Zach Ellis jogged through the warm surf toward one of the camera crews. His heart jumped beneath his ribs and his breath came fast and choppy. He slowed when he reached the sand and turned to assess the waves curling in the distance.

“Great run.” Tucker came up beside Zach. They’d been surfing buddies since grade school, and Tucker had been with him on set for six months. “Looks wild out there.”

“A great start to the season.” Zach grinned. “It’s awesome.”

His entire life was awesome. He’d formed a soul bond with the sea before he’d reached kindergarten. Now, not only did he get to play and work with his soul mate every day, he got paid to do it. Some days were easier than others, more thrilling than others, but Zach saw every day in the ocean as a blessing.

Tucker flattened one hand at his forehead, squinting toward Maui’s sun where it hung low over the ocean. “You almost slid right into that rip.”

Zach watched the surface of the water swirl with the rip current. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip, taking in the sea salt. “I think we’ll need at least one more to grab enough footage for the editors.”

Pain ached in his shoulder, and Zach rolled out the joint.

“You hurtin’?” Tucker asked.

“Eh, fine. I just don’t heal like I used to.” But in truth, just the thought of paddling out to the waves again made him wince.

Tucker had been with him when Zach had taken a bad header into a monster pipeline and jammed his shoulder so hard, Zach thought he’d be short an appendage when he emerged from the chaos.

Bad things happened when humans tangled with the ocean while exhausted or injured. He had scars and nightmares to prove it. But he’d have a different kind of nightmare on his hands if he couldn’t provide enough footage for the series finale.

They watched the surf in comfortable silence before Tucker said, “I heard Watson and Rayburn are going to be at Mavericks.”

A twinge pinched Zach’s gut—adrenaline, competition, fear. The Mavericks competition in Half Moon Bay, California, would begin in just a month. He shouldn’t be pushing himself this hard if he wanted to heal his shoulder in time. Yet, if he didn’t push himself, he risked losing his shot at an already-precarious possible role on Hawaiian Heat.

“More fuckin’ diapers dirtying up the water.” He ran a hand through his wet hair only to find most of it gone. He’d had to cut it short to double the star, and he still didn’t feel quite like himself.

“We ain’t gettin’ any younger,” Tucker offered.

“Maybe not, but they ain’t gettin’ any smarter either.”

That made Tucker laugh, but they both knew Watson and Rayburn had the skill to blow Zach away in that competition if he wasn’t in prime condition.

“Let me take a look at what Shawn picked up.” Zach turned toward the cameraman closest to the shore and started that direction with Tucker by his side. Shawn was collaborating on the footage with the director. Ian Bellamy, the star Zach was doubling, also stood by, analyzing the playback screen—as if he knew enough about surfing to critique.

“There’s been more noise about Ian leaving the series,” Tucker said under his breath. “Mainstream noise. Rumblings all through the cast and crew.”

“Well, praise Kanaloa.”

The buzz of Ian’s discontent on the show was nothing new, but to be honest, Zach couldn’t tell one way or the other. The guy was always bitching about something, which puzzled the hell out of Zach. He’d been working toward picking up acting roles since he’d gotten his first stunt job with Renegades. He wouldn’t mind transitioning into stunt work full time—only he had no skills and his shoulder would keep him from the rigorous training it would take. He didn’t exactly qualify to work as a regular Renegade when his only specialty lay in surfing. And they couldn’t very well hire him often enough to keep him in board shorts and wax with so few surfing movies or television shows produced each year.

Being considered for a role of this magnitude was a leap toward the next step in his life. A sustainable next step. Like it or not, everyone aged. And while he liked to joke about the young guys swooping in on the surfing competitions, their talent couldn’t be ignored.

Approaching the crew, Zach looked at Shawn and asked, “What do you think?”

“You don’t have enough,” Ian answered. “You should have run that wave out another thirty seconds, and we’d be done. You could have dropped right into a backside on that A-frame.”

Zach forced a grin. “Says the man with his feet on the sand.”

“Not by choice,” Ian returned with a cocky, argumentative edge.

Zach was naturally easygoing. Hell, in the big picture, he was the luckiest fucker on earth. And he made a conscious effort to stay the happiest as well. But after working with this narcissistic, arrogant, negative Nelly for six months, his patience for Bellamy was wearing thin.

Zach stabbed his board into the sand and planted a hand on his hip. He wanted to tell Ian to shut the fuck up, but the director of the series was within earshot.

