Chicago. Eventually, I ran out of tasks to busy myself and my eyes fell again on the mysterious woman sleeping next to me. She was curled onto her side, her hands tucked under her cheek. With the bruises coloring her face, the vulnerability my brother had spoken of was never more apparent.

HER "WHAT'S THAT YOU'RE READING, HATER OF BOOKS?" MY VOICE WAS GRAVELLY WITH SLEEP. I PEELED MY eyes open wider. "Oh my God, is that …" A laugh burst out of me. Scott had propped himself against a pile of pillows over the headboard. I lay flush against his side, one leg kicked over him. He glanced down at me and shrugged. "It's actually not too bad." I snorted and rose up on one arm. "You do realize you're reading a filthy romance novel, right?" "Someone told me it's actual literature." His mouth curled into the delicious half-smirk I was beginning to adore. "I have to admit I can see why. I'm starting to understand why you ladies find this appealing." His forehead wrinkled. "And where you get your dirty mouth." If he only knew. I supposed I would have to tell him someday. His expression morphed into one of concern. "How do you feel?" I pulled myself into a sitting position. "Better than I should, I think. All things considered." I scooted myself to the side of the bed and swung my feet to the floor. I could feel his eyes on my back as I tried out my legs. Wondering what time it was, I turned and looked for the digital clock I knew I'd find on the nightstand. Except for the king-size bed, the room was identical to the one we'd stayed in the night before. The bright red digital numbers announced it was after one o'clock. My mouth dropped open. "Why are you still awake?" He laid Week with a Stranger on the bed beside him, careful not to lose his page. "There was a chance you had a concussion, so I've been waking you every hour just in case. Do you remember talking about that?" I nodded and looked at the clock again. “It’s been longer than twelve hours, though, I think.” "I was at a good spot." "In the book?" He cocked his head, his baby blues sparkling. "Don't tease me, woman. I had hours to kill here and lost interest in my phone after about two." His eyes darkened as he watched me walk to the dresser with some effort. “We need to talk about

what happened, Celeste.” I turned my back to him and dug through my bag. I found my pills and, with my hands still hidden inside the confines of the bag, unscrewed the lid. I poured out two—maybe, three, who could hardly blame me under the circumstances?—and popped them into my mouth. I forced a smile as I turned and noted his laser-like focus on my throat as I swallowed. I held up my toothbrush and hairbrush. “Give me a second to improve my situation.” I needed a moment to myself to figure out what to tell him. His gaze didn’t waver as I walked to the bathroom. When I pulled the door shut behind me, I wondered if I could hide in there forever. At the sight in the mirror, I did a double take. The rocky ground below the ledge had definitely left its mark on me. I inspected the angry looking lump on my forehead. It was large and purple, and no amount of makeup was going to cover it up. My tumble over the rocks and brush left my arms and legs covered in scratches. Dirt was smeared across my cheeks and thighs. I sighed at my reflection. At least, the dirt was fixable. I abandoned the hairbrush. There was nothing it could do for me in my current state. What I needed was a good scrubbing and some hair conditioner. While the water in the shower warmed up, I brushed my teeth and felt marginally better. As I stepped into the tub, I listened for any sound from the bedroom, but it was silent. Scott must've gone back to reading. The thought of the big guy reading my book brought a smile to my face, but it was short lived. The scratches burned when the water hit them, but I couldn’t complain about the sting. I was alive, and from what I remembered, that was an accomplishment. I washed, trying to think of something else—anything else—but when I closed my eyes, the memories caught up with me. A familiar ache formed in my chest, and years of disappointment settled on my shoulders. I placed my hands on the shower wall, leaned my forehead against the cool tile, and sobbed. The steam from the shower clouded my mind, but it couldn’t protect me from the truth. Scott had said a man had pushed me. I didn’t need to know who he was because I knew who had paid him. There will be consequences, my father had said. I hadn’t shown up for dinner two nights ago, and then I’d made the mistake of telling him about Scott. Was this the price of my insubordination? What would he do if I didn’t show up at the benefit on Friday? Or was he counting on me not being alive to attend? I’d been dealing with his controlling, meddling ways my entire life, but this rose to a whole new level of evil. My tears mingled with the shower water as I devised my own plan. I would show him consequences. A battle cry escaped from somewhere deep inside me, but the moan must’ve not been the first. The water shut off and strong hands wrapped a towel around me. Without a word, Scott lifted me into his arms and carried me into the bedroom. He laid me on the bed and slid in behind me. He pulled the covers over us, and I

realized how utterly cold I was. Strong arms slipped around me and pulled me into his warmth. The comfort was more than I could bear. It set off another round of tears. If I had to be anywhere, I wanted to be here. But I knew he wouldn’t let me stay silent. He wanted answers, and he deserved them after what I’d put him through. But, oh, how I dreaded it. When he found out how dysfunctional my family was, a week with me would be too long. "Tell me,” he finally said when I’d gained some composure. I opened my mouth, but doubt wove its vicious tentacles around my heart. I closed my eyes and braced myself. “I think my father is trying to get rid of me.”

HIM "GET RID OF YOU?" I ASKED. It wasn't that I didn't believe someone was after her. Obviously, someone was. But her own father? I shouldn't have been surprised. During my life, I'd witnessed the most appalling of acts. I'd faced off with the darkest side of humanity. I knew too well the sick and twisted things humans were capable of. All I had to do was look in the mirror for an example. But I had trouble believing her father, someone who’d had Celeste’s entire life to get to know and appreciate all of the things about her I was only beginning to learn, could do such a thing. Something occurred to me. "Celeste, when you said ‘he put you up to this’ on the mountain, were you talking about your father? Did you think I might be working for him?” She twisted beneath the blankets to face me. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone got close to me to do my father’s bidding.” “I would never hurt you. You can count on that. Why would he do this?” She nodded and took a deep breath. "I told you about my trust. Well, in addition to a rather large sum of cash, it also includes a decent portion of Smythe." Smythe’s primary focus was luxury hotels and resorts, but I knew they were into a lot more than that. Multi-family housing being one of the main ones. The company was worth billions. Celeste was probably worth millions. "I didn't want you to know." Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Why?" "You already think I'm a spoiled little rich girl. This certainly isn't going to convince you otherwise." I shook my head adamantly. "I should've never said that to you. I was pissed off about the apartment, but you’ve never acted like a spoiled rich girl. And so what if you had; it would’ve still been out of line." I brushed her tangled wet hair over her shoulder. She smiled sadly and rolled on to her back to stare at the ceiling. "My grandfather set them up for my sister and me but didn’t give us any control over the trusts until our thirtieth birthdays." "Which is when?" I asked.

"August second. Until then, the executor oversees everything. To be honest, I've never taken much of an interest in the business; something that has always irked my dad." She rolled back onto her side and tucked her free hand under her face. "At least, he likes to play it that way, but I know he doesn’t want to spend every day working with me any more than I want to with him. He complains about my lack of work ethic, but it’s all for show. Just like everything else." "So why go so far as to hurt you if you don't care about it?" "Up until recently, he's been able to do whatever he wants without any interference. He was good friends with the former trustee of my trust, and I'm pretty sure the votes were always cast exactly how he wanted them to be." "What changed?” "A new trustee was appointed about a year ago. He's not as deferential as my father would like." "And in a few months, you can make your own decisions, and you also may not be as deferential," I guessed. "So what happens if something happens to you before your birthday?" "My interest passes to him and my mother since I don’t have an heir." I ran my thumb across her cheek, and her eyes drifted closed. I couldn't imagine what she was feeling. My pop would've happily sacrificed his own life for any one of his kids. No amount of money or stock options or anything else could ever change that. It was the way a father's love was supposed to be. Devoted, unwavering, and unconditional. "We need to leave," I said, my mind made up. The plan Luke and I had come up with earlier was the only option. Her eyes flew open. "And go where? I don’t want to go home.” I could understand why the idea terrified her. "No, no. I’m not taking you home. We have the name of the guy we who pushed you from the cliff, but they haven't caught him yet." "What's his name?" she asked. "David Burris." "David Burris," she repeated softly, shaking her head. "Maybe he just wanted to send a message, but I’m afraid he’s still watching us and waiting for another opportunity to come after you. There are too many hidden spots in these woods. I can't keep you safe here." She pulled closer to me. "Then where will we go?" "Chicago." Her body tightened against me. "What?" she asked, her voice rising in disbelief. “He’ll find us there.” “No, he won’t. I got us a hotel room near the river. We’ll blend in with the tourists and get lost for a few days while we wait for the police to pick Burris up. With any luck, he’ll squeal on your father." “So you want to hide in plain sight?” “No one will think to look for us there, and if they do … I've got people close by

