CHAPTER ONE
Oh, that’s gonna hurt.
It was the last thought Chris Hajek had as he was tackled, knocked off his feet, just before the first of the pile-on began.
And it did. It hurt a lot.
He felt his leg twist in a way that it wasn’t meant to go, and he felt something tear. The pain was exquisite. He bit his lip against a girlish scream climbing its way up his throat, and squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that had sprung to them.
Eventually he was able to get up and stand, but any weight put on the left leg felt like a spike being driven into his knee. He swayed, and Ben Madson, the Miami Thunder’s captain, caught him from behind as he dropped backward.
“Wooooaah. Come on, gimpy. Let’s get you to Sam.” Ben slid an arm around his waist and took much of the weight for Chris as they began a hobble to the physical therapist’s office. Two more of his team members jogged over to help. Scottie took up the right side and Walt walked behind them—more of a spotter in case they all went down, which Chris would bet he was hoping for, because it was worth the laugh.
Sam Watts, the on-site sports therapist, had been with the team for years. He was old school, no fancy equipment. He knew his stuff.
But when Chris hopped into the office and lifted his head, he was surprised to find two distinctly female, clear, green eyes staring back at him. He huffed out, “You’re not Sam.”
“No. I’m Evan Meadows. I’m the intern. Let’s get you to the table.”
Chris braced himself against his two teammates, and when they got him turned around to help him up onto the table, he said, “I’m good. I got it.”
They lowered their arms but stayed close as he did a funny little one-legged hop, his two hands pushing him up onto the table. That hurt more than he let on, too. Any movement made him want to cry like a baby. But he jutted out his chin, pleased with himself that he’d managed to lift himself onto the big boy table on his own.
Then he swayed again and fell forward.
Again, Ben caught him, and the other two, Scottie and Walt, pushed him back up.
“I think you’d better lay down, buddy,” Ben carefully guided him down onto the table and lifted his feet up to rest on the soft padding.
Chris whimpered at the pain.
“It’s going to be okay, buddy.” Walt patted his leg.
Chris screamed and more tears sprang to his eyes. His chin actually trembled. He wasn’t doing so well with the tough guy act, and this incredibly cute therapist was going to think he was a sissy.
He took a few deep breaths as Evan quickly squeezed between his team buddies. She wasn’t a tall woman; Chris estimated that she stood about 5’3”. She was athletically built, strong but petite, and she wore her auburn hair in a ponytail.
His heart fluttered.
His stomach did a flip-flop.
Then he rolled over and threw up on her sneakers.
Horrified, he gasped out, “Oh, no. Oh, I did not just do that.”
Ben, Scottie, and Walt all tried to keep their faces straight but couldn’t do it. Within seconds, the three of them were howling with laughter.
Chris waited until another wave of nausea passed before saying, “Oh, nice, guys. Laugh it up.”
“It’s okay. I have another pair here,” Evan said, looking into his eyes. “Did you hit your head?”
Chris squinted. “Which one of the three of you just asked me that?”
The therapist knitted her brows. “You hit your head.”
Chris managed a grin. “Just kidding. There’s only two of you.”
She regarded him with what looked like growing alarm, and then reached out both hands, gently feeling around his skull, presumably for goose eggs. Her hands felt cool, and then tingly, and suddenly his thoughts were clearer and his vision came back into focus.
The pain in his head had vanished, but his knee throbbed like hell.
She looked at him closely, her hands turning his head gently this way and that. She smelled of baby powder and vanilla. “I don’t see evidence of any obvious injury to your head. Sometimes intense pain will make a person nauseous. We’ll send you for a scan anyway.”
He groaned. He hated hospitals. “Okay. Listen, Evan, could you just give me something for the pain? I don’t want to throw up on your shoes again.”
She shook her head, making her ponytail bounce. “I don’t have pain medication here.”
He balked at her. “What? You’re a sports therapist. How can you not have painkillers here?”
“I find that once I begin working on a client, they don’t need them.” She felt around his leg and he tensed, expecting excruciating pain, but instead of the sharp, sickening agony of moments before, he felt only a dull ache.