“Why are you still here?” he asked. “I thought you had somewhere to be right after you wrapped.”

“I want to talk to you about that.”

Which translated into Ian wanting a favor. Ian was all about Ian and only Ian. If he wanted to talk about anything, it was himself.

Zach wasn’t interested. He pointedly turned his gaze on Shawn and Keith, the cameraman and director, and repeated his question. “What do you think?”

Keith looked at Shawn. Shawn tipped his head back and forth, considering. “Another couple of minutes would give editing more material to work with.”

Josh Marx, Renegades risk manager, had been standing several yards away and now came forward. “There’s a pretty big rip out there. And the waves are getting choppy with the storm coming in.”

Josh was a good guy. Intense, but intelligent. He had the crazy ability to see everything at the same time. Nothing got past him if it dealt with Zach or Zach’s safety. But when they were on break, Zach caught Josh eyeing the ocean now and then, his gaze distant. The sight always made Zach wonder if he’d miss competitive surfing the way Josh missed the SEALs.

Josh’s gaze lingered a millisecond too long on Zach’s shoulder before meeting his eyes. “Are you up for it?”

Zach acknowledged Josh’s concern by holding back his answer—as if he had a choice. Then nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Once they’d discussed how to get the shot and avoid the rip current, the camera crew picked up and started down the beach. When Tucker realized Zach wouldn’t be following right away, Tucker said, “I’ll catch you…” and he hiked a thumb over his shoulder, then followed the others.

Josh, on the other hand stayed put fifty feet away, as if standing sentinel. Which meant he wanted to talk to Zach about something too.

“What’s up?” Zach asked Ian, eager to get the talk out of the way and be done with the guy.

“I’ve got a deal for you.”

Zach laughed. “No, you have a deal for you. I’m only a means to your end. Just tell me what the hell you want.”

“The studio booked me for a party at the Outrigger tonight.”

Zach shook his head and planted his hands at his hips. “I can’t believe you’re going to bitch about getting paid to drink, eat, and get mauled by bikini queens. Only you could make something like that—”

“I’m meeting with Dougherty from Tinsel Town Films to talk about the lead in a movie.”

So the rumors were true. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Tomorrow morning is the only time he could see me in person before he leaves for Greece to film Pitt’s new movie. I have to leave tonight if I’m going to make an early meeting tomorrow.”

Zach wanted to do this about as much as he wanted to surf on an ocean of broken glass. He hated Ian’s groupies. “Look, that’s not my scene—”

“There’s fifty grand in it for you.”

“Bullshit.”

“The sponsors are paying fifty grand. You can have the money,” he said with a negligent slant to his tone. “I don’t need it. What I need is to get out of the event so I can catch a plane to LA.”

The whole thing felt dicey, but a little voice whispered in the back of his head, You’ll need that money if this role bottoms out and you bomb at Mavericks.

“Even if I wanted to, it would never work,” he told Ian. “We don’t look that much alike.”

“Oh no? Turn and wave at the women lining the barricades. See whose name they call out.”

Zach didn’t need to. He already knew it would be Ian’s. Which reminded him of the women Ian took to bed every night and how long it had been since Zach had hooked up with one of his mellow island girls, women chased away by all those psycho groupies.

“At a hundred yards away,” he told Ian, “Keith and I probably look alike.”

The comparison between Zach and the fifty-something director who never showed more skin than forearms and calves—no matter what the weather dished out—made Ian laugh. “Look, you don’t have to MC from the tabletops or anything. Just hang at the VIP table with your friends and sign my name on a few racks. The bar will be dark, and everyone will be drunk. You’ll have a bodyguard if you want to get rid of someone. And if you find a chick or two you like, get a piece. Hell, I don’t care if you’re banging her and she’s screaming my name.”

“Dude,” Zach said, affronted. “I don’t want your groupies, and I sure as shit don’t have to pretend to be someone else to get laid.”

He sounded so confident, he almost had himself convinced. His body, on the other hand, was telling him something different. His long days and lack of extracurricular activities had him wound tighter than a clock.