who can help us. I won’t let him hurt you." "What about your brother? Will they come too?" "It will be better if it's just the two of us. Burris saw us all traveling together." I was actually a little bit disappointed that we were splitting up, but it made logistical sense. He and Sierra were going to travel up around the lake somewhere like he’d originally planned and throw Celeste’s dad off in case he was tracking my credit cards. She was silent for a few long moments as she mulled over the idea. "When?" she finally asked. “Now, if you’re feeling up to it.” I approached the next subject carefully. “What did you take earlier?” “Take?” she asked, feigning innocence, though I could tell from the guilty glint in her eyes and the flat set of her mouth, she knew what I was talking about. “The pills.” She covered her eyes with her palm and sighed. “They’re for anxiety. My doctor gave them to me after Chase died, and I’ve had to take them ever since.” I nodded. Elena had taken meds for years after Daniela had disappeared and then again just before the divorce. “Well, this certainly qualifies as a high-anxiety situation.” I ran my hand down her back. “So are you up for another impromptu road trip? We can be there in less than two hours.” She listed every reason she could think of to delay it. It’s the middle of the night. You need sleep. We should wait until morning and tell Luke and Sierra goodbye. But all I heard was her fear. My mind was made up. “What about the rain?” she finally asked. "It quit about an hour before you woke up." I looked toward the ceiling. "Thanks again, Chase." She laughed. "You're one of a kind, you know that? Talking to my dead husband like it's no big deal." "If it bothers you, I'll stop. But he’s a part of your past. I don’t want you to think you can’t talk about him. Neither of us comes without baggage." She rolled over on top of me, threading her legs with mine. "You're too good to be true." I knew better than that, but I’d let her believe it as long as I could. OUR RESERVATION WAS AT THE ONLY FIVE-STAR HOTEL THAT DIDN’T BEAR HER NAME ON ITS MARQUEE. I knew the extravagance wasn’t necessary, and she didn’t expect it, but after what she’d been through, I figured a little spoiling was warranted. Based on the incredulous expression on the receptionist's face, I was fairly certain no one quite like us had ever rolled through the front door. Celeste, who under normal circumstances would’ve fit right in, had stolen a baseball cap from my bag. My jacket was slung over her shoulders, and she withdrew inside it as she looked nervously around the empty lobby.

The woman on the opposite side of the glass desk looked mildly suspicious. I could hardly blame her. It was after four o'clock in the morning, and many of her more respectable guests were probably already rising for the day. Never in my life had I thought I'd pay eight hundred dollars for a night in a hotel room. And I'd never thought there'd come a time when doing so wouldn't give me pause. If I could get past the shock of it, surely the hotel worker could too. We took the elevator to the thirty-second floor and fell into bed, too exhausted to care about the thread count of the sheets or the million-dollar view of the city we covered with blackout curtains. I curled around Celeste's backside, weaved my fingers through hers, and felt safe for the first time. It was well worth the price of admission.

HER I’D OPENED THE CURTAINS JUST ENOUGH TO LET A SMALL SLIVER OF LIGHT INTO THE CORNER OF THE ROOM where I sat. The rest of the room, including where Scott slept, was ensconced in darkness. I’d spent most of the day in this chair. Sometimes reading. Sometimes just staring out the window. I was disenfranchised. With the book. And the world. My bad mood was probably due to the fact that I could see Smythe Tower peeking over the tops of the shorter buildings that lay between here and there. If you asked me, there weren’t nearly enough buildings separating us, but I didn’t disagree with Scott’s plan. Because it wasn’t that I didn’t feel safe. I was just sad. It was as simple as that. While Scott slept, I’d had plenty of quiet time to myself. What had happened in Starved Rock had affected me on some sort of molecular level. I was devastated. Destroyed. Changed, though I wasn’t sure what it meant. I’d also run out of my medicine the day before. A careless move on my part. After everything that had happened, it was a miracle, really, that I wasn’t having a complete meltdown. But instead of feeling anxious, I felt detached. As if I were floating above the room, merely watching the sad woman below read a book about two lovers discovering themselves in each other. It was already Wednesday. I watched him while he slept. Watched his chest rise and fall under the covers. Listened to his slow breathing, steady as a heartbeat. It was midafternoon before he stirred. He stretched and yawned like a lazy cat before his eyes found me in the darkened room. “Hey, gorgeous.” He sounded relaxed and sleepy. Apparently, five-star hotels agreed with him. We shared a smile as he dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom. I listened to the toilet flush and then the water run. When he came out, he stopped in the doorway and stretched his hands over his head, gripping the trim of the doorway above him. It was one of those moves men unknowingly do, such a casual thing but entirely magnificent. Light poured around his darkened silhouette, highlighting the angles and curves of his body and leaving me awed. He was powerful, strong, and unflawed.

The complete opposite of me. He rubbed a hand through his tousled hair and then crossed the room to me. I moved over on the chaise to make room for him beside me. He draped an arm around my waist and pulled me closer. “You look upset.” “No,” I lied. “I was just doing some reading. And a little thinking.” “Sounds dangerous.” His voice was still rough and raspy from sleep. I tossed the book to the side. “Hey, don’t defile the book. I’ve grown sort of fond of it,” he said, picking it up and flipping to where my bookmark lay inside. He skimmed a page. “Her fiancé is about to show up. Don't you want to know what happens?" "Obviously, she'll choose Samson and everything will be exactly as it should be." There was an edge to my voice. "You think she should go back to her fiancé?" he asked, surprised. It was the Casablanca conversation all over again. Fitting. "No, she should choose Samson. He's handsome and smart, and the best lover she's ever had." He looked over at me with a signature Scott smirk. "Are you sure you’re still describing Samson?" I smiled. "Sometimes, it's hard to tell the difference. It’s a terrible bookwormish hazard, confusing fiction and reality.” He picked up my hand, flipped it over, and kissed my wrist. "So they’ll get their happy ending. Isn’t that why you’re reading it?” I sighed. "Usually. But it will end like all of the others. She'll choose Samson, and then they'll ride off into the sunset together. They'll get married, have twopoint-five perfect kids, and grow old together." "And you don't want that for them?" "Of course, I do. It's what we all want, right? The elusive fairy-tale ending." He shrugged. "Except for the perfect kids part, I guess so." He’d surprised me. "You don't want perfect kids, or you don’t want kids at all?" I asked. "Not at all." He arched a brow and studied my face for my reaction. I’d finally discovered why this perfectly good man was single. I mean, I knew he had commitment issues because of his ex-wife. He’d been honest about that, but it was possible no woman who’d come along before me had put in the effort to help him get over those issues because he had bigger ones. For most women, the promise of kids or the refusal of them was a deal breaker. I wasn’t most women. "Why not?" I asked. "You seem to really love your nieces and nephews." "I do. They're amazing little monsters." "But you don't want your own little monsters? Some perfect, little dark-haired boy with disarming blue eyes who wants to grow up to be a cop just like his daddy?" "Especially not that." "Why?"

He rolled onto his back and propped his head in his hand. "I've seen too much. There's so much evil in the world. It's nearly impossible to protect kids these days, and I've seen what happens when you fail." "But there's a lot of good in the world, too, Scott. You're good." "So are you. You'd make a great mother one day if that's what you want." He was giving me an out. "I don't want kids, either,” I said flatly. It was why I’d always insisted on a condom with every man before him even though I was on the pill. I couldn’t take any chances. "You’ve seen how dysfunctional my family is. I can’t bring an innocent child into this madness. I don’t have the first clue what normal is. How could I even try to create it?" I looked out the window at Smythe Tower, dark and looming in the bright Chicago sky. He massaged my hand, rubbing small circles in my palm with his thumb. “I completely get it. In fact, it's one more thing we agree on. You know, not every happy ending is a fairy tale, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a happy one. If you don’t like the book’s ending, write your own." “I did once,” I said. “I bet it would be a bestseller.” “It was.” He sat up. A grin spread across his face. “You’re serious, aren’t you? What kind of book?" “A filthy romance novel. You like those. If you really want to know, it was a romantic thriller. Think Week with a Stranger meets Rear Window." "So sexy murder?" "Most books have some element of romance in them. Even horror. Love is a powerful motivator. People will go to crazy lengths for it." He lay back down again. "I can certainly attest to that. Is it published?" "Yes.” “Like I can go to the store and buy it?" There was a playful lilt in his voice now. I laughed. "Yes." "Well, well, well, aren't you full of surprises, my little bookworm. I think you just turned me into a reader, after all." "Oh, come on. I think it was Week with a Stranger that did that.” “I want one,” he said. I smiled at his enthusiasm. "When we get back to town, I can get one from my mother. She has a whole closet full of them." "Good old, mom," he said. I thought his tone carried an undercurrent of wryness, but before I could explain that she and my father were nothing alike, he threw another question at me. "Is there sex in it?" I snorted. "Yes." "I bet that's weird for your mom."

