The next morning Paris woke with a start and had that horrible dry, all-the-salt-sucked-out-of-you taste in her mouth mixed with an alcohol flavor. She couldn’t believe she’d drank that much and took an anxiety pill. Big-time fail.

She remembered the kiss. Remembered Logan, the crazed, wiry look in his eyes, the way he had yanked her to him so possessively, like, like … like a man claiming her. Sitting up, she felt a slight headache, but it wasn’t bad. Turning to the neon clock next to the bed, she saw it was ten in the morning. Yanking back the covers, she swore. She felt like crap.

Feeling grateful it was the weekend, she picked up her cell phone and saw a text from Shane that was sent four minutes ago. We’re in LA, Ty wants to talk to you. Call us.

She stared at the signal strength with dismay. The tower out here was unpredictable, part of the reason she didn’t come out here that much. She needed Wi-Fi for work. Heck, how would she survive without Wi-Fi period?

She tried to call and got a dead signal. It was fussy. She knew she had to go to the dock and stand within visible distance.

The weather was windy and that made a difference in the signal. What were they, in the Dark Ages? The nineties, when you had to wait for Internet with that horrible connection noise?

Going into the kitchen, she took out a glass and filled it with water, slugging it back and pulled out a protein drink out of the fridge. She loved these, even though they were pricey. Rushing out the back sliding glass door, she slipped on her flip-flops, and ran toward the dock. She didn’t want to miss talking to Ty. Getting to the end of the dock, she saw her cell get more bars and pushed Shane’s number.

He answered it quick. “Seen Logan yet?”

This was not the time for games. “Where is Ty?”

Shane hesitated, and the noisy airport filled the silence. “Ty, it’s your mom.” His voice was resigned.

Your mom. Not just Mom, like it used to be. She plastered on a smile and tried to not think about the ache in her head.

“Mom.” His tiny voice sounded through the phone.

“Hey, sweetie.” Now she didn’t have to pretend. Her heart ached, she loved her kid so much. “How was the plane ride?”

“Good.”

She held back her tears, keeping the smile on her face. Studies showed people could tell if others were smiling through the phone, so she would smile for her son. “Good. You’re going to have so much fun on this trip.” She tried to sound excited for him. He had been excited, but she knew it was hard being away from home. This was the first family vacation they hadn’t been together.

“Yeah.” His voice was so sweet.

“Did you get a pretzel?” It was something Shane always told him he would get in the airport, a soft pretzel.

A bit of pep lifted his voice. “Yes, and it was so good, Mom.”

“Good.” She blinked, and the way her heart had been squeezing lessened. “I love you, bud.”

She heard Shane in the background. “Tell your mom goodbye; we have to board.”

“Love you, Mom. Bye.”

“Love you, sweetheart.” The line went dead.

She mopped up her tears and shook her head, shrugging against the unpleasant feeling of being hung over. Needing some comfort, she called Michelle.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” she accused after the first ring.

Paris smiled. “Hey.”

A derisive laugh escaped Michelle’s lips. “You can’t rest because your old boyfriend showed up, and you called to inform me you’re running off with Mr. Wolf and you’re leaving me the business.”

Butterflies flooded her stomach as she thought about last night. “Uh, no.” She would not be admitting anything. “How’s work?”

“Have you heard? Probably haven’t, because you’re trying to avoid the greatest publicity stunt in the world for some reason. Your lover boy still hasn’t surfaced. Some people in Jackson said they saw him at the library yesterday. No one seems to know where he’s at. I swear, Kim Turner is such a freak. She’s on about every national television program asking the public to help find him. She’s all black tears down her face, drama about how he doesn’t remember anything.”

Paris turned back to the house, and started. Obviously, she’d gone to bed so upset that she’d fallen into a semi-drunk slumber without noticing the Mustang parked in front. “I got to go, Michelle, I’ll check in later.”

She didn’t wait for Michelle to respond, instead rushing up to the car. Maybe he was passed out asleep in the car. It’d been cold last night, colder than it should get in June, but it was the mountains. A glance through the window revealed nothing.

The car was unlocked, and the keys were in the ignition. Slamming the door shut, she went to the front of her house and looked for Logan. Where would he be?

A muffled sound caught her attention. Turning, she heard it again coming from the boathouse. Curious, her heart hammering inside her chest, she rushed down to the boathouse. Gently, she opened the door to see into the dark building. Dust assaulted her, and she coughed.

“Pear, shut the door, will you? I need some sleep,” Logan’s voice creaked out.