It was midnight. Jake sat at a slot machine, absently plunking in quarters, watching Hailey at work at a nearby blackjack table. She was wearing black pants, a white shirt, a black vest, and a bow tie . . . which was a little odd when paired with her gothabilly makeup sensibilities, but he noticed that no one at the casino itself seemed to bat an eye. If anything, she was one of the more popular dealers.

“My shift’s over at four,” she’d said, then left him to his own devices. He hung out, playing some slot machines or drinking ginger ale at the nearby bar. Although a cold beer—or Scotch on the rocks—would have gone a long way toward taking the edge off his tension, he wanted to keep his head clear.

He didn’t want her to be alone, unprotected, while she was working. She was doing her best to ignore him. She’d already talked to the pit boss. Jake wasn’t allowed to play at her table, but they were doing her a huge favor, letting him loiter nearby. He knew it made security nervous, for a dealer to have “friends” anywhere near the gambling.

The bodyguard Susie was sending was supposed to meet them there, and talk to the casino’s and hotel’s security, to make sure they knew what was going on. Jake doubted that the stalker, whoever she was, was going to come all the way out here to start trouble, although what she’d done to the hotel room worried him. Up to this point, she’d been annoying with her love notes, sometimes infuriating in the way she’d infiltrate his house or hotel rooms to leave balloons or flowers. But he’d never felt anxious before.

That said, he didn’t want to change his life for it, either. That would mean that the crazies of the world won, and he wasn’t going to live like Howard Frickin’ Hughes, just because a woman thought he was his character, and that his character was somehow her personal sex slave or something. He wasn’t going to cower and hide.

“Winner! To the man in the blue polo,” Hailey said.

“Woo! You’re good luck for me, baby,” the guy in the blue shirt said, winking at her and leaning forward. Even from this distance, Jake could smell the booze wafting off the guy. “Maybe you and I could get lucky later, huh?”

She ignored him. “Place your bets, please.”

He wondered how often she had to put up with this. He knew that she was financially tight. He’d thought about how he’d felt, being essentially characterized as a cute ass and a pretty face, especially after that damned underwear ad. He thought he’d feel more like a stud, and instead felt more like . . .

Well, a girl, if he thought about it. If this was any indication of what women had to go through on a daily basis. Jesus.

“That’s quite the vest you’ve got going on,” the man kept pushing, starting to reach out for the vest.

“No touching,” she said sharply. Jake stood up, angered.

The pit boss noticed what was going on, as well, and hurried over. “You’re on break in ten minutes,” the pit boss said. “Is there any problem here?”

“No, I’m fine,” she said, although Jake could tell her expression was tight. “No problems.” She kept dealing. The pit boss wandered away.

Jake found himself sitting at the table, next to Blue Shirt. She frowned at Jake, shaking her head subtly. He ignored it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she hissed at him.

“Why not?”

“Because I know you,” she said pointedly.

“I’m not playing,” he said. “I’m just sitting here, hanging out.”

“Hang out somewhere else,” she said. “You can’t be here.”

Blue Shirt looked first at her, then at Jake, then back at her, his expression sour. “Figures. You like pretty douchebags, huh?”

Hailey ignored his question, dealing the cards.

Blue Shirt gave him a derisive look. “Because I bet I’ve got way more money that this guy.”

Jake looked at the guy with amusement and disbelief. The guy had to be pushing fifty, maybe a bit older. The booze had obviously given him a puffed-up sense of importance. Jake bet that he probably had more than the guy’s net worth in one single vehicle in his garage.

“No accounting for taste,” Jake said mildly. Still, he felt like pushing buttons. He couldn’t necessarily protect Hailey from the stalker, but he could shut this guy up. “Although I think that she’s not going to get a whole lot of fun from a balding guy who probably drives, what, a Beemer and thinks he’s Bill Gates.”

“Shut up, asshole,” the guy said darkly.

“Take it away from the table, gentlemen,” Hailey warned, as the few other people playing nervously gathered their chips, looking for a quieter table.

“She’s a whore,” the guy said. “Everybody knows it . . .”

Jake was already angry, furious at the guy’s attitude, frustrated at his inability to stop the stalker. That was the only way he could account for what happened next.

Jake popped up like a jack-in-the-box and decked the guy right across the jaw, dropping him like a lead balloon. Blue Shirt yelped in pain, then roared, coming up.

