Flashback

“You could have lent her money. She’s a famous soap diva-I think she’d have been good for it.”

“The hotels were all booked up.”

When Zach just looked at him, Aidan lifted a shoulder. “It was just bad luck on her part.”

“Just bad luck, huh? Funny, you don’t look so put out.”

“Don’t you have a fiancee to go home to?”

Zach grinned dopily. “Yeah.”

“So go already.”

Zach got up, then paused. “Look, Aidan, I know she meant something to you once, but-”

“She’s Blake’s sister.”

“And your ex. I’d think that’d be reason enough to stay away from her.”

Yeah. One would think…

OPENING THE SLIM ENVELOPE she’d scooped from Aidan’s kitchen table on her way out the door, Kenzie practically kissed the credit card she found inside. She needed some personal items, like clothes of her own, not to mention underwear. Not that she didn’t love Aidan’s sweats, because she did. They smelled like him. They felt like him.

Which was exactly why she had to get out of them.

She did her best not to pout over the loss of her Choos, which she wasn’t going to find at Wal-Mart, but the store was still one of God’s greatest creations. When she’d bought and put on a peasant skirt, two layered tank tops and a pair of sandals, she got back into her car. She’d missed two calls on her cell, both from that same local number as before, but no messages, so she put it out of her head and drove to the docks. Then she sat in the parking lot nursing a hot chocolate and a blessed box of donuts, staring at the charred remains of Blake’s boat.

She was alone except for the occasional car. One was a light-gray sedan that slowed as it passed her, the windows so dark that she couldn’t see in. Probably another looky-loo like herself, except…except she’d seen a car like it before, somewhere…

She ate a donut.

Until a couple of weeks ago, before Blake’s death, she hadn’t had chocolate or donuts in months. Maybe years. She’d been on a strict eighteen-hundred-calorie diet, combined with a workout every single day, without fail. All to look good.

That’s what TV stars did. They looked good. She was paid to.

Except she no longer had a TV show to look good for. Back in L.A., she knew the job-finding frenzy had already begun. All her co-stars were busy auditioning, and what was she doing? Eating donuts instead of facing the fact that she was unemployed.

Her cushy, easy, comfortable, fun job had come to an end.

Life over.

She looked at Blake’s Girl and felt the last donut congeal in her throat. No. Her job was over, not her life.

Blake’s life was over.

God. Brushing the sugar from her fingers, she got out of the car. She wasn’t looking her best, but then again, there were no paparazzi in Santa Rey. And thanks to no one in the press making the connection between her and Blake’s Girl, there were no reporters to take pics of her pale, makeup-free face, or all of the bruises and cuts she’d sustained in the fire. Her wrist wasn’t bothering her, but the splint was a pain in the butt. She hadn’t been able to corral her hair into a ponytail, which meant it was flying wild around her face and in her eyes.

She could have asked Aidan for help but she’d rather have the wild hair than have his hands on her again.

Okay, that wasn’t true, wasn’t anywhere close to true, but she could pretend it was.

Dammit.

For those few hours last night in his arms, she’d not been alone and lost and hurting. She’d been transported, taken out of herself.

And along the way, she’d forgotten to make him regret dumping her. Nicely done. Rolling her eyes at herself, she moved closer to the docks. The charred remains of Blake’s Girl were taped off with yellow crime scene tape.

She didn’t know what that was about.

They thought Blake was a criminal? Fine. But they couldn’t pin this one on him, he was already gone.

Gone…

Chest tight, she walked along the yellow tape, getting as close as she could, which wasn’t close enough. No one was around, on the dock or otherwise, and she couldn’t stop the thought-what if she ducked under the tape? Surely, as Blake’s only living relative, she deserved to have a look.

The two boats on either side of Blake’s Girl were still there. Barely. One was nearly burned black, and in fact looked as if it might still be steaming. The other was half gone, and half untouched.

And between them? A shell of a boat, blackened and charred beyond recognition.

Blake’s boat was completely destroyed.

Looking at it, she could see it as it’d been two nights ago, when she could stand on it and still feel her brother’s presence, when his things had still been okay. She wished she’d gotten something of his, something, anything…

Maybe she could crawl beneath the tape and get onboard to comb through the torched remains, and thinking it, she bent down, but at the sound of an engine, stopped and turned.

It was the gray sedan again, making another pass of the parking lot.

Goose bumps rose on her arms as she got that same sensation of being watched she’d had at the hospital.

Who was following her?

It wasn’t Aidan. No way. He’d make himself known, that was for damn sure. He had a way of making himself known…

Someone else then.

Tommy?

No. Tommy didn’t have the resources to have her followed. She doubted anyone in Santa Rey did.

Then she remembered her earlier missed calls, and pulled out her phone, hitting the number.

No one answered.

She ran her hand along the yellow police tape, but the truth was, she didn’t quite have the nerve to boldly defy the law.

At least not during the daylight hours.

But tonight…

Yeah, tonight.

Under the cover of darkness.

Turning away, she squeaked as she accidentally bumped into a hard wall.

A hard wall that was really a warm, hard chest she recognized all too well, along with the big, warm hands that settled on her arms.

9

THE COLLISION SET KENZIE back a step, but Aidan held her upright.

She tilted her head up, up, up…and looked into his face, which was unfortunately indecipherable.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and calm, and concerned.

Okay, concern was good. Concern implied that he hadn’t noticed what she’d been about to do. But was she okay? Hell, no.

Not even close.

“Are you?” His gaze swept down her body, then up again, as if categorizing her injuries, which reminded her of