"She hasn't read it,” I said, laughing. “It’s too steamy for her. She just hoards copies to shove at her friends. Her friends don't share her delicate sensibilities.” “Hmm. Too steamy. I do like the sound of that.” He fingered the edge of my Tshirt and his eyes darkened as if he was contemplating what might be underneath. He dropped the material, and his expression turned serious again. "So if you’re this big-time novelist, why screenplays? I found Casablanca online last weekend. I've got to say, it's rather bland reading." He’d been researching. I was glad it was Casablanca he was searching for and not me. "I haven't been able to write since Chase died," I admitted. "You'd think I could funnel all these emotions into my characters and write something really profound, but it hasn't worked that way. They come out dull and lifeless. My characters are as flat and two-dimensional as the paper they'd be printed on … if they made it that far." "Screenplays, though—they are a lot of dialogue and scene blocking," I continued. “I'm starting a writing class in the fall, and I'm sure I'll learn there's more to it than that, but I've been watching old movies and dissecting their screenplays, trying to figure out the mechanics of it. How you get from one to the other." "So you're reverse engineering them? That's very smart. But Celeste …" He squeezed my hand. "Is that really where your passion lies?" "I love to write," I said adamantly. "I have to figure out a way to make it work for me until I get rid of my writer's block." "Hmm," he said, as if he still wasn't convinced. "I don't think you should give up on sexy mysteries. You're about the least two-dimensional person I've ever met. Keep trying. It will come back to you eventually." "I have tried," I said. "I end up just staring at my computer and cursing at the blinking cursor on the screen." He was quiet for a moment. "I think I know what we’re doing this afternoon.” “What?” I asked. “We’re going to find a bookstore, buy your book, and come back here. I’m going to run a hot bath, and we’re going to soak in it while you read it to me.” “That sounds like the most romantically awkward evening ever.” He laughed and pulled himself up so he was sitting, his hands propped on either side of my legs. “What would you rather do today?" He looked at the clock. “Now that it’s halfway over.” I pretended I was the heroine of my book. Confident, assertive, and not afraid to make the first move. "You." I blinked at him, feeling naked and vulnerable despite the T-shirt that covered me. His jaw clenched. I yearned to reach out and touch it, to run my fingers along the line of it. "Are you sure you’re feeling up to it? You have to be sore."

I was sore from the fall, but I didn’t mind it. It was a reminder that I was alive. That I had taxes to collect. “I’d feel better if you were inside me.” He shook his head, but his eyes gave away his intention. He lifted me up, carried me across the room, and set me gingerly on the bed. “That’s my shirt,” he said, finally noticing the black V-neck I was wearing. It hung loosely over my shoulders and was bunched up so that it barely covered my panties underneath. I arched a brow. “Do you mind?” From head to toe, his eyes raked over me with such intensity I thought I might spontaneously combust on the spot. “Did we forget to bring your clothes?” “I just wanted something of yours against my skin.” “That’s about the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said with a groan. “But I’m taking it off you now.” I raised my arms as he pulled it over my head. He shook his head, his eyes roaming hungrily over my body. From my face to my breasts to my slightly parted legs, the heat in his eyes left scorch marks along their path. "I've never seen anything more beautiful." “Touch me,” I said. He brought a gentle hand to my face. I tilted my head into it and closed my eyes. The backs of his fingers brushed along my cheek. His thumb stroked the seam of my lips. I parted them, inviting him in. He wrapped an arm around my waist and slid me farther up the bed. With one hand, he reached behind him and yanked his shirt over his head and then propped himself over me. “We'll take it slow. No rough stuff this time." Something deep inside, my soul sang. Some quiet, hidden part of me was awakened by those words. His head dipped down, and he pressed his lips to mine. As he nipped at my bottom lip, I felt him against my hip, hard as stone. I opened to him—my lips so his tongue could slip inside, and my legs so I could feel him there as well. His tongue swept my mouth, exploring, tasting. His kiss was hungry and reverent, ragged and refined. The intensity of it stopped my heart. When it started again, it beat out a rhythm I felt between my legs. He was in no rush. But I was. I needed to finally feel him inside me. I needed to know he wanted me the way I wanted him. I needed the reassurance that he’d never hurt me like I’d been hurt so many times before. I moaned against his mouth and felt his lips curl into a smile. He slid down the bed. His fingers traced the curve of my shoulder and then the line of my collarbone. His gaze was intense as he introduced himself to each hill and valley of my body. I wanted him to memorize them. To tuck away the image of me handing myself over so that maybe he’d never forget. A hand found my breast, and the pink bud pebbled against the rough palm. When he swirled his tongue around it, I felt it through my whole body. He looked up at me through hooded eyes and smiled as I arched under him. His hand found the

other one, cupping it and teasing the nipple into a peak before taking it into his mouth. The pulse between my legs became a throb. I was starving for him to finally touch me there. I tipped my head back as he came gloriously closer. He planted soft kisses across my stomach and trailed his fingers down the curve of my hips. The pace was slow, but the burn was not, and I was nearly ready to combust when he pressed my knees farther apart and stared at my most vulnerable spot. I stilled. I couldn't remember anyone ever just staring at me like that. "You are so beautiful." His obvious satisfaction thrilled me. He splayed his fingers across the smooth skin of my stomach and kissed me. Not there, where I wanted it most, but everywhere else. His lips brushed over each bruise and every scratch, accepting them and healing me. He kissed his way up the inside of one thigh and then moved to the other. When he centered himself again, he blew a warm breath against me, and I nearly bucked off the bed. He placed an arm across my stomach to hold me where he wanted me. "Shhhhh. Slow and easy." But I didn't want it slow and easy. I was desperate to feel his skin against mine, to feel him slide inside me, to own my body, to release my soul. I squirmed against his arm and was nearly delirious by the time he slowly licked his way up the line, his eyes closing as he savored the first taste. Gentle fingers separated me so he could get closer and then his mouth was on me again. As his tongue explored, a gentle thumb brushed against my sensitive spot. He rubbed slow circles around it and then pressed more firmly against it at the exact moment, he pushed a long finger inside me. When he inserted another and curled it, I nearly came unglued. I threaded my fingers, which had been gripping the sheets, into his hair. The silky strands slipped against my fingers. I caught them and pulled gently at first and then more tenaciously in response. The rumble from his chest brought me one step closer. I wanted it. I was already chasing the high of it, but I wanted him inside me when I came, and I told him as much. “Do you have a condom?” I asked. His eyebrow rose, but he lifted himself off the bed and returned with a shiny package in his hand. I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down. He sat up on his knees and the air once again became charged with anticipation. I marveled at his magnificence as he rolled it on, sure he would know exactly how to make my body sing. And he did. He slid himself over me again and positioned the head at my entrance. He ran it up and down my seam, teasing me. I loosened my grip on his waist and slid my hands to his backside, digging my hands into his ass at the exact moment he pushed inside me. My eyes slammed shut, and I bit my cheek as I got used to the full feeling of him.

Every nerve in my body came alive with the connection. He wasn’t a cop who’d taken me on as a project, and I wasn’t a broken woman who needed fixing. He wasn’t the man whose wife had left him, and I was no longer a grieving widow. He wasn’t afraid to commit, and I wasn’t ready to push him away. We were simply two new lovers, lost in each other’s touch. He began to move. The push and pull was delicious. With every stroke, the hum in my body became a symphony. My hands roamed over him, pulling him to me wherever they could find a place to grip. The narrowed curve of his waist. The slope of his shoulders. I left marks across his back that I would look at the next day. Greedily, I climbed, hoping he was climbing too but unable to wait for him even if he wasn't. He spoke in my ear, his voice rich and velvety as he told me how beautiful I was, how good I felt, how perfect I was. My hands became frenzied, my words incoherent. My body shuddered and heaved as he hurtled me over the edge. But I didn't fall over it. I soared. Up, up, up. My soul blew to bits, each piece becoming a star that he chased after with his own release. Heart racing, he collapsed over me. I listened to our breathing fall into a similar rhythm as we finally settled into each other’s arms. I lightly brushed my fingers over his back to soothe the marks I knew I'd left behind. He was leaving his mark too.