Unfortunately, two beefy guys with UW sweatshirts came up behind Blue Shirt, backing him up. They were friends of his, apparently, who had been drinking and looked eager to fight. Fortunately, several large casino security guards hurried over, as well.

“All right, you’ll have to leave. All of you,” the pit boss said, glaring at them both—and at Hailey. “Hailey, you’re off shift now.”

“This wasn’t my fault!” she protested.

“Now,” the pit boss said, but not without sympathy. “Talk to security on your way out. And next time, don’t bring your friend, okay?”

She went to change out of her uniform, and Jake waited by the doors, pacing. He shouldn’t have hit the guy, but he was asking for it, being such a dick. Hailey came out, her mouth in a thin line.

“They don’t want you staying in the hotel,” she said sharply. “They told me you’re banned.”

“Are you in trouble?” he asked.

“Bit late for that, don’t you think?” she snapped back. “You might’ve thought of that before you pulled your little he-man routine!”

He winced. “Sorry. That was on me.” He frowned. “They didn’t fire you, did they?”

“No. They’re decent people, and they know I’m clean—no record, no problems there. But they’re looking at me in a way they didn’t before.” She sighed heavily. “I can’t lose two jobs in one day.”

He hadn’t realized she’d lost the coffee shop job, and felt guilt hit him like an uppercut. “I’ll find us another room, someplace else,” he said, typing into his phone.

“Everything’s booked, remember?” she said, looking tired. He felt impotent rage and guilt bubble in him in a toxic cocktail.

They walked out into the cold night air, only to find Blue Shirt and his drunk, belligerent, douchebag friends with him.

“Knew you’d be here, pretty boy,” Blue Shirt said, trying to look menacing and just looking doughy and constipated.

“Ah, fuck,” Jake said, stepping in front of Hailey.

“Looks like you’ll get to find out who’s the better man. Maybe you should’ve chosen your fuck buddies better, sweetie,” Blue Shirt said to Hailey, as one of his friends brayed with laughter.

“Looks like we’ll get to see what happens when you get your ass kicked by Dr. Martens,” she said instead, starting to try to push around Jake, who stopped her.

“Don’t!” He bunched his hands into fists, eager to pummel the guy more. “I’ve got this.”

“No, you don’t, sir,” another quiet voice said. A man stepped out of the shadows of the parking lot. He was wearing a black leather jacket and black slacks. He looked . . . well, nondescript. He had brown hair, wide cheekbones, and a boxer’s nose. His build wasn’t that tall, but was definitely stocky. He looked like the human equivalent of a pit bull. He stepped up beside Jake.

“My name is Vic Walsh. I’m working with you for the rest of your stay. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”

“You’re . . .” He nodded. “Oh. Right. You’re Susie’s . . . friend?”

“What, is he a hooker or something?” the other drunk brawler said, causing more donkey-like laughter.

Vic turned to the inebriated, snickering trio. “We’re leaving. Now.” He didn’t have any inflection in it, just started walking.

“Listen, asshole,” Blue Shirt said, grabbing a handful of jacket. “That bitch and your little friend were . . . ack!”

It was like a movie, Jake thought. Vic grabbed the guy’s wrist and, in a blur of motion, had him sucking pavement in about two seconds. When the friends moved in, he nailed one in the nuts and had the other flat on his back, wind knocked out of him. They were all flopping there, gaping, like fish on the bottom of a boat.

Vic turned back to them as if nothing had happened. “I should speak to hotel security,” he said quietly. “And may I suggest you getting to your room, and staying there? If nothing else, it would make my job easier.”

“Unfortunately, your job is going to be a little harder. I, um, just managed to get myself kicked out of this hotel,” Jake said, feeling embarrassed.

“All right,” Vic said, unfazed. “We can—”

“I have an idea,” Hailey interrupted. Then she sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Okay. This is nuts, and this is a onetime-only thing. But for tonight . . .” She paused, taking another deep breath. “You can stay at my place.”

* * *

I can’t believe I’m doing this, Hailey thought as Jake and the bodyguard—Vic?—followed her up the stairs to the front door of Frost Bookstore and her home.

She’d never brought guys home, ever. She half expected Grandma Frost’s ghost to come out on the porch and start whaling on her with a broom. Of course, she’d never had a bodyguard before, either.