Her voice was soft, soothing. “Shhhh. Focus. Close your eyes and focus on the pain.”
Chris did as he was told. Her hands moved expertly over his thigh, and then onto his knee area. Her fingers did a gentle patting, pressing motion, and he assumed she was trying to pinpoint the injured area. To his absolute shock, the pain began to subside beneath her fingers.
Her voice seemed to move over him like a caress. “You might have torn the anterior cruciate ligament in your knee, but I don’t feel anything broken.”
“How do you know that without some kind of scan?” Scottie was eying Evan with doubt.
Evan shot a glance at Scottie, and then looked back at Chris. “We’ll send you for an MRI for the knee, but I’m pretty good at knowing what kind of injury a person has.”
Chris couldn’t stop gazing at her face. Her cute, slightly tipped nose, sprinkled with delicate freckles. “I believe you. I don’t need an MRI.”
She continued carefully moving the fingers of both hands over his knee. “You should have one. It’s up to you, though. But the good news is, like I said, there’s nothing broken here.”
“That is good news,” he said, feeling the pain fade more and more by the second. “What treatment do you recommend?”
Evan straightened, which moved her body away from him, and he wished she’d stayed leaning over him for a little longer.
She said, “Well, the knee may swell. I’ll give you an ice pack and we’ll wrap it. We’ll have to keep an eye on it but I think you’ll feel much better tomorrow.”
Walt frowned. “Don’t you have to drain the fluid out of the area? My brother had the same injury and he had to have it drained, and he still limps a bit, even two years later.”
Evan gave a little shrug. “Everyone heals differently, at different speeds. Some people just heal better than others.”
Her response was so simple and said with such subdued confidence that Chris completely believed her.
She wrapped his knee with gel ice packs. “Keep it elevated. You should give it a couple of weeks before you try to play. Longer if it still hurts. Just use common sense.”
“Should I come back in at some point to have you check it again?” Chris felt hope bloom in his chest. There was something about this woman that he found…bewitching.
“Sure. Come on back in a few days. I’ll check to see how you’re healing.” She gave him an adorable little side smile.
His chest fluttered and he felt a loopy smile cross over his lips. “Okay. I will.”
When he slid off the table, with the help of Scottie and Walt, he braced himself for a jab of sharp pain, but he was surprised that all he felt was a little tenderness. “Wow. I guess it wasn’t as bad as I thought. It actually feels much better. I guess I didn’t tear anything, after all.”
“That was lucky,” she said.
“Or, maybe you have the magic touch.”
She smiled and winked. “Maybe I do.”
***
Way too cute, Evan thought as she watched Chris walk away, only slightly limping and without the help of his buddies. Stop looking at his rear end. But it was such a well-made rear end. His head began to turn back to her and she quickly flicked her gaze to his face.
“Thanks, Doc!”
“Oh, I’m not a doctor,” she said. “I’m a physical therapist. Well, intern.You can call me Evan.”
He paused for another moment. “Will you stay on, you think? Once the internship is over?”
“If Sam says so. He’s retiring in a couple of months. He says he wants to fish all day. He’s gone fishing right now.” She grinned and wondered why she was babbling.
He gave a nod. “Good. Okay, Evan. I’ll see you in a few days.”
“Sounds good.” She raised a hand and winced as he turned back toward the door. Sounds good? What a dork.
Get a grip, girl. He’s off-limits. Just like every other player you heal. It’s too risky, and not good for your career. She gave herself a mental head shake and looked at the watch pendant a client had given to her as a gift for healing her daughter’s broken arm.
Evan had finally salted enough money away to be able to go to college to study sports therapy. She’d made enough for tuition and a few months’ rent working in the family business for a few years. The family business was a traveling mystical store selling all forms of metaphysical items, along with psychic readings, talking to people’s deceased loved ones and finding lost things.