HER MY BAG WAS WOEFULLY LACKING IN OPTIONS, AND NOTHING IN IT WAS APPROPRIATE FOR GOING OUT IN Chicago. I thought it might be a good excuse to stay in the little bubble we’d created for ourselves, but Scott had hinted at a different idea. The nicest thing I had with me was the white shirt I’d worn the first day of our trip. I pulled it out and slipped it on and was staring down at the busted buttons when the lock clicked, and the hotel room door swung open. Scott took one look at me and laughed. “I owe you a shirt. Good thing I come bearing gifts.” His arms were loaded down with bags. “How was the massage?" "Amazing. Thank you for doing that for me. I had to take a shower because I was so greasy from the oils she used, but I swear I’ve never been this relaxed in my life." "Good. That’s what I was aiming for.” He tossed the bags onto the bed, freeing up his arms so he could wrap them around me. We came together for a kiss, one of hundreds over the last twenty-four hours. I could count every single one of them as the reasons my mood had improved. "What's all this?" I asked, gesturing to the bed after he’d finally let go of me. "We're going out tonight. I can't believe we never left the room at all yesterday. We didn’t even make it to the bookstore." He pretended to be disappointed, but I knew better. I arched my brows at him. "I say if it’s not broken, don’t fix it." He sighed and flopped down into a chair by the window. Apparently, his morning out had exhausted him. “Me too, but I can't keep you all to myself forever. You need to get out. Be able to walk around and feel safe. Even if only for a little bit. Besides, I have something special planned for you tonight." “Well, that does sound intriguing,” I said, sitting on the bed across from him. “But I’m perfectly happy right where we are.” “I know you’re nervous, but I won’t let anything happen to you.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his face with his hands. I’d come to learn that was not a good sign. “You don’t seem so sure.” “No, no. It’s not that.” He met my eyes and tried to give me a reassuring smile, but I wasn’t entirely buying it. “While I was out this morning, I went to the courier

company who delivered all of my gifts.” His face twisted as if it was a dirty word. “But it was another dead end.” “Can I help?” I asked. He shook his head. “That’s sweet, but no. Whatever this is, I don’t want you in the middle of it. Besides, Luke is doing some investigating for me, and my old partner in Chicago is going to run some prints for me. Maybe one of them will come up with something.” I stood and walked back to the dresser where my bag was. “Okay, well, let me know if you change your mind. My family is part owner of a courier company. Maybe I can make a call for you and find something out.” I took off the unwearable white shirt and stuffed it back inside my bag. While I was digging for something else to wear, my hand hit something hard. “I wonder how this got in my bag?” I said, holding up the Cards Against Humanity box. “I suppose I need to send them back …” His narrowed eyes stopped me mid-sentence. “You could send them back by courier.” His voice was laced with sarcasm. His blue eyes turned to ice, and his mouth pressed into a hard line. “Your family owns a courier company, and you’re just now telling me?” “Why would I have told you?” I said, drawing the words out slowly. “I didn’t know it was relevant.” He took a step backward. “You don’t think my dad had something to do with this, do you?” And then it hit me. “Wait. You’re not thinking it’s me again, are you?” He turned and walked to the far corner of the room and began to pace. “I don’t know what to think, Celeste. Look at it from my perspective. All of the gifts I’ve received involved a courier in one way or another. Who uses a courier to run personal errands? And now, you say you own one.” As he ran his hands through his hair, his agitation became my own. My body fed off it as if it had been starving for a reason to come unhinged. My heart rate climbed to the highest peak. The game slipped out of my hands, and I watched the cards spill around my feet. I thrust my hands into my bag and rummaged through it yet again, this time looking for my fix, and then I remembered I’d run out of the little white pills that kept the world from turning helter-skelter in moments like this. My eyes fell on the minibar. I reached. And then stopped. You can handle this. Talk it through. Let words be your elixir, reason be your antidote. I bit my lip, wondering what I could possibly say to appease him. And then it hit me. A hunch I hoped would come through. “What was the name of the courier company?” I asked. His eyes widened as the seed I’d planted grew into something he could see. “Fleet Feet Delivery.” I pulled out my wallet and flipped through receipts and cards until I found what I

was looking for. I walked across the room and shook the business card at him. He snatched it from my hands and glared at it. “Helping Hand,” he read. I exhaled a long, hard-earned breath. “See? Different companies. It wasn’t me.” The angles of his face softened. His jaw went slack, and his hand fell to his side. “I’m sorry I doubted you.” I glanced at the cards scattered over the floor and couldn’t blame him. I’d spent too much time doubting myself to fault him for the same thing. He pulled me into his arms, and I buried my face in his shirt and breathed in the scent of sweet relief. It was short lived. “How do you think the cards got in your bag?” he asked. “Maybe Sierra put them there? She probably thought we needed something to do while we were here.” It was the only answer I could think of.

HER "I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU WENT SHOPPING ALL BY YOURSELF," I SAID, EYEING THE BLACK DRESS IN THE mirror. “But you did good.” I twirled in a circle, and the skirt fanned out like it was weightless. Thankfully, the tension in the room had completely dissipated, and we’d resumed the strange brand of weirdness that somehow felt normal to us. Up and down. Push and pull. It was Thursday. The sixth day of our acquaintance. The sixth day of dodging one odd curveball after another. Sunday would be here before I knew it, and I was already having a hard time imagining having to tell him goodbye. It would have been very easy to slip into a complacent place where I let myself believe that something more could be possible. Not every happy ending is a fairy tale. Write your own. It was a nice idea, but it would never work. And I knew from experience it was better to walk away than be left. "I thought about waiting and taking you with me, but then I figured all the ladies in those fancy schmancy shops probably know you by name.” He raised an eyebrow. "Was I right?" "I've got a few of their numbers on speed dial." I grinned. "So were the salesladies nice to you?" I had this image in my head, sort of a reverse Pretty Woman scenario, where he walked into Gucci with a fist full of cash and the snotty salesgirls wouldn't help him. "They looked a little unsure about me at first, but money talks. Besides, Luke can be a charming mofo when he wants to be." "They're here?" Contrary to what Scott had said, I felt like there was safety in numbers. Since we were leaving the hotel, I wouldn’t mind the extra company. His smile slipped. "I'm sorry, no. Luke didn't go with me. His credit card did." "How very clever of you to get your brother to pay for our shopping spree,” I joked, trying to play off my discomfort. “And illegal,” I added with a raised eyebrow. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” He stepped up behind me, and I turned to face him. He cupped my face in his hands. “I know you’re nervous, but it’s going to be all

right. I told you I’d do anything to keep you safe, and I meant it. Even breaking the law." His lips quirked up into a small smile and then he put his mouth on mine. He stole my breath and maybe the tiniest little piece of my heart with it. WE TURNED A CORNER, AND SCOTT SWITCHED SIDES WITH ME ON THE SIDEWALK SO THAT HE WAS THE ONE closer to the seemingly endless stream of people walking in the opposite direction. It was a subtle and protective move he’d done twice already. As casual and relaxed as he’d tried to seem in our hotel room, I knew he was nervous, too. We’d taken a cab to the entry to the pier, but from there, we had to go on foot. Scott was on high alert, observing each and every person we passed. He rubbed the back of his neck when we stopped at a traffic light. Unfortunately, I was taking my cues from him, and fear gripped me as we maneuvered through the crowd. The knot in my stomach grew with every step that took us farther from the hotel. "Who knew there'd be so many people here on a Thursday night?" I asked. He smiled and reached for my hand. "We’re almost there.” I would be glad when we were. We weren't blending in with the tourists with their backpacks, cross-body bags, and strollers. The rain two days before had brought summer with it. This afternoon had been sunny and warm, and it seemed all of Chicago had had the same idea. Even the wind was cooperating, making it the perfect night for dining outside, taking a Ferris Wheel ride, or simply meandering through the vendors selling touristy trinkets and local art. Scott certainly wasn't helping us disappear into the crowd. He'd set a pace more fitting for championship speed walking than a casual evening stroll. We'd blown right past Shakespeare Theater, the gardens, and some of the more casual restaurants. Based on the outfits he'd selected for us, I suspected we were going to Riva, one of the fancier restaurants on the pier. At the rate we were going, we'd make it there in record time. He surprised me in front of Riva, turning right instead of left and leading us to a docked yacht. It was sleek and white with dark windows, and I felt the first sliver of panic slice through my heart. The captain standing beside the ramp on the dock tipped his hat at us. "Scott, my man. Good to see you." The captain had warm eyes and a wide, friendly smile, but I wasn’t quick to trust anyone these days. Single file, we walked up the plank, the captain leading the way. On the deck, Scott wrapped an arm around my shoulders and whispered in my ear, “Are you okay?” The deck was strung with round white lights that cast a romantic glow over us. But all I could see was the enclosed cabin beyond. The lights were on and a small table for two was already set for dinner. The thought of being stranded in that little room out on the water caused a shiver to run up my spine. “I’m just a little claustrophobic.” “Oh, hell,” Scott said. “You said that on the train. I should’ve thought about