She unlocked the door, and looked at Vic. “Um . . . are you sure you want to stay here? I doubt anybody’s coming for him tonight. For one thing, nobody knows where he is, or where this is.”

“As far as you know,” Vic said, and she forced herself not to roll her eyes. “Besides, I’m on assignment. I’m here until he leaves town.”

Right. That was soon. Another weird little blip went across Hailey’s mind. Should she mind that he was going to leave by the end of the week? No. This was all for the bookstore. For her sisters.

“All right. I’ll, um, get Jake settled into my room, and then I’ll crash with one of my sisters.” She blanched. “Which reminds me. I’d better let them know that you’re here. Um, both of you.”

“I hate that we’re putting you out,” Jake said, and his face was full of genuine remorse. It warmed her, a little.

“No, no. This helps sell the story, anyway, right?” She winced when she saw Vic’s curious look at her words. “Um, let me get you settled into my room.”

Jake’s smile was quick, and he looked interested. His sky-blue eyes shone.

“No hanky-panky,” she cautioned him. “I don’t bring sex home.”

Jake’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline, and then he started chuckling, quickly smothering it with his hand when she shushed him. Vic stayed stoic. He must be a helluva bodyguard, she thought.

“Um, Mr. . . . Vic,” she said, wondering what she should do about the guy. “Did you want to bunk in with Jake?”

“If it’s all right with you and your sisters,” Vic said, in a low voice, “I’m going to camp here, on this couch. If anybody’s going to break in, they’re going to do it from this floor. At least your floors are already elevated. I’m going to do a quick check of your lowest doors and windows, and then I’ll just set up down here. If anybody comes in, I’ll know about it.”

She wondered if he was going to sleep. “Um . . . okay.”

He went back out the front door like a ghost. She led Jake up the first flight of stairs to the two bedrooms, hers and Cressida’s. The attic stairs led to Rachel’s room. “This is me,” she said, pointing to the right. “The bathroom’s right here, if you need it.”

“I’ll set my bag down and then get cleaned up,” he said. “Thanks, again, for this. For everything. I’m sorry I was such a jackass at the casino.”

“You were trying to be gallant,” she said, her stomach feeling a little quivery at the thought. Good grief, a guy protecting her. Part of it was ludicrous—she fought her own battles, and generally kicked ass, thanks very much—but part of it was just . . . sweet.

When was the last time a guy had gone out of his way to take care of her?

Never, she thought. And that was unsettling.

“I’ll . . . um, let my sisters know you guys are here,” she said, hopping up the stairs and knocking on Rachel’s door. “Rache? Rachel?”

“Hmrph.”

She opened the door. From the light of the hallway, she could barely make out her sister, sprawled on her bed.

“I, um, have some guys over.”

A slow roll. “Mmf?”

“Guys,” Hailey repeated. “Um . . . a guy I’m seeing . . . and his, um, bodyguard.”

Silence for a minute. “Wfr mummpher.”

Then a low snore.

Hailey smiled. Rachel was a heavy sleeper, especially when she’d been working especially hard. Which lately seemed like always. Hailey took advantage of using Rachel’s tiny bathroom while Jake used the one downstairs. She also borrowed one of Rachel’s nightshirts. Hailey never wore nightgowns, but she wasn’t going to sleep nude on her sister’s floor, for God’s sake. Rachel’s nightie was a little snug, but she made it work. Then she went over to Cressida’s door, knocking softly.

“Cress?”

Cressida was sitting at her desk, her headphones casually pulled down to her neck, her expression expectant. “Do we have guests?” Cressida asked, one eyebrow arching. “This is new. You don’t usually bring a guy home.”

“Well, this time, it’s two guys, actually,” she said, and then choked back a chuckle when Cressida’s mouth dropped open. “Not like that, goob. I’m letting one guy sleep in my room, and the other’s going to be camped out on the couch. They’re fine, they’re good guys,” Hailey quickly reassured her.

“I’m in my home, my space. It’s fine,” Cressida said. “We do have the occasional male customer come into the bookstore, you know.”

“When customers come in,” Hailey muttered, worry for her sister and the stress of the day making her irritable. “I just don’t want you to be scared, you know, because there are strangers.”