They moved around the country in a huge RV, and set up shop wherever they decided to stay for a while. The problem was that her kin didn’t stop at offering psychic and mystical services for their eager clients. They often used their talents to rip people off. It was easy to hypnotize someone into giving bank information, account locks and passwords, giving up their credit cards, and if they were wealthy, her family would entice their addresses from them for later use.
Evan’s talents included glamoring, blending in like camouflage, and healing, and she was determined to use her talent to do good. She wanted, more than anything, a normal life. If she could do enough good, maybe she could put a small dent in the bad her family had done over generations.
Her family had talent. They were the real deal, every one of them. Witch blood ran in their veins, as much as the gypsy blood. They were nomadic, traveling gypsies who gave with one hand and took with the one hidden behind their backs. Evan wanted nothing more to do with them. Ever. They had no idea where she was and she wanted to keep it that way.
She pushed out a sigh and gathered up her purse. Healing Chris Hajek’s shredded knee had been one point for the good side. Only about a million more to go. She’d spend the rest of her life trying to make up for the bad her family had done, and would continue to do.
If only I had the courage to do what I really should—turn them in. But then she knew that sending the police after them would be pointless. Her family would only bedazzle the police with their talents for mind control and hypnotism. It’s what they did whenever someone sent the law their way, when a dazzle job had worn off and someone realized they’d been robbed blind.
And if that person confronted the family, they would never do it again. The family would throw a curse at them that would stick until that person wound up in the nut house, clucking like a chicken or crowing like a rooster.
But the worst-case scenario was that they found out that she was the one who sent the cops after them. They’d know where she was. Her peaceful life would be ruined. Worse, the media would catch wind of the weird family of traveling gypsies who were ripping people off from coast to coast, and how the new sports therapist for the Miami Thunder was a part of that family.
They would know that the job she did involved her healing talent. Her career would be over. A witch hunt might ensue, and the media spotlight would never end. They would burn her at the stake. Figuratively speaking.
She’d have to leave the country and live in some cave somewhere.
She couldn’t let that happen.
Just keep doing good every day. That’s all you can do. Someday all the bad karma they’re banking will come back to them. Evan left the stadium and breathed in the early evening air. It smelled like rain. The clouds had gathered and were the color of dark steel. She could feel the electricity in the air, which meant a real storm was brewing. She doubted she’d get back to the small house she rented twenty-five minutes away before the storm hit.
Her white KIA Optima sat waiting for her in the lot. She felt a tiny, barely noticeable drop of rain land on her hand as she pressed the button on her key fob to unlock her car door. She climbed into the little car she was so proud of. Each time she put her hands on the steering wheel, she knew it was really hers. No bedazzling involved. No glamoring. No thievery. She made car payments like everyone else. And the car was nice and small. No outrageously huge, lumbering monster filled with window-to-window family.
Evan smiled and turned up the radio, frowning at the song playing. Don Henley crooned about a witchy woman. She hit another button to change the station.
An old 70s song. The singer purred about love being kinda crazy with some spooky girl. “Are you kidding me?” Evan punched another button and found a Meghan Trainor/John Legend song. That was better. She sang along, feeling an old sense of yearning in the very center of her being. The song was bittersweet, leaving Evan feeling warm and wistful, and a little sad.
She hoped to find a love like that someday. Someone of her very own. She’d never had anyone she could confide in. The family had moved around so much, it had been impossible to build relationships with anyone.
And since leaving them in the middle of the night all those moons ago, she’d been too busy working to put herself through college and trying to build her own life to even entertain the idea of love.
Besides, how could she ever be in a relationship with someone when she came from a family and past like hers? How could she tell someone who she was? And if she did reveal her secret, she was sure no decent, honest man in his right mind would want to stay with her.
As the song ended, she watched the road ahead of her blur. Using the wipers didn’t help, because her eyes kept filling with tears.
She blinked them away, and then wiped at them with the back of her hand, sniffling. Crying about it wasn’t going to change anything.
Evan Meadows would be alone for the rest of her life, and there was not a thing she could do about it.