that.” “What’s the problem?” Captain John asked. “I think I’m going to have to come up with a plan B,” Scott said. I felt awful. I’d squashed any enthusiasm he’d had for Plan A. He ran his hand up my back as he looked across the pier to the restaurant. “We’ll just go across to Riva for dinner.” “Or we can move the table outside,” Captain John offered. “It’s a beautiful night for dining al fresco.” Scott looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “What do you think?” I nodded and leaned my head against his shoulder. “That would be perfect.” Captain John headed for the brightly lit and horrifically enclosed interior of the boat, and I turned to face Scott. “Did you really rent this boat for us?” It was the natural conclusion since, other than Captain John, there didn’t seem to be another living, breathing soul on board. He smiled the wickedly sweet smile that always seemed to hit me in the gut. “I thought it would be nice to get out without really getting out.” He held his hands up. “Voila.” He’d gone to a tremendous amount of trouble, and I couldn’t imagine what this had cost him. Any normal woman would be swooning at the grand gesture—and I was too—but not before I’d almost wrecked everything. It wasn’t the first time I wished I didn’t have so many quirks and sensitivities. “So you know the captain, I take it?” I asked, looking toward the cabin door where he’d disappeared. Scott gently grasped my chin and turned it back to him. “Don’t think about it,” he said. “You don’t have to go in there at all.” He bent down and gave me a light, chaste kiss before continuing. “I’ve known John for years. I used to work security detail as a side gig when I was just starting out on the force. I've actually worked events on this boat a few times. You’re in good hands with us. I promise.” Captain John had returned with help, and Scott and I sat on a chaise lounge while we watched them move the table outdoors. A short woman with a big smile and her hair up in a tight bun brought us two glasses of wine. I sipped slowly and finally took in the awe-inspiring, romantic scene around me. “How did you manage this?” I finally asked. “How is it possible that there’s not a party tonight?” He smiled. “Well … I was trying to think of stuff for us to do where I could still keep you safe. On a whim, I called John to see if he had a boat available. I wasn’t expecting it to work out, but the wedding party who'd booked this boat for the night canceled." He made a face. "Jilted bride." I mimicked it. "Oh, no. That’s terrible. But this must’ve cost you a fortune.” He chuckled. “You’re worried about the money? Don’t be. I got a good deal. John’s a good friend. They even threw in dinner.” I rolled my glass between my hands, nervous to say what I really wanted to. "It’s

just … the boat, the clothes, the hotel … it's too much. I don't want you to go into financial ruin while wooing me. I already like you." His chuckle from before was dwarfed by the belly laugh that rolled out of him. "Wooing you? God, you’re cute." I rolled my eyes in exasperation. "Well, yeah. Wooing me. You know, working your smooth magic, trying to win my heart." "Do I have smooth magic?" He smiled, dimples on full display, and my stomach twisted and dropped as if I was on a rollercoaster rather than a boat. “Of course, you have smooth magic, and right now, you're smoothly trying to distract me with those amazing dimples of yours. But you should know, the dimples are enough." I gestured to the boat. “All this other stuff is unnecessary.” "I know. Do you think I'd want you if this was what you were expecting? I did it because I wanted to. It was fun for me to be frivolous for once. And as for the clothes, I just really like that dress on you." I gave him a small conciliatory smile. “I like the dress, too.” “Mission accomplished then. We’re both happy.” “You clean up pretty nice yourself, Detective.” I might feel like a million bucks in the little black dress, but my God, he looked it. Heart-thudding, mind-blowing good. His new outfit looked made specifically for him, and for all I knew, maybe it had been. But I knew the truth. The clothes didn't make the man; the man made the clothes. And that had never been more true than with Scott. He could’ve been wearing nothing but his hand around mine, and I would have been happy. Though Captain John and his crew might prefer we stay dressed. I SET MY FORK DOWN ON MY PLATE AND SIGHED HAPPILY. "THAT WAS DELICIOUS." He smirked. "Not bad for catered wedding reception food." I laughed. "Oh, my God. Was it really?" "Yes. They insisted. The rest of the food went to some soup kitchen over in Riverdale." "Wow. They're eating good over in Riverdale tonight." I picked up my fork again and inspected it for crumbs. "Cheesecake is my very favorite." He laughed. "Someday, I'll get Luke to make one for you. It's his specialty." "He cooks?" "If it hadn't been ingrained in us from birth to join the police force, he'd probably be a master chef somewhere. He's that good." "That's interesting. And kind of sad, too." I knew well what it was like to have someone try to dictate your future for you. I picked up my glass of wine and took a long sip. "Maybe you should go home with me next time. We can do a little cheesecake tour of New York City. Best in the world." "Sounds like heaven," I said before realizing what I was saying.

There would be no trips to New York with Scott. No cheesecake tours of any kind. But I refused to think about it. I wouldn't let thoughts like that taint our perfect evening together. We had today and tomorrow and the next day. That would be enough. I poured myself a refill and noticed he was watching with a strange expression on his face. It was only my third glass, but it would be my last. "What's on tap for tomorrow?" I asked before he could make an issue of it. He sat back in his chair, and a pleased grin spread across his face. "I booked a few more spa appointments for you tomorrow morning. After that, we have no plans." "You're spoiling me," I said. "What's going to happen when I have to go back to the real world?" "Who says we have to?" he kidded. "Seriously, I can see a huge difference in you after today. You're more relaxed. A little more pampering will be good for you. Think of it as research if it makes you feel better." "Research?" "Yeah, scoping out the competition. Getting into bed with the enemy. You know, just in case you decide to take over the hotel world someday." I laughed. "Fat chance of that." He tossed his napkin on the table and stood up. "Well, then just enjoy it." He held out a hand for me to take. "Now, let's dance." All through dinner, music had played in the background. Piped in from some invisible speaker, it was just loud enough to be heard over the lap of the water against the boat. It intermingled with sounds from the pier. I looked around as I took his hand. Silly since the captain and his small crew were keeping themselves mostly scarce. I had a feeling we wouldn’t see them again unless we needed something and went searching. There was no one to know or care if we danced under the night sky. He led me to the center of the deck, wrapped an arm around me, and pulled me against him. The scent of him whirled around me. Despite the fact that we'd been sharing the same hotel toiletries for the past two days, it was incredibly masculine and uniquely him. I more than sort of loved it. "Scott," I said over the soft melody. "Would you go to a party with me tomorrow night?" He stiffened against me. I hadn't decided I would go until that very minute. The idea terrified me, but I would have to face the music at some point. And it would be better to do it with Scott by my side than later by myself. Tension rolled off him, but I’d expected the reaction. "I don't think that’s a good idea. They haven't found Burris yet," he said. I was sure there hadn't been many moments that Burris hadn't been on his mind. “Besides,” he continued, “we were both nervous wrecks just getting to the boat tonight. A party will be a lot worse.”