“That’s not how agoraphobia works, necessarily,” Cressida said, her voice prim. “Don’t worry, I’m okay.”

“I’ll hustle them out of here early tomorrow, I promise,” Hailey said, feeling guilty. “I just couldn’t think of where else to bring them.”

“Are they in some kind of trouble?”

“Sort of.” She sighed. So much for hiding it. She should probably explain who it was. “Remember when you asked when I’d bring Jack Reese home to meet you guys?”

Now Cressida’s eyes opened wide. “Shut. Up!”

“I know.”

“You had better not hustle him out of the house!” Cressida said, leaping up and grabbing Hailey’s arm, hopping a little, like a kid. “Can I ask questions? Can I totally fangirl squee and get spoilers?”

“Okay, no,” Hailey said, laughing.

“And who’s the other guy? Miles? Simon?” Cressida was practically dancing with excitement.

“Actually, that’s Jake’s bodyguard.”

“No shit. Better and better!” Cressida did a little shimmy. “This is so cool!”

“Shh!” Hailey looked out the door, but Jake was already in her room, with the door mostly closed. “I’m just going to get Jake settled, then I’m going to sleep in here on your floor. That okay?”

Cressida’s eyebrows went higher. “Shut up, part two.”

“I’m serious.”

“Shut up, part three: the revenge.” Cressida started giggling.

“I am not having sex in this house,” Hailey said sharply, then abruptly wondered if her voice carried. It wasn’t like the walls were that thick. “I mean it.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Cressida said, with an eye roll. “Sure, if you want to come in, go ahead. I’ll have blankets and the foam roll-out if you want to use it. But if you don’t, that’s fine, too.”

“Thanks,” Hailey said, then gave Cressida a hug. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

“Bet your ass,” Cressida said, grinning.

* * *

Jake was wearing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, out of respect . . . he normally slept in the world’s rattiest boxers, but he found himself strangely self-conscious. He was still aching from their kiss earlier, and where he’d hoped it would lead. He felt badly about everything that had transpired since, though, and wasn’t going to push his luck.

There was also the little fact that he was now in her bedroom. He didn’t feel badly enough about what had happened to pass up this gem of an opportunity.

He wanted her, without question. But he found himself wanting to know more about her as a person, whether he got to have sex with her or not.

He looked around the room. It was small, even compared to his hotel room. It was painted a rich pumpkin orange. The bed was full sized, and the bed frame was beat-up pine, but the bedding looked cool—lots of swirling colors, dark and mysterious and sort of like an Indian bazaar.

On the walls, she had posters of punk rockers and pinups surrounding her: Bettie Page, Dita Von Teese. Siouxsie Sioux with Robert Smith from The Cure, hiding a mischievous smile. The posters were taped up, pastiche-style, like a big collage. There were also postcards: masks from Carnival in Venice, pictures of Montmartre and the Moulin Rouge in Paris. The demon-catcher image from Supernatural, and quotes from Firefly.

“‘May have been the losing side,’” Jake read aloud, “‘Still not convinced it was the wrong one.’”

God, he liked this girl.

The real focal point of the room was the clothes, though. The closet doors had been removed. The clothes weren’t jammed in or anything, but there were a lot of them, obviously well cared for and in perfect order, which was more than could be said for the small “writing desk” thing that seemed more like a catchall for paper and pocket change and various detritus of the day.

The bedroom door opened, and he looked up. Then he stopped thinking, and breathing, for a long second.

Her hair was down, still wet from the shower. It spilled in maple ribbons over her shoulders, still wavy from the curls she’d kept it contained in earlier. Her face was naked, making her look younger, more vulnerable. Her full lips were a dusky raspberry color, naturally, and her indigo eyes were huge.

“Settled in all right?” she asked. “I’m going to go crash on my sister’s floor tonight. I’ve got Vic set up on the couch. I just wanted to, um, make sure you were okay, and talk about how we’re going to handle things tomorrow. Then I’ll go to bed.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m tired,” she said. “But otherwise, sure, I’m swell.”

“I really am sorry, Hailey. About everything.”

She smirked. “First a family emergency, then a psycho stalker. It’s like the universe is saying, ‘Don’t have sex,’ you know?”

His whole body gave an emphatic no in response to that statement.

“Maybe it’s just making us wait so we’ll appreciate it more when it actually happens,” he said softly. Because he felt in his soul that it would happen, force majeure be damned.