***
Chris awoke with the sun on his face. Bright golden light warmed his skin and he was surprised to realize that he was smiling. He’d been dreaming. Vivid, wonderful dreams of the lovely and somewhat mysterious sports therapist who helped him with his knee yesterday. He heard her soft voice, saw the spring green leaf shade of her tipped eyes, and smelled the vanilla and powder scent of her skin. It was like he’d been captivated and he couldn’t seem to get her out of his head, even when he slept.
What is it about this woman? He liked an attractive, smart woman as much as the next red-blooded guy, but he’d been so completely focused on his football career that he hadn’t given a long-term relationship much thought. He’d had a few nice dates here and there with perfectly nice women, but nothing that stuck.
Chris had a lot of women friends who had begun as dates and ended up being pals. The truth was that he loved his female friends and was content to keep them that way. The occasional roll in the hay was wonderful, and he had no shortage of pals who obliged. But the friendships never turned into anything serious.
Just the way he wanted to keep it.
Except that he couldn’t get the cute sports therapist out of his head.
Chris stretched and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He placed his feet on the floor and cringed, expecting his knee to feel tender. When it didn’t, he raised his brows. “Wow. The woman is good.”
He felt a grin move over his lips as he wondered if her amazing skills extended to the bedroom. “Stop. You don’t have time for a real girlfriend. Just cut it out, right now.”
But he couldn’t help it. It was as if he’d been given some kind of love potion. He hadn’t felt this way since his childhood crush on Lindsey Bailey in third grade, and that had ended in heartbreak when she found out who his uncle was and stopped sitting with him at lunch time. All of his attempts to win back her friendship were snubbed, and then she moved back to England in the second term of school, refusing to give him her email address so that he could at least keep in touch.
He stood gingerly, still not quite believing that there wouldn’t be any pain in the knee. He placed his full weight on his left leg, lifting his right foot slightly. Still no pain.
“Holy hell. She healed me.” He did a slow jog in place, and then around his apartment. “Unbelievable.”
Chris did a few jumping jacks. Still no pain. He shook his head. His knee mustn’t have been as bad as he’d thought.
Still, he’d go and see Evan before practice to make sure his knee really was okay. His stomach fluttered and his heart rate kicked up at the thought of seeing her again. “Evan.”
He loved the feel of her name on his tongue.
Chris walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower, and then turned and looked himself in the mirror. “Cut the crap. She’s off-limits. You like her too much.”
After a long, cold shower during which he tried in vain to think of everything but Evan Meadows, he turned off the shower and toweled off, considering his perplexed expression in the mirror. “What the hell is going on?”
He shook his head, giving himself a non-answer.
That’s it. You’re going in there to have your knee looked over and that is all. You will not, under any circumstances, ask her out for a bite after practice.
He watched his eyes widen in the mirror. Where had that thought come from?
Chris got dressed, arguing with himself the entire time. There was no way a relationship with the gorgeous therapist would work. Eventually she’d find out who he really was, and just like that, all she’d see when she looked at him would be his famous uncle, the man who had taken him in and had rocked the world. She’d never look at him and see him for who he was.
So that settled it. He was absolutely, positively not going to ask her out. Tonight. After practice. For a bite and maybe a walk in the park.
“Stop.” He stood in the middle of his living room, took a breath, and then grabbed his keys from the counter and headed out the door.
After spending the fifteen-minute car ride punching radio stations, trying to avoid songs about being obsessed and infatuated with someone, he parked and headed toward the Miami Thunder stadium. A familiar figure rose from a black Porsche.
Ian Dare looked puzzled as he stood for a moment, watching Chris walk toward him. “I thought you tore a ligament in your knee yesterday.”
“I did.” Chris felt into stride beside Ian as they headed out of the parking lot toward the Thunder Dome. “But either it wasn’t as bad as I thought, or the new sports therapist intern is really good at her job.”
Ian gave a nod. “She’s good. I’ve heard stories of the miracles she can do.”
“She’s amazing.” Chris cringed at the adoration he heard in his own voice.
Ian caught it and threw him a grin. “You like her, huh?”