I was surprised he’d admitted it, but maybe I shouldn’t have been. I’d noticed that Scott didn’t pull any punches. If there was one thing I could count on from him, it was honesty. It was why I wanted him beside me when I faced off with my father for the first time. "You’ll keep me safe, and we don't have to stay long. I just need to make an appearance." And possibly a scene. "Who else will be there?" he wisely asked. "My mother.” I tucked my head into his chest. “And my father," I added reluctantly. He stopped moving, and his arms dropped to his sides. In the dark, I couldn’t see the intense glare of his eyes, but I could certainly feel it. "Absolutely not." "I need to do this, Scott,” I said gently. “It's a cause that's important to my mom … and to me. My father told me I would be there or else, and you saw what happens when I don’t follow orders." He didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he pulled me back into his arms and began to sway again. I let him mull it over, even though I’d already made up my mind. I was going with or without him. Maybe he knew that, or maybe he worked through the details in his head because after a few minutes, he let out a conciliatory sigh. His lips brushed across my forehead. "Fine, but we do it my way. We'll have a security detail with us." "Where will you get someone for that?" "I know people," he said. “Of course, you do.” I should’ve known better than to ask. Of course, he knew people. People who captained boats. People who ran fingerprints. People who performed security detail. I was beginning to see that Scott had connections in Chicago. The thought that he would soon have those same connections in Highland Park filled me with dread. "I’ll ask my friend, Trevor, to do it. If he can’t, he’ll find someone for us.” He was being uncharacteristically serious, and I blamed myself. I’d put him into full cop mode. The rest of our evening was probably ruined simply because I hadn’t waited a day to bring up the benefit. But it was tomorrow night, and I hadn’t wanted to spring it on him. He spun me in a circle, and I caught a glimpse of a smile on his face. I sighed in relief and pushed the countdown out of my mind. I let go of him and twirled myself over to the table where we’d abandoned our wine glasses. I picked mine up and crossed to a large chaise lounge, where I plopped down, feeling a bit dizzy after all of the spinning. Some of the wine sloshed over the side of my glass and streamed across my hand. “Well, at least let me pay for it.” Needing security to go to a party I’d been going to for years felt odd, but it was my problem, not his.

“No way. You will never go anywhere with me and pay for a thing." The man had an excessive amount of pride. I chewed the inside of my cheek while I considered whether it was a battle I wanted to fight since I’d just gotten him to agree to the party. In the grand scheme of things, it was probably only a drop in the bucket after everything else he'd done for me. "You're a tiny bit old-fashioned, you know?" I asked. "About some things. Is that why you asked what we were doing tomorrow? Because of the party?" He sat down beside me and stretched out next to me. "Actually, no. I thought that maybe we could hit that bookstore, after all. I'm hoping to find a copy of the screenplay for An Affair to Remember.” "You do realize it's another whirlwind romance, right? I think they fall in love within minutes, not days." I shrugged. "I've developed something of a fascination with these types of stories. An obsession really." "Becoming a believer, are you?" he asked. I wasn’t sure what I believed anymore. Everything I thought I knew had been tested during the past week. "It has a tragic ending," I said before draining my wine glass and setting it on the ground beside the chair. He turned on his side. “I disagree. What better love conquers all ending is there than An Affair to Remember? Not even debilitating injuries and misplaced martyrdom stood in their way." I grinned. I absolutely loved that his grandmother had forced him to watch old movies when he was a kid, and we could have these conversations. No matter the subject matter, talking with Scott was always effortless. He seemed to know a little something about everything. “I’ll take you to the bookstore as soon as I get back into town tomorrow.” He went on to say something more, but I'd stopped listening. Back in town. Back in town meant he was leaving town. The thought of him leaving me for even a few hours frightened me more than I expected. How could someone come into your life by sheer chance, blow through it on a whirlwind, and leave such a colossal wake behind? But he had. Oh, how he had. Somehow, I’d slipped and let him become my safe place. When my heart imploded in a few days, it would be no one's fault but my own. "Back into town?” I said, interrupting him. “Where are you going?" "While you're at the spa tomorrow morning, I'm going to run over to Highland Park for just a little bit.” His voice sounded like it was coming at me through a long tunnel. "I need to go by the precinct to sign some paperwork and pick up my badge and firearm. It won't take long." I gripped the cushion of the chair. "Do you really have to? Maybe if you tell them you're still out of town, they'll understand and let you take care of all of that on Monday." My voice was brittle, showing all of the cracks I usually tried to hide.

Get a grip, I commanded. He chuckled, as if there was something funny about this. "The city hardly counts as out of town. Besides, you'll be tied up for several hours tomorrow morning. I need to make sure I get off on the right foot. I’ll be back before you're done at the spa." He didn’t understand. It wasn’t about him leaving me alone. I could be alone. I was used to being alone. It was about where he was going, but I couldn’t explain it to him. Doing so would mean giving him up now, and I needed him. You do not. You’ve been on your own for years, my common sense barked at me. That voice. Sometimes, I hated it. I swung my legs down to the deck. My wine glass popped and crashed against the deck floor. Scott was standing beside me in an instant. "Don't move." He lifted each of my feet and inspected them one at a time. His fingers brushed over the peep-toe opening of my shoes, wiping away any glass. "I think you're okay." "I'm fine. Just clumsy.” I could hear our conversation, but I was a cloud floating above. One of the Christmas bulbs swinging in the wind. You are okay. But I wasn't. Not at all. He'd promised me we had until Sunday. I wanted each one of those three days. If he so much as mentioned my name there, there was no chance he’d come back to me. I watched him brush the broken glass it into a pile with the sole of his shoe. Small pieces, big chunks, and tiny, tiny slivers. Fragments of our time left together. “Did you not feel safe at the spa, Celeste? I thought you enjoyed it. I’ll give you my friend Trevor’s number. If something happens, he’ll be here in minutes.” I managed to nod my head. I wasn’t worried about what would happen at the hotel. My imagination was too busy conjuring up all the possibilities of how my name might come up at the police station. Have you met anyone in town? Celeste Smythe would be his answer. Are you seeing anyone? Celeste Smythe would be his answer. Do you have weekend plans? I would be his only answer. I wanted to be his only answer. I stood, and the wine went straight to my head. I took a few wobbly steps and a moan slipped out. I'd kept it together all week. For just a few days, I want something normal, I’d said. Normal was slipping away. I could hear his voice, reassuring me that he wouldn't be gone long, but the fog in my head was so thick I couldn't find my way back to him. You’ll be fine. Your name won’t come up. Right. Yes. There was a chance those horrible men wouldn’t care about his personal life. A chance they wouldn’t ask any of the questions I imagined. And then he would come back to me. But the damage was done. Unknowingly, he’d delivered a cruel reminder of what was inevitable. If not tomorrow, then soon.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "You don't look so good." "I don’t feel so good." Was this what love felt like? I couldn’t remember.

HIM SHE’D PASSED OUT IN MY ARMS. ONE MINUTE, SHE WAS FINE, AND THE NEXT, SHE WAS GONE. I looked over at her as our cab flew down Grand. Her coloring, still greenish when we'd left the boat, was back to normal. She twirled a piece of her hair around her finger while watching the city pass by. I was unsure of how to bring up the elephant in the car with us, but I knew I needed to. Tonight, she’d only had three glasses of wine, and it sent her into a tailspin. At the resort, I’d seen her have more and still be able to walk the line. The inconsistency in her behavior would’ve been more perplexing if I hadn’t already figured out the cause. Elena’s medication had come with a warning sticker on the side. Mixing it with alcohol was unadvised, and now, I knew why. I’d stalled long enough that she brought it up first. “I’m sorry about tonight.” Her chin dipped, and she rubbed her hands down her legs. Her eyes were sharper than they had been and showed her obvious embarrassment. “You planned this incredibly romantic night, and I ruined it.” I shifted on the slick vinyl seat. “You didn’t ruin anything. We had an incredibly romantic night.” She looked away and swallowed. “Right up until I got too drunk to stand up. I told you. I sometimes get out of control.” “Maybe it’s something we should talk about when you’re sober.” She nodded and gave me what appeared to be a grateful smile just as we pulled up to the hotel. I threw some cash at the cabbie and slid out of the car. After helping Celeste get out, I wrapped an arm around her waist and ushered her through the hotel lobby. In the elevator, she leaned heavily against the wall and sighed. Otherwise, we were silent during the thirty-two-floor ride. Not a word was spoken as we walked down the hall to our room and I locked us inside. Immediately, she kicked off her heels and reached for the zipper on her dress. When she couldn’t quite reach it, I helped her. My thumb grazed across the soft, creamy skin exposed by the falling zipper. But by the time the dress fell to the floor with a soft thump, I’d already shut myself in the bathroom. It didn’t bother me that we’d had to cut the night short, and I didn’t even mind that she was drunk. It wasn’t as if it was the first time.