He watched a flush crawl up her naked face, and just a second of hunger in her gaze. She cleared her throat. “I’ll try to get up early so we can get you to the con for your first panel and to deal with . . . you know, all of that . . .” she said, with a vague wave of her hand. “All that” being the stalker issue, and security, he assumed.

He stretched out on the bed. “I like your room.”

She stiffened, stepping closer. “You didn’t snoop, did you?”

“No, I didn’t snoop,” he said, smirking. “But now I’m going to want to, you realize. Because obviously there’s something snoop-worthy.”

She grimaced, coming in and closing the door. “Keep it down, will you? My sisters are trying to sleep.” She growled, stepping closer. “And really, the only things you’re going to find are a few sex toys, and maybe some candy bars. So don’t even.”

He stretched out, and felt something under his head . . . under the pillow. “Oh, really? Sex toys, you say?” he asked, reaching under.

He didn’t even see her coming. She flew onto the bed, effectively tackling him. “That’s nothing you need to see,” she growled, snatching it away. But not before he could see what she held.

It was a notebook. “You keep a diary?” he asked, surprised.

“No,” she mumbled, stowing it under the bed. “I mean, yeah. It’s a journal. Kind of.”

“Thought you were a hell of a liar,” he teased, fascinated by seeing her truly flustered for the first time. “What is this really?”

She bit her full lower lip. “Story ideas,” she finally muttered.

He blinked, then smiled. “You’re a writer!”

“No,” she protested. “Well . . . not really.”

She was stretched out next to him, he realized . . . wearing a nightgown that clung to her curves. He felt his body tighten and forced himself to think about alien autopsies until he could get himself under control. She’d made it clear: no sex tonight.

There would be other nights, he comforted himself. Tonight was a fact-finding mission. He wanted to know everything he could about one Hailey Frost.

“What do you write? And when did you get started?”

She propped her head up on one elbow. “I like sci-fi and fantasy,” she said. “When I was younger, I thought up stories all the time—it’s a part of the con, or at least that’s what I was taught. You make a simple story, you nail the details, and you believe it so hard that it doesn’t feel like a lie.”

He nodded, mirroring her pose so he was looking into her face. Without her makeup, she looked vulnerable. Still beautiful, obviously. But also open.

“When I moved up here, Grandma Frost had all these books. I hadn’t been that big of a reader, but I couldn’t earn TV time until I’d read for an hour. And when I was grounded—which was often—reading was all she’d let me do. I got hooked before I knew it.” Her smile was gentle as she reminisced. “Then I found myself thinking of characters I’d play, if I were in a world like that. It sort of grew from there. I’ve never finished a whole book. I’ve barely completed a few short stories—don’t have the time. And I’ve never shown anyone what I write.”

“Maybe you’ll let me read something of yours one day,” he ventured.

She shot him a skeptical glance, some of her smartass armor coming back. “Really? You’re a reader?”

He felt stung, but played up an exaggerated expression of offense. “Hey! Don’t let the hot bod fool you. There’s a mind up here.”

“You read sci-fi and fantasy, I mean?” She looked intrigued.

He nodded. “I’m a huge fan.”

“Sure you are,” she said. “What are your favorite books, then?”

“I really like the Kingkiller series by Patrick Rothfuss,” he said, muttering, “and it’d be really great if he could, I don’t know, get to the third book.”

He was gratified when she beamed at him. “I know, right? He said he wrote all three of them, that it was just a matter of revising . . .”

“And if that was the case . . . jeez, man, why take so long?”

“I know!” She was laughing softly. “I mean, I don’t want to push—like Neil Gaiman would say, the man isn’t my bitch or anything—but I am dying to find out what happens.”

He smiled. “Is the fact that your family owns a bookstore the reason behind why you love reading?”

She shook her head. “The bookstore’s pretty new. We’ve only had it for a few years. We set it up after Grandma Frost died. It’s a way we could make some income for my sister Cressida. It’s hard for her to find a job.”

Cressida—the one with the agoraphobia. “But the bookstore’s having trouble.”

“Rachel—my older sister—she’s the one who says we should pivot, make it more . . . niche, or whatever.” She sighed, propping her head up on one arm. “That’s why I came to you.”

“And here I thought it was because of my underwear model bod.”