Chris felt himself redden. “Well, who wouldn’t? She’s friendly and very good at what she does. She took my pain away. Without drugs of any kind.”
“Well, unless you don’t consider a crush to be a drug.” Ian, smiling widely now, gave him a sidelong look.
“It’s not a crush.” Chris sounded defensive, even to himself.
Ian chuckled. “Okay.”
They went their separate ways as Ian continued down the hall and Chris turned toward the open door of Evan’s office. His heart beat triple time. Evan was sweeping the floor.
He silently watched her for a moment, and then decided he might be acting a little creepy, and the last thing he wanted to do was weird her out. He cleared his throat.
Evan looked up from her broom and dust pan and smiled. “Hi, Chris. How’s the knee?”
“It’s amazing. I guess the stories are true. You really do work miracles.”
“Nah. It just wasn’t as bad as we first thought.” She straightened up and dumped the debris from the dust pan into a small trash can at the far end of the room. “Come on in. Jump up on the table and we’ll take a look at it.”
Chris hadn’t realized that he was still standing in the doorway, watching her. Somewhat startled, he walked over to the table and sat up on it. He had to jump up a bit, because he wasn’t a tall guy, standing only 5’9”, but he was stocky and strong, and that worked just fine for football.
As Evan approached, he smelled a hint of jasmine mixed with the vanilla and powder scent of her. She leaned forward and he realized it was her hair. She must’ve washed her coppery hair with a jasmine-scented shampoo.
He felt a stirring in the southern area of his body at her touch, and he held his breath, trying to talk himself down. Just being near her excited him. The sound of her voice, the smell of her, the feel of her touch—even in the completely non-sexual, medical way she was touching him—drove him crazy. He felt his cheeks heat up and hoped his face wasn’t too red.
“So what do you think? All cured?” He kept the nervousness out of his voice. For the most part.
Evan straightened and nodded. “I’d say that you’re okay to play, under one condition.”
Chris lifted a brow. “What’s the condition?”
“You bench it if you feel any discomfort or pain at all. Okay?”
He gave her a single nod. “I promise.” Don’t ask her out. Don’t ask her out. Don’t ask her out. “Would—”
“Okay. Oh, I’m sorry, I cut you off. You were going to say something?”
He chuckled. “You first. Go ahead.”
“I was just going to say that you’re all good. You don’t need to come back and see me unless you feel the knee act up or if you go and injure yourself again.”
A light went off in his head. “Okay. Sounds good.”
“And what were you going to tell me?” She smiled, a question in her lovely eyes.
“I was just going to ask if I had to come back.” He smiled. “But you beat me to the punch.”
“Great.” She offered her hand to him. “Take care, Chris. Come back if you have any problems. Promise?”
Oh, I’ll be back. “Promise.”
“Shake on it?” She offered her hand.
He took her soft, cool hand and excitement thrilled through him. It took him a second to find his voice. “It’s a deal.”
“Go kick butt out there.” She grinned.
“I will, thanks to you. Thanks, Evan. Take care.”
“Always do.” Something fleeting passed over her eyes, and then was gone before Chris could catch what it meant.
He found himself gazing into her clear, green eyes, unable to look away.
She held his gaze for a long moment.
A knock on the door drew their attention. Scottie stood in the doorway, holding his shoulder and looking sheepish. “I think I pulled something.”
As Chris walked by, Scottie winked at him. The Miami Thunder’s new sports therapist was apparently becoming high in demand.
“It looks like you’re pulling something right now,” Chris muttered under his breath.
If he wanted to ask Evan Meadows out, he’d have to do it soon, before someone else did.
***
Evan was surprised when she reached her driveway and parked. She’d been so caught up in thinking about the cute, sexy football player that she barely noticed she was driving at all. She could hardly even remember the drive from the stadium. She grinned and opened the door, stepping out of her Optima. It was then that she noticed her sleek, glossy black cat was sunning herself in a patch of daisies in her postage stamp-sized yard.