Going on a trip with someone you don’t know puts you in an interesting, if not precarious, position. The learning curve is steep when you’re sharing a room, meals, a bathroom, and, of course, a bed. I’d seen Celeste in almost every imaginable state. Amused. Serious. Flirtatious. Shy. Devastated. Injured. Deadly calm when I thought she shouldn’t be and panicked when I didn’t understand why. As I looked in the mirror, snippets of our time together flashed before my eyes. Celeste twirling in her driveway, her face turned up to the sky. The look on her face when she’d surprised even herself by kissing me in her backyard. Shrinking away from me when she thought I’d pushed her. Eyes full of defeat when she told me who she’d suspected was behind it. Drunken Celeste with fiery eyes when she’d surprised me in the bathroom. The bashful smile on her face when she’d stood naked before me the next day. Her head thrown back when I’d pushed inside her the first time. A satisfied smile when she’d laid her head on my chest. I’d known from the start there was more to Celeste than met the eye, but she had more layers than I could have imagined. Just when I thought I had one figured out, I’d find a snag and pull it back to discover another. It was what drew me to her and still kept me here, even though I needed a little distance from her at the moment. She was a puzzle. A riddle I wanted to solve. And if I wanted to believe my brother, my attempt to resurrect the past. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and sent him the text I’d meant to send earlier. Our first night in Starved Rock, did you and Sierra return the card game to the lobby? The room was dark and quiet when I slipped beneath the sheets. Even with my brother’s warning still echoing in my head, I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her against my chest. It was true; some of her puzzle pieces didn’t fit like they should and I liked her more than made sense. But for some reason, I was okay with that. Maybe it was because I had so many misshapen pieces of my own.

HIM I WAS UP BEFORE THE SUN. I MOVED STEALTHILY AROUND THE ROOM WHILE I GOT READY TO GO, CAREFUL not to wake her. From a sack hidden behind my bag, I pulled out the journal I’d happened across while on my shopping spree. I opened it to the first page and scrawled out a note.

Celeste, The spa is expecting you at 11:00. I promise I will be back before you're through. I saw this journal while I was shopping yesterday and thought of you. Write something. Anything. If you need inspiration, think about our week together. We’ve been through a mugging, a bar fight, a road trip, and cliff diving. Surely, there's some material there for you to use. The other stuff is fair game, too, if you're complimentary. See you soon, Scott

I CROSSED TO THE BED AND LAID IT BESIDE HER SO SHE WOULDN’T MISS IT. THE BLACK AND WHITE STRIPED cover was the perfect match for the living contradiction sleeping in my bed. At any given moment, she was the brightest sunbeam wrapped in the bleakest shadow. She was abandoned dreams camouflaged with hopeful optimism. A heavy-hearted past struggling against an uncertain future. I resisted the urge to bend down and kiss her. Instead, I memorized the sleepy tranquil features of her face. The gentle slope of her nose. The sweet curve of her lips. The freckle on her left cheek. And I silently apologized for how cold and distant I’d been the night before. Amazing how everything can look so much better in the morning.

She had hours to sleep before her first appointment, and after the night she’d had, I imagined she needed each one. But as if she felt me there, her eyes fluttered open, and she caught me in the act of admiring her. She reached out a hand. "Don't go yet." Her voice was raspy with sleep. "The sooner I go, the sooner I'll be back,” I said, sitting beside her. I gestured to the journal. “I left you a note.” Her eyes fell on it, and she smiled. "Do me a favor today and write a few words, yeah? Just see where it goes." I raised an eyebrow in question. She nodded, but her smile slipped. “I'm really sorry about last night. I know I got …" She looked away and sighed. "Too drunk. Again." I picked up her hand, flipped it over, and kissed her palm. "I’m sorry too. We can talk about it later, but I’m not upset with you. Only worried about you." Her lips pressed into a flat line, and her eyes closed. “Scott.” She slid her hand across the bed and onto my leg. "Make love to me before you go?" "You'd make me late?" I teased her. "Please.” The plea was as apparent in her eyes as it was in her voice. She seemed so small and fragile. Vulnerable even. Any reservations I’d had the night before were long gone. As I bent and slipped a hand behind her head, it occurred to me—not for the first time—that I might break her if I wasn’t careful. Funny, since she’d made it clear from the beginning that I would be the broken one in the end. I COULD'VE TAKEN THE TRAIN, BUT I WAS IN A HURRY. CELESTE HAD SLOWED ME DOWN, BUT I COULD hardly regret it. She'd successfully ensured I'd have nothing but her on my mind for the rest of the day. I jiggled her keys in my pocket as I walked into the precinct. She'd given them to me before I'd left, along with the alarm code to her house and a list of things she needed for the benefit that night. I planned to leave the bike at her house and bringing her car back with me to Chicago. I walked up to the front desk and asked to see the chief. The only concern in my head was how quickly I could get through this and get back to her. I had no idea everything was about to fall apart. Though maybe if I’d been paying attention during the last week, I wouldn’t have been taken so off-guard. My new commander introduced himself as Thomas Knight. After we’d stopped by payroll to fill out the necessary paperwork, he took me to the chief’s office. Chief Tollson stood when I entered. I’d expected to be treated as just another new face on the team, so I was a little surprised at his apparent excitement over my arrival. “I’ve heard great things about you from Commander Rogers. He and I go way back,” Chief Tollson said. I nodded and expressed my respect for the man I’d worked under in Chicago for more than a decade.

“Rogers said you cracked a three-year-old abduction case and returned the girl to her parents.” I met his eyes and nodded. I’d known it would come up eventually, but I’d hoped for a longer reprieve. It wasn’t even my first day yet, and they were asking me to relive some of my worst memories from Chicago. “It’s nice when we see our hard work pay off,” the chief continued. “You must be pretty proud of yourself. From my understanding, the perp wasn’t even a suspect until you picked up the case.” “It was a memorable day,” I conceded. I couldn’t and wouldn’t say much more than that. Marcus Isaacs had been interviewed twice, but I’d been the only one to see the monster simmering beneath his placid eyes. Of course, none of the other detectives had spent years and years studying—obsessively, some would say—every child abduction case they could get their hands on. “Too bad they still haven’t found the guy.” I swallowed and forced a grimace. “He won’t be able to hide forever, though. He’ll resurface eventually.” “Yes.” A frown formed on the chief’s face. “Well, I’ve got one I’d like you to take a look at. It’s not an abduction. Technically, the case was ruled accidental and is closed, but we received some new evidence this week that might shed new light on it. I’d look at it myself, but I have a conflict of interest, so I can’t touch any of it.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Knight shifting on his feet. “Knight will show you where your desk is, and I’ll let him fill you in on all the details.” "Absolutely," I said, when what I really wanted to say was, I'm not on the clock until Monday. I looked at my watch. It was already ten thirty. Celeste would be on her way to the spa soon for her first appointment. If I wanted to hit my apartment before going to her house and be back before she was done, I needed to leave soon. I certainly didn’t have time to delve into a new case file. “Of course, I don’t mean for you to do it today.” It was as if Chief Tollson had read my mind. “I’m sure you have weekend plans.” “I’m headed back to Chicago.” “One last hurrah?” he asked with a sly smile. I nodded. “Monday then. I look forward to a full report when you’re done.” He stood, signaling the end of our introduction. “Commander Knight,” he said, nodding at him. We shook hands once more, and the commander led me through the building to my new cubicle. Everything was new but felt oddly familiar. Even the massive room filled with bustling bodies and ringing phones felt like home. Only one thing was missing, but I knew it couldn’t be filled. The job description might be the same, but I knew the days ahead wouldn’t be without Trevor by my side. Since it was no one’s

fault but my own, I told myself I shouldn’t compare the man leaning against my new desk even after he introduced himself as my new partner. Edmund Peters was a tall and lanky man with a shrewd smile and hawk-eyed stare that I wanted on my side. Instantly, I knew we’d get along as long as I always agreed with him, making him a little like Trevor. Considering how things had ended between Trevor and me, I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. While they awkwardly watched, I checked out my new desk. I didn’t miss the smile that passed between them, but it didn’t ruffle my feathers. As the new guy, I expected to draw the short straw. I wasn't surprised when the top drawer didn't pull out, and the chair wasn't exactly level. I didn't care that others had raided my new office, and I'd been left with everyone else's castoffs. Nothing could spoil my good mood. Or so I thought. The case file the chief had mentioned sat in the middle of my desk. When Knight tried to lift the lid, a manila envelope sitting on top slid off and landed on my desk with a soft thump. "It's just a formality really,” Knight said, nodding to the man beside him. “Peters and his previous partner worked this case for months. Like the chief said, we've already closed it. Yes, some new evidence came in this week, but I don't think it changes anything." I thought about the time but resisted the urge to check my watch again. "What’s the quick and dirty?" Commander Knight pulled a file from the box that was at least three inches thick. "The name of the victim, if he was one, was Forrester Joseph Tollson. Or just ‘Joe’ by those who liked him.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Related to the chief?” I asked. “They were cousins.” He shuffled through papers. I nodded, now understanding the chief’s reluctance to let the case go. He tossed a picture on the desk, and I took stock of Joe Tollson. I didn't need a biography to figure out he'd lived a large life. He was nearly as wide as he was tall. Dressed in a suit and wearing an equally smarmy smile. His hands were on his lapels like he was a damn politician from the eighteen hundreds. I had an instant dislike for the poor dead bastard. Commander Knight continued. “He was fifty-six and had a severe peanut allergy. The wife left takeout in the refrigerator, and he confused her dinner with his. She found him floating face down in the pool about an hour later. There was no evidence of any foul play." "Seems pretty straightforward,” I agreed. "Yes, but you can understand the chief’s interest, being his cousin and all. He was a highly regarded attorney in town, though, there were rumors he had all of the judges in his pocket. Just don't say that around the chief.” I couldn’t hate the man for that alone. After all, my purchase of Trevor’s silence had brought me to Highland Park.