“Then brush them all off,” Ian said. “Whatever. If you do this for me, I’ll hype you to Keith. I know you want my role.” But between the lines, he meant, I know you want to be me. “You can even have my suite at the Kapalua. The studio has it rented until the end of the month. It’ll be empty. And I’ll have that ditzy makeup girl put a scar on my forehead and have the crew tell everyone the board hit you on your last run. When you show at the club without a cut—”

“Stop the bullshit, man,” Zach said, sick of the way Ian put everyone down. “Just—”

Tucker called from down the beach, and Josh started that direction. Ten minutes ago, Zach had been dreading the waves. Now he couldn’t wait to get away from this ass and grab some adrenaline in the surf.

“Fine, whatever.” He jerked his board from the sand and swung it under his arm, angry and disgusted with himself for agreeing to do it. But not enough to bail. Fifty grand was fifty grand. A leading role in a hit series was a leading role in a hit series. Right now, Zach had to take what he could get when he could get it. “Just have someone give Tucker the information, and make sure you follow through with Keith.”

Josh joined Zach in the walk toward the new filming area. “That guy is one of the biggest pricks I’ve ever met.”

“Agreed.”

“Sure you want to do that for him?”

“It’s not for him,” Zach told Josh. “It’s for me. Why don’t you bring Grace tonight, keep me company in my misery.”

“I’ll talk to her. What’s going on with your shoulder?”

God dammit. The guy had the sharpest eyes on the planet.

“Don’t do this last run if you’re tired or hurting,” Josh told him.

“I’m fine, dude. I was just stretching it out.” He gave Josh a smile and a slap on the shoulder before he headed toward the water, determined to enjoy his last ride of the night. “See you tonight.”

* * *

Tessa Drake could remember every name of every congressman and senator on Capitol Hill, distinguish their moods with a glance at their expression, and identify them from a distance by their walk. But here, now, standing on the sidelines of a movie set in Maui, she felt like she was in a constant shell game trying to tell Zach Ellis and Ian Bellamy apart.

She’d been watching them for three days, searching for a way to distinguish the pair and find a pattern of behavior. She thought she’d be devising an approach plan by now, but she still had no idea where Zach was staying or how to get ahold of him after the shoot. She’d also discovered early on that her DC negotiation skills had no influence on this television crew. No one would let her near any of the actors or tell her anything about them. In fact, her best source of information had become the groupies lining the barricades where she stood now.

Tessa lifted a flat hand to her brow, blocking her eyes from the intense Hawaiian sun, and scanned both men, standing side by side in a huddle of film staff. They were both tall, both muscular and tan, both wearing nothing but white board shorts emblazoned with a red hibiscus pattern. They were also both blond with the same surfer-boy haircut, which was, quite possibly, throwing Tessa the most. Every photo she’d been able to find of Zach Ellis had been obscure at best, but he’d always sported roguish sun-bleached waves.

Which explained Sophia’s blonde curls.

Thoughts of her daughter drew Tessa’s gaze from the set. She pulled her phone from her purse and dialed Abby. While she waited for her nanny to answer, Tessa tugged at the front of her cream silk shell. She was used to DC’s muggy summers, but she hadn’t been prepared to find similar weather in Hawaii—all year long. She certainly wasn’t dressed for it. She’d donned her power suit for the meeting she was determined to have today. She could only thank God that night would fall soon, bringing sweet relief.

“Hey,” Abby answered, her British accent softening now that she’d been in the US for over a year. “Any luck?”

“All I can say is they are definitely called stunt doubles for a reason. Did Sophia like the museum?”

“Some. She definitely fancied their gift shop. You’d better up your game. You don’t have much time left.”

Abby was leaving for a vacation with her family overseas in a little over a week, which would leave Tessa caring for Sophia on her own. That felt a lot like a double-edged sword at the moment. It would also make following and talking to Ellis difficult. “I’m cultivating last-ditch efforts as we speak. Don’t wait up. I have no idea how I’m going to make this happen.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Abby assured her. “You always do.”

A stream of shrill squeals erupted to her left from a gaggle of teenagers and twenty-something females—all their perfect bodies clad in bikinis. Tessa winced, used her free hand to cover her ear, and walked along the barricades in the other direction. Glancing toward the set, she saw the hunky “twins” had turned toward the crowd. They were in deep discussion with a man wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard, but one of them looked toward the noise and lifted a hand to wave.

Another ear-shattering blast of excitement erupted from the crowd, and the sound skittered up Tessa’s spine.

“What’s all that tosh?” Abby asked. “That’s worse than Sophia’s paint-peeling squeals when she was a baby.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tessa muttered, barely able to hear her own voice. “I’m so not doing this for another day.”