“Cinders. How did you get outside?” Evan was certain she’d let the cat in before she’d left for work this morning.
Cinders stood and stretched, and took her time slinking over to her. She brushed herself against Evan’s legs, winding herself around and through them.
“Good thing I’m not wearing white pants today.” She bent and stroked the cat’s silky fur. “I missed you, too. Come on, let’s get you some dinner.”
The cat followed her to the little white house, and Evan stopped dead in her tracks as she noticed the front door hanging slightly open. She dug in her purse and grabbed her can of pepper spray in one hand and her cell phone in the other. She pushed the door open and called into the house, “Whoever is in my house better get the hell out. I’m calling the police.”
A voice called back from the living room to the left of the door. “Now, don’t get your panties in a bunch. It’s only me.”
The sound of that voice sent more terror into Evan’s heart than any ax murderer lurking in her living room could ever have done. “Oh, hell, no.” Evan squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Maybe she was just hallucinating. Maybe someone dropped LSD into her coffee. Please, let someone have dropped LSD into my coffee.
The all too familiar voice floated out at her. “Oh, hell, yes. Come on in here and let me see you. It’s been too long, sweetheart.”
With a sinking feeling, she realized she wasn’t on some drug-induced bad trip. No. She really was in her house. In her living room. Her nice, safe living room. Evan strode into the room, glaring at the person making herself comfortable on her favorite rocking easy chair. “How did you find me?”
The woman tipped her head back and laughed. “Oh, please, sweetheart. I found you the first day you fled the family. Why you wanted to leave us is beyond me, but whatever.”
Evan gaped as she watched the woman smooth back her fading red hair, once the same color as her own. Her green eyes regarded her with amusement. “So how’s tricks, honey?”
Evan crossed her arms over her chest. She couldn’t believe the woman was sitting in her house. “Don’t call me sweetheart or honey. What do you want, Lila? And how the hell did you get in here?”
“Oh, don’t be silly. You know I can pick any lock.” She gave her a Cheshire cat smile. “I wanted to see my lovely daughter.”
Barking out a humorless laugh, Evan said, “That’s funny, Lila. No, really. What do you want?”
Lila gave an exasperated sigh and seemed to uncoil her long, lean body from the rocking chair. “Fine. I thought we could have a nice conversation and at least be civil before I blackmail you, but okay. There’s something I want, and you’re going to get it for me.”
“Really? And suppose hell froze over and I did decide to help you, what is this something you want me to get, and why can’t you get it yourself? Or better yet, send one of your minions to do it?”
“I need your talents. No one else has the power of enchantment that you do. You’re the most powerful of all of us, the gods only know why, since your incredible talents are wasted on you.”
“I’m afraid to ask, but why do you need my talents?” She really didn’t want to hear this, but she wanted the woman out of her house.
“Okay. I will cut to the chase. The adorable football player who’s been visiting you has been of interest to me for some time. It’s a happy coincidence that he’s in such close proximity to you, and such a stroke of luck that I just couldn’t ignore it.”
Chris? Why did she know about him? A jab of worry pricked her heart. “What are you talking about?”
Lila studied her for a moment, her lips curved into a secret smile. “It’s clear you know nothing about him.”
Impatience spiked through her. “I know he’s a football player who had an injury, so I helped him. That’s all I need to know. I’m trying to live a quiet, legal, non-magical life.”
Lila laughed. “Now you’re putting me on. You’ve been using your healing powers on him, and others. I wouldn’t call that non-magical.”
Evan glared at her mother. “I’m using my powers for good, to try to balance the evil deeds that you do, you horrendous woman. What do you mean, you’ll blackmail me?”
“Now, now. No need to be rude. Look, dear. I know you want a quiet life, without us in it. And you’ll get that. I promise. If you do one last job for me.”
Evan shook her head. “No. No more jobs. I don’t care what you think you can blackmail me with.”
Lila smirked. “You’re bluffing. I know that if you love your career, and it seems that you do, you wouldn’t want anything to jeopardize it.”