“That was just a perk.” She nudged him with her shoulder.

“I’m sorry you guys have had it so rough,” he said, and was surprised by her bitter chuckle.

“If you think that’s rough . . . oh, my sweet summer child,” she said, her voice laughing, but her eyes warm and sad at the same time. “You’ve lived a lucky life.”

“I have,” he admitted.

They were lying there, not touching, just staring at each other. It was unnaturally quiet in the house—winter quiet, snowfall quiet, even though it wasn’t that cold out. It was like they were the only two people on Earth.

“I wasn’t planning on becoming an actor,” he heard himself say. “I thought I’d be—don’t laugh—a park ranger.”

She laughed anyway. “A park ranger?”

“What? I like nature. I like hiking,” he murmured, smiling back at her and turning onto his back. She nuzzled against him, resting her head in the curve of his neck. She was pressed against him, but he didn’t want to scare her away. “I could probably do okay on that Alone show—you know, the one where they drop people off in the middle of nowhere with just a camera, and then see how long they survive. I could probably make it a good month or so.”

He felt more than heard her chuckles, as she shook gently against him. “Okay, Nature Boy. What happened?”

“There was this girl.”

She laughed harder. “There’s always a girl.”

He stroked a lock of hair out of her face, then stroked her shoulder, softly, tentatively, seeing if she was okay with it. She made a soft sound of pleasure.

“She was on the drama team, and they were doing Romeo and Juliet, and there was talk of a lot of kissing. I wasn’t quite the brawny guy you see before you,” he added. “And what I didn’t know about girls could and probably did fill volumes. So I went for the play.”

“And you got to make out with her, and thus the acting bug bit,” she summarized, her fingertips absently tracing patterns on his chest and stomach, light and fluttery.

“Actually, no,” he said. “She wound up hooking up with the lead, who knew quite a bit more than I did. And I’d committed to being Mercutio, which had a lot of talking and was really hard. But I liked it. Which was weird.”

She lifted her head, looking into his eyes. “Then what?”

“I told my mom. I wanted her to come see me,” he said. “She used to be a makeup artist in Hollywood, working with actors. That was before I was born, and before she’d moved to San Diego. Anyway, I thought she’d be proud.”

“Was she?”

“She slapped me.”

“She what?” Hailey’s hand jerked against him. “Why?”

“You have to keep in mind: I didn’t know who my father was,” Jake said. “That’s why I don’t go by Jake Windlass. She was still pretty pissed at him. He’d been having an affair with her while he was married to his last wife, and having affairs with a bunch of other people, as well. She didn’t even put his name on the birth certificate.”

Hailey was quiet, thoughtful. The tracing fingers continued.

He sighed. “Anyway, after all that, she moved out of L.A., even though she was a decent makeup artist and was building up a clientele and a solid reputation. She told me that she didn’t want that life for me. She apologized for slapping me, though,” he added. “She never hit me otherwise.”

“So you did the play,” Hailey prompted.

He took a deep breath, feeling almost high on her scent—spice, night-blooming jasmine, the sexy scent that was pure Hailey. “I did the play,” he echoed. “And yeah, I was bit by the acting bug. I wound up joining the drama club, and working with my high school teacher on monologues and stuff. Then I turned sixteen. I was working out a little more—that was for girls, not acting—and eating everything that wasn’t nailed down. And then I turned into . . .” He gestured at himself.

Hailey rolled over, resting her chin on his chest so she could grin at him. “Bet Juliet regretted not making out with you then, huh?”

“Don’t worry. We made up for it,” he said, grinning back. “For a while, girls eclipsed any acting aspirations. But I still wanted to give it a try. My mom was still leery, so I took a ride with a friend and went to an audition in LA. The casting director took one look at me, and freaked. Then, apparently, called my father, saying that I was a dead ringer.” He was quiet a minute, remembering. “Dad called me that week, came down to San Diego and visited. From there, he started . . . well, butting into my acting life.”

She looked somber. “What about the rest of your life?”

“There is no non-acting life when it comes to Kurt Windlass,” Jake said. “I’m not . . . bitter, or at least I’m trying not to be. But my dad’s whole life is acting, being a successful actor. When he found out about me . . .”

“He didn’t know about you?”

“My mom never told him.”