"And the wife?" I asked. The flick of Knight’s wrist and the way the photo fluttered to the desk was so casual and ordinary the reality of the situation hit me slowly. As if they’d just taken turns punching me in the stomach, all of the air left my body on a single exhale. I laid my palms flat on the desk so they couldn’t see them shake, never taking my eyes off the woman with shiny dark hair and a full pouty mouth. I didn't need a bio on her. I knew her name, her dress size, and what those lips felt like against mine. Knight gave me one anyway. "Well, that’s the thing. His wife was Celeste Smythe, heiress of Smythe Luxury Hotels and Resorts. Her daddy is the company president, and they've lived here in Highland Park her entire life. They're an upstanding family, with their hands in all kinds of charities. But Tollson was her second husband to die from an allergic reaction, though the first one was clearly an accident too. It’s all in here," he said, gesturing to the box. I nodded because it was all I could do. My mind was reeling. The only questions I could think to form were ones I wanted to hurl at Celeste. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the picture. I couldn’t ignore the way Tollson’s arm wrapped around her, his grip on her so tight her dress wrinkled at the waist. If it were Chase in the picture, maybe I wouldn’t have been so surprised. But this wasn’t Chase. It was another one. One she hadn’t told me about. Knight put the lid back on the box and handed me the envelope that had slipped off. “This came in this week. Anonymously, of course.” He rolled his eyes. “Like the chief said, just look it over next week and let’s put this to rest once and for all." Knight clapped me on the shoulder like we were old friends, and I tore my eyes away from the picture long enough to mutter a goodbye and watch him walk away. Peters followed like an obedient dog. The right thing to do would be to chase after them and tell them everything I knew about her. But what did I know? And why did it matter when they obviously knew more about her than I did? As I sat there, some of Celeste’s deformed puzzle pieces morphed into something that fit and the roar in my head became an inferno I needed to escape. I felt betrayed, though I knew I shouldn’t. We’d never agreed to tell each other everything. I certainly hadn’t. I stormed through the rows of cubicles, past the front desk, and out through the front door, only vaguely aware that someone had wished me a good weekend on my way out. Good weekend? I snorted. I threw a leg over my bike only to realize I still had the envelope and her picture in my hand. I wanted to throw them on the pavement and stomp on them. Or drive over them until they shredded to bits. I glared at the woman in the picture, and she glared back at me. Her vibrant eyes lacked their usual sparkle. Cold as ice and hard as stone, they delivered a message I’d heard plenty of times: people are rarely what they seem. A roar burst from my chest as I stuffed the photo and envelope into a saddlebag.

I felt like a fool. An angry, stupid fool. I needed to ride. I needed to clear my head so I could figure out what to do next. I revved the engine, but before I could pull away from the curb, my eyes caught a glimpse of my reflection in the bike’s side mirror. The fury in my eyes stopped me in my tracks. Celeste might not be the woman I thought she was, but I wasn’t exactly who I’d claimed to be either. We were both liars, hiding the pieces of our past we thought the other wouldn’t accept. I didn’t want to acknowledge the man in the mirror, but I knew what he was capable of. Maybe the most important question wasn’t whether she was a murderer, but whether she could forgive one. The end of BLACK WIDOW … Scott and Celeste’s story continues in TANGLED SILK* coming Spring of 2017 Do you have a theory about Celeste? Or where the money and the gifts came from? What happened in Chicago?

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As a thank you for reading BLACK WIDOW and to tide you over until the release of TANGLED SILK, I would like to offer you a free ebook of MODEL BEHAVIOR (The Complete Series) by Elise Black.

*Title subject to change before publication

You loved it??? What to do now … LEND IT: BLACK WIDOW can be lent one time to another Kindle user. So if you know someone who would enjoy it as much as you did, let them borrow it.

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CONTINUE IT: Be sure to watch for news in my reader group and newsletter and continue Scott and Celeste’s story in TANGLED SILK* (Book #2 in The Black Widow Series). Also, read about Luke and Sierra’s first Thanksgiving together in BLEED BLUE 69. It’s full of surprises and only available for a limited time. All proceeds from BLEED BLUE 69 benefit fallen police officers and their families. *Title subject to change before publication

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Acknowledgments

BLACK WIDOW has truly been a labor of love. There are some stories that are simply to big for one mind to handle and this one got the better of me on more than one occasion. I owe each one of the following people a hug and a cocktail for standing by me as this book has seen the best of days and the worst of days and you never left my side:

Jeff Moen, Vanessa Marie, Janosie Bordeaux, Trenda London, J.M. Miller, Staci Hart, Becca Hensley Mysoor, and Elizabeth Ward.

Special thanks to the Moen Children for eating lots of crappy food, shhh’ing during writing hours, and reserving my favorite spot on the couch for me. And hopefully, never seeing beyond this page.

Additional thanks go to: Copy editors: Daniela Prima, Jenny Sims, and J.B. Avants Content editor: Trenda London (Thank you for reading all 18 versions!) Hook-ups: Emily Avants who has an ‘in’ with a man. Cover designers: Staci Brillhart and Amy Queue Beta readers: Vanessa Marie, Janosie Bordeaux, J.M. Miller, Staci Hart, Becca Hensley Mysoor, Liv Morris, Nicole Janko, Elizabeth Ward, Jeri Dewberry-Anderson,

Julie Gustafson-Monk, RS Grey, and Emerson Shaw Promo: Once upon an Alpha My ARC Review Team: Thank you for your continued support and for your excitement over this book. Bloggers: Thanks for taking another chance on another indie author. I couldn’t do this without you and your support will never be taken for granted by the likes of me. Promise. And …. YOU, the reader. There are a million books out there, and today you chose mine. You have no idea what that means to me. Thank you.

About the Author

Jenni Moen lives in her hometown in Oklahoma with her husband and three crazy, exuberant kids who have the potential to burn the house down at any moment.

When she’s not chauffeuring kids around town, performing her mom duties as a short order cook and maid, or vacuuming for her fastidious husband, she hammers away at her keyboard. Most of the time she's up to no good, but every now and then a new book is born.

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Want to chat? Email me at [email protected]. Or find me here:

THE JOY SERIES: REMEMBERING JOY FINDING JOY THE COMPLETE JOY SERIES BOX SET

STANDALONES: WITH THE FATHER DEARBORN

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DEARBORN

I feel his emotions in living color. As if they are my own. If he’s angry, I rage with him. If he’s grieving, I do too. When he thinks about the past, I’m right there, walking beside him. I am the window to his soul, and yet, in spite of that, he’s a riddle with no solution. A puzzle with too many missing pieces. We always want what we can’t have. All I wanted was some peace and quiet. To fall in love with someone untouched by the magic of Woodland Creek. I craved normalcy. But not as much as I craved him. When he returns to town a broken hero, there’s no choice to be made. I will reach him when no one else can. Together, we will face a future he doesn’t want. Why? Because our love is pure magic.

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WITH THE FATHER I had a choice, and I chose wrong. I thought I lost everything. But when the smoke finally cleared, I discovered I wasn’t alone. Father Sullivan was a force – a living and breathing force, a forbidden desire I couldn’t resist. I didn’t want to resist. But I wasn’t the only one who wanted him, and by all accounts neither of us should have him. For every action, there is a reaction. For every choice, a consequence. If I hadn’t chosen to live again, I would have never known what life could be like With the Father AVAILABLE NOW

REMEMBERING JOY Alexis doesn't believe in fairytales. She knows that one stupid mistake can shatter dreams and irrevocably shape the future. Though her memory of that day is hazy, she's spent the last ten years trying to put it behind her and focus on the future. Adam is dark and brooding and strangely charming. Unfortunately, the film student's memory isn’t hazy. And what she doesn’t remember, he can’t forget. AVAILABLE NOW