Evan’s eyes narrowed. “And what might jeopardize it, Mother?”
“Letting your boss know about the father you have in prison, serving a five-year sentence bank robbery.”
A fist of fear grabbed Evan’s stomach and squeezed. “You wouldn’t.”
Lila gave her a slow, devilish smile. “I would.”
She spoke through gritted teeth. “What is the job?”
“Chris Hajek has a rather famous uncle he wants no one to know about.”
Evan shrugged. “So?”
“His uncle is Sammy Screech.”
Sammy Screech, the infamous, wild and flamboyant pop star of the 80s and 90s, who wore platform knee-high boots, glittery silver spandex pants and his spiked tresses dyed Ronald McDonald orange. He’d been all the rage in those earlier decades, with hit songs such as “Wet my Willy” and “I Want a Pony Ride.”
His obscene lyrics, high-pitched screech (hence, the stage name) and outrageous antics on stage drove tens of thousands to his concerts. Sammy Screech had dominated the news for years with his frequent arrests for lewd behavior. He was a media sweetheart back then, always throwing the camera a kiss or a wink and a cheeky smile. And the cheeky smile hadn’t always been the one on his face.
Evan loved Sammy Screech. She had every one of his albums and knew every song by heart. She’d even sung his songs into a hairbrush while jumping on her bed as a kid.
“You’re kidding me,” Evan finally said.
“No. I’m not. Chris Hajek was raised by Sammy and a slew of nannies in his employ, and as wild and deranged as Sammy is, he kept Chris out of the spotlight, as a good uncle should.”
Evan’s mind was spinning. “I’m a little lost here. Why was Chris raised by his crazy, famous uncle?”
“His parents died in a car accident. Sammy was the only family Chris had who was willing to take a small child in.”
Confusion made Evan’s head spin. “What does any of this have to do with me? Or, more to the point, you? What do you want? One of his guitars to sell on eBay?”
“That’s a great idea. I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe. But he has something much more valuable to me.”
Evan threw her hands into the air. “Well, spit it out.”
Lila heaved a sigh. “You’re no fun at all. Fine. About a decade ago, an obsessed fan made her way backstage and offered a box to Sammy.”
Evan shrugged. “She wouldn’t be the first infatuated fan to offer her box to a rock star. Isn’t that what groupies do?”
“Yes, I made that mistake a time or two in my younger days, but I’m not talking about that box. This is a rare antique, gold-plated and jewel-encrusted puzzle box. I’ve been searching for it forever. I want it.”
“How do you know he even has this puzzle box?”
“I know because I follow Sammy on Twitter and he posted a picture of himself from the late 80s for Throwback Thursday. In the photo, Sammy is holding the puzzle box in one hand while licking the face of the adoring fan, who was ecstatic, and I’m quite certain by the look on her face, orgasmic as well.”
“Let me get this straight,” Evan said. “You want me to date Chris Hajek so that I can get close enough to Sammy Screech to steel or enchant this puzzle box out of him? Why don’t I just go to a concert, go backstage and enchant him into taking me home and giving the box to me?”
“You haven’t been keeping up on Sammy Screech lately. He’s gone from wild and crazy, flamboyant extrovert to just plain crazy. He never leaves his house.”
“Wonderful.” Evan glowered at her mother. “Look, Lila. I’m not the only one in this thieving family with talents. Why don’t you ask Shylo? She’s gorgeous and her bewitching abilities would do the trick.”
“Shylo can’t do mind control or cloaking like you. No. It has to be you.”
Evan steamed. How dare her mother march in on her life and demand this of her? “And if I don’t do your dirty work for you?”
“Like I said, I’ll make sure your boss finds out about your father. Good-bye career. Good-bye quiet, peaceful life.”
Evan’s anger threatened to boil over. Her hands shook and she felt her fingers tighten into fists. “If I do this, you leave me alone for good.”
Lila paused, drawing it out, clearly enjoying this. “Deal.”
Evan didn’t really believe her, but she had no choice but to make the deal.
Even though she knew it was a deal with the devil.