He’d never told anybody about this. Not his friends, not girlfriends . . . nobody. Why he was telling Hailey—a professed con artist, for God’s sake, somebody he might not even see again after this week—baffled him. Maybe it was the anonymity. Maybe it was just stupidity.

Whatever it was, it felt right.

“Anyway, from then on, he took an interest. He immediately claimed me, and strongly condemned my mother for not letting him know. I would’ve kicked his ass for it,” he said, “but he gave her a ton of money to keep quiet, and he explained: it was for publicity. Otherwise, it would lash back on my career. My mom told me to go along with it.”

“That’s why you hate lying,” Hailey said softly. “Why you hate publicity that’s set up.”

He nodded. “Probably. It definitely factored in. For the past nine years, he’s tried pulling strings. He’s the one who got me my agent. He hired the publicist—the one I mentioned before.”

“Sounds like he’s genuinely interested in making your career a success,” she said, but her tone was careful—like she wanted to say something else. Her eyes were a little bit suspicious.

Jake stroked her petal-soft cheek. “He only has daughters.”

“Sorry?”

“I have six half sisters,” Jake said. “And I’m his doppelganger. That was the thing that got the casting agent’s attention, all those years ago. I was the spitting image of my dad.”

“Oh.” Hailey nodded. “Hence the interest. You’re Mini-Kurt.”

Jake blew out a breath. “Basically, I guess.”

“Sorry,” Hailey repeated. “It sucks. But at least he cares, in maybe a narcissistic way.”

“He plays the part,” Jake said, and it was like the floodgates of bitterness opened. “He plays the caring, gruff, hardass father, the one who knows what’s best for me. When he was with my mom, he played the attentive lover. He plays for the paparazzi. He plays for studio heads. I don’t even know if there’s a real person behind all the angles anymore. And that’s what he wants me to turn into.”

Hailey watched him, thoughtfully. She pressed a kiss against his chin. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing,” she said softly.

It warmed him, more than anything else she could’ve said. “Sometimes, he accuses me of picking the sci-fi projects and TV shows just to rebel against him, to choose a different way. Hell, I don’t even think he’s wrong. I don’t want to pick movie roles because they’re going to move me up the ladder. I don’t need a ton of money, I do fine. I just want to do stuff I enjoy, and still have time for a life of my own, you know? I don’t want to become fake.”

“Like him.”

“Like him,” Jake agreed. “He’s whored himself to Hollywood, and now, it’s all he cares about. The next acting gig. Moving up to director. Staying on the list of the most powerful people in Hollywood. I don’t want to be like that.”

He stroked her back, hugging her, snuggling her to him. Just taking comfort in her warmth and her presence and her listening.

“So . . . what were you doing when you were fifteen?” he joked, trying to shift the conversation.

“Going to juvie.”

He dropped his smirk immediately. She’d mentioned juvie before. He held his breath, not wanting to do anything that might distract her or have her pull back self-consciously.

“My mom died when I was seven,” she said, almost like she was bored—something that the almost anxious look in her eyes belied. “I got popped into the foster system, because nobody knew if she had any family anywhere. I didn’t even know I had any living relatives. I was lucky enough to get placed with a couple on the grift. That’s where I learned conning.”

She gave him a little wobbling smile. He put both arms around her, stroking her back.

“They’d been really good, once upon a time. They were in their fifties. Frank was a big deal in the eighties, running long cons on coked-up businessmen. Abigail was this hourglass Amazon who used to be the best pickpocket on the West Coast. But after years of hard partying, and the recession in the nineties, then Abigail started getting arthritis . . . they were in a bad patch. So they got me.”

Jake felt his stomach turn to frozen lead. “To . . . sell?”

“What? No. God, no,” she said, and he started breathing again, warmth slowly seeping back into his system. “I was their distraction. Lost kid, giving her a chance to pick purses. That kind of thing. When I turned out to be good with cards, they would sometimes take me to poker games to show off—again, while Abigail cleaned them out while they were busy watching me.” She paused. “You know, she’s the one that got me into dressing the way I do. That’s how she dressed when we worked a con. I always thought she looked like a badass.”

“She dressed like that?” he asked, surprised enough to interrupt. “But it’s so . . . obvious!”

She grinned. “That’s the idea. Memorable. But a character,” she pointed out. “When we went out as normal people, she looked completely different. Nobody knew what she really looked like, and they certainly didn’t connect her with police descriptions.”