“Ian— Over here— Ian— I love you—” The crowd of women screamed over each other, while others shared genuine awe among themselves. “He’s so hot… Did you see him in that cameo on Law and Order… I met him once, at a bar in LA…”

It went on and on. The only time they were quiet was when security enforced silence during filming.

“Are they really all that?”

Abby’s use of the American slang pushed a tired laugh from Tessa. “You’re asking the wrong woman. You’d be a better judge.”

“Abby,” Sophia called somewhere in the distance. “The commercial’s over.”

Her sweet voice created another pang in Tessa’s heart. She hated spending her meager vacation this way when her work already stole too much attention away from Sophia. She had to finish this. They’d both spent months grieving Corinne. Now it was time for them to move on, the way Tessa had promised her best friend they would.

“The princess calls,” Abby said. “I’d better bugger off.”

Tessa said good-bye and disconnected, sighing as she pushed the phone into her blazer pocket. Then she relented to the afternoon heat and slipped off her cropped navy jacket, folding it neatly over her arm. Standing by the stacked equipment, Tessa couldn’t have been more out of place. But she didn’t care. She had no desire to be one of the bikini-clad women mooning over some untouchable man because of his looks.

When a middle-aged crew member wandered toward the equipment pile, Tessa cracked open her introverted shell the way she did for meetings and congressional hearings. “Excuse me, sir?”

He looked up from his crouched position where he grabbed for a long black pole with a flood light attached to the end. “No,” he said, his voice gruff and annoyed. “I won’t get you an autograph. You should have been here this morning, when they were scheduled to do their meet and greet. Times were posted in the paper.”

“I don’t want an autograph—”

“Good.” He propped one light on his left shoulder, drew out another, and propped it on his right, then stood. His face glistened with sweat, and his weary expression clearly told the story of a long damn day in the heat. “And I won’t get you a key to anyone’s room either.”

“Key?” she asked bewildered, then shocked. “Do people really do that?”

The man laughed. “Where’ve you been, lady? Living under a rock?” He looked her up and down, his scowl indicating he didn’t much like what he saw. “They’re not doing interviews either. If you want an appointment, call the studio.”

“I’m not here for an interview or an autograph or a room key. I need to speak with Zach Ellis.”

The man harrumphed and turned away.

“Wait.” She stepped forward, pressing a hand to the barrier. When he turned toward her, she forced a smile. The apologetic, I’m-really-out-of-my-league-here-would-you-help-a-girl-out smile that had pushed her up the ladder of success faster than colleagues who’d slept their way from rung to rung. “Could you just tell me who is who? I can’t tell them apart.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“They look identical to me. I’ve asked…” She glanced toward the crowd, “the, um, the—”

“Casting-couch wannabes?”

Her gaze cut back to him. She was beginning to think these people spoke a different language. “Sure, let’s go with that. Unfortunately, they weren’t much help.”

He surprised her by laughing. His face brightened, his shoulders eased, and he shook his head. “Surprise, surprise.” He surveyed her again. “You’re not a reporter?”

“No.” She considered telling him she was an attorney but was pretty sure that would only get her shunned.

His brows shot up. “You a cop?”

“What?”

“A cop. You know.” He lifted a finger to point in her general direction, but his gaze wandered over her suit. “A detective or something?”

Tessa had a flash of looking at herself in the mirror before she’d left the condo—perfectly professional in her best navy suit. She’d left the house confident and secure. But now her self-esteem took a hit. She might not care that she wasn’t a bombshell casting-couch wannabe, but… “You think I look like a cop?”

“Or a teacher, maybe.” He smiled. “A librarian, even.”

“A teach— Librar—” She caught the disbelief before it colored her tone. “No. None of the above. I’m just a friend of a friend who knows Mr. Ellis, and I happened to be in town.”

“Uh-huh. Well, Zach came out of the water from his last run with a nasty cut on his forehead. That’s the best I can do.”

Not exactly a smoking gun she could spot a mile away. “Well, thank you.”

The man nodded and started toward the ocean, where more cameras, lights, and equipment littered the sand. Tessa relaxed a little. Now she had a reliable way of telling the two men apart, she just had to figure out how to get close enough to determine who was who.

She took a cleansing breath, steeled herself, and turned toward her last source of information—the casting-couch wannabes.