“So it was a disguise,” he mused.

Suddenly, it occurred to him: that’s why she wore it. It was distraction. No one knew who the real Hailey was. And it made her feel like a badass: strong, undefeatable.

It was armor.

“They sound like they cared about you,” he said instead.

“In their own way,” she acknowledged. “But I knew the score, too. I was there till I turned eleven. Frank had tried this check scheme that went bad, so they had to run. They left me behind, so I got popped back into the system.”

He must’ve made a sound, because she looked at him, shaking her head.

“I still ran a few things as I got shuffled to more houses, more families, even a group home at one point.”

“Why did you keep moving?”

“The usual. I’d run away if things looked too sketchy, or they were too restrictive,” she said, her voice casual . . . at odds with the bleakness she was painting. “One family actually put a lock on the fridge, so we couldn’t eat without permission. We were hungry all the time, and they had like four fosters. It was insane. They kicked me out when I got picked up by the cops—I was trying to run the ‘I need money to get home’ grift, but I was still too young, and I couldn’t get away before some concerned Samaritan called child protective services. Anyway, when I was fourteen, I met Cressida. We were both fostered in the same house, with the same monster.”

Jake felt his blood run cold. Hailey’s expression didn’t change. She might’ve been telling him about a TV show she’d watched.

“Anyway—he hit us. Locked Cress in a closet, which was ironic, since small spaces are the only places she felt safe,” Hailey said. “Cressida was supposed to be homeschooled because of the agoraphobia. I can’t tell you her story, but actually, as fucked up as it got, the guy was actually a step up from when she was a kid. It became pretty obvious that he wanted to keep Cressida—like, past when she turned eighteen. He saw her as a cross between a slave and a pet. Cressida was the first person I trusted without reservation. She was my sister in all the ways that counted. And when I saw what was going to happen to her . . .”

Now, Hailey’s eyes blazed like a butane torch.

“I wasn’t going to let it.”

Jake clutched her involuntarily. “That was what you were talking about, at the hotel. Facing somebody with a weapon.”

“One night, he was drunk. Angry, because Cressida had dropped a fifth of bourbon and he was out. He came at her with the broken bottle. I got between them.”

Jake held his breath.

“He passed out drunk before he could do anything worse. But it cemented it—we had to get out. We needed a lot of money in a hurry, so we could not only get out, but stay out of the system altogether. So I tried doing a big con.”

“And you got busted?”

She nodded, then rubbed her cheek against him. “It was bad. I was a mess. Turns out the rich people I tried to fleece did a full background search on me. They knew more about me than I did.” She chuckled mirthlessly. “But something happened. They found my grandmother—and she found me.”

“Was Grandma Frost your real grandmother?” he asked.

She smiled. “Yes. The first adult that really looked out for me,” she said. “She took me in, no questions. Got the lawyer that helped reduce my sentence and get my record sealed. And when I freaked out and told her I couldn’t leave Cressida, she figured out how to take Cressida with us.”

He pressed a tiny kiss against her temple, grateful for her grandmother—and for the stroke of luck that brought her, and her sister, to this place.

“And the rest is history,” Hailey finished. “This is home.”

She yawned again, her voice turning to a whisper.

“I’ll do whatever I have to, to keep her here. To stay here.”

And just like that, she was asleep.

He sighed, pushing another rogue curl away from her face. In sleep, without the harsh edge of her attitude animating it, her face was unguarded, gentle . . . tired.

How long had she been exhausted, working two jobs? Worrying about the bookstore, and her sisters?

He pulled the blanket out from under him, folding it over her like a taco. Then he threw on sweatpants and stretched out next to her.

She turned him on, but there was just so much more to her. He wanted to know all of it.

If she’ll let me.

He ought to be more focused on the contract. Susie was emailing PDFs of scripts for movies and shows he should audition for. She was pushing, telling him to focus on his career. It made no sense that he was sticking with this one series, pulling out all the stops. And it definitely made no sense that he was fixating on a coffee shop waitress/blackjack dealer that he probably wouldn’t see again once he left the convention.

His chest hurt.

It didn’t have to make sense, he thought, stretching out next to Hailey and putting a gentle arm around her waist, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. He was here, now, and he’d make the most of it.