After pulling himself together—it took about a gallon of coffee—Finn pulled on a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses and made his way across Rollo’s lawn to his car. If paparazzi were waiting for him, they couldn’t legally come onto Rollo’s property. They’d probably be on the street, at the base of the long, winding driveway that led to the cliff-top house.

At his Tahoe, he hesitated. They probably knew what he drove—they had ways of knowing such things. But they might not recognize Lisa’s Mercedes, and besides, her car had that special seat for Molly.

Decision made, he selected the Mercedes key from the ring and slid into the driver’s seat. Lisa’s scent enveloped him, making his gut go tight. Not only did it smell like her, but she’d left little traces of herself everywhere—a gas receipt on the console, an earring buried in the seat cushions.

He drove down the hill and, sure enough, there they were. Three unfamiliar vehicles were parked on either side of the driveway and four photographers lounged against them, their cameras dangling from their necks.

His trick with the Mercedes didn’t work. As soon as he drove past them, someone shouted, “it’s him!” and everyone raised their cameras and clicked. Then they rushed to jump into their cars and follow him.

What did they think, that he was off to propose to Annika in a baseball cap and a borrowed Mercedes? He couldn’t understand how these photographers thought. It made no sense.

While the paparazzi scrambled to give chase, he stomped on the accelerator and zipped down the road that led into town. He had to lose them before he got to Molly’s. If he couldn’t shake them, he’d call Evie and tell her someone else should step in. It might agitate Molly to see a horde of photographers on their tail.

Luckily, by the time he reached the town limits, he saw no sign of the paparazzi’s vehicles. He stayed off the main streets as he wound his way to the McGraws’. When he reached their house, he parked in the garage, well out of sight. Then he changed from a baseball cap to a knitted beanie. Sometimes a little thing like that could throw off the photogs. Satisfied that the coast was clear, he knocked on the McGraws’ door.

Twenty minutes later, he buckled Molly into the passenger seat of the Mercedes. She gazed around the interior fondly. “I m-miss Lisa.”

“Yeah, I do too.”

“Her m-mother’s anniversary party is today.”

“Really? I bet she’s excited about that.” He started up the car and backed out of the garage. How did Molly know about Lisa’s mother’s party? Maybe she was calling Molly while blowing him off.

Molly chuckled. “They say s-scratch a cynic and you f-find a romantic.”

“Yeah, well, they also say scratch a rash and it’ll get even worse.” His gloomy response made her laugh even more.

“She c-cares for you, Finn.”

“Yes, she does, and that’s because I’m a gem. Ask anyone.” He flashed her a smile, even though his reference obviously confused her. He turned back to look at the road ahead and slammed on the brakes. He flung an arm across her to keep her in place. “Oh shit.”

The paparazzi vehicles were back, illegally driving two abreast, blocking the street so he’d have to slow down.

He pulled over and parked the Mercedes. The paparazzi stopped too.

“Who-who are those people?” She peered at the two vehicles, which were backing toward them.

“Paparazzi. It’s a long story and completely not worth telling.”

Before they could get a shot of him and Molly, he ripped off his sweater and draped it over her head. She watched him curiously as he adjusted it to make sure she could breathe.

“I don’t want those vultures getting a shot of you. I’m sorry, Molly. I have to deal with this. It’ll just take a few minutes. I’ll be right outside the car. And you might want to cover your ears because there will be profanity.”

She giggled, her white, fluffy halo of hair bobbing up and down. “So ex-exciting!”

“Yeah, that’s one way to look at it. Be right back.” He swung out of the car and stalked toward the photographers. Camera lenses poked through the windows as he approached.

“Listen, guys, you’re obstructing traffic and there’s nothing to see. I have no comment on anything. Can you let us pass now?”

“What about Annika? Are you going to propose?” one of the cameramen shouted from inside the Escalade.

“I said no comment.” A flat ‘no’ might spark more questions and rumors. In his experience, sticking to ‘no comment’ was always the best policy.

Another photographer was aiming his camera at the Mercedes and the shrouded Molly. “Who’s in the car? Is that the nurse?”

“No comment. Take your pictures and be done. Let me pass, I’m late for a medical appointment.”

“Medical? Is it about your father? What’s his prognosis?”

“What?”

“Your dad’s illness, any comment on that?”

The cameras clicked and clicked. He struggled to school his expression to reveal nothing, so they’d have nothing to print. Was Stu really sick? Did they know something real or was it just a ploy to get a reaction from him?

He fought to show no reaction, but it was pointless. Fuck, he was no actor. He spun away from the Escalade and loped back to the Mercedes. He threw the car in reverse and backed all the way to the next street, where he made a screeching three-point turn and then jammed down on the accelerator to get them the hell out of there.

As they drove, he tugged his sweater away from Molly’s face.

“They’re behind us now,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “Sorry about that.”

“Starly s—sometimes has p-paparazzi following her,” Molly said. “It’s quite thrilling. Especially in our little town.”

“Thrilling is not the word I’d use. If I want thrills, I’ll go to Magic Mountain. We don’t need this kind of crap in Jupiter Point. It’s supposed to be quiet and serene here. What happened to all our peace and quiet?”

“The hotshots c-came.”

He laughed at that response. True, the arrival of his crew had definitely shaken things up here. “On behalf of the Jupiter Point Hotshots, I apologize. All we want to do is put out fires and keep people safe. We didn’t intend to make this kind of trouble.”

“You’re a sweet boy.” She smiled over at him. “A very good boy.”

A loud pop sounded from behind him.

“Shit.” Finn stared at the rearview mirror. The paparazzi’s Escalade must have blown a tire. It was swerving all over the street, black smoke pouring from one of the tires. The Camry was trying to avoid it, but couldn’t. The two vehicles slammed into each other with a horrible crunch and spun to a stop in the middle of the street.

Oh hell. Much as he’d like to leave the pesky paparazzi to deal with their own idiocy, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. He pulled over to the side of the road again and grabbed his phone.

“Sorry, Molly. I have to make sure they’re okay.”

“Yes, you g-go. I’m fine here.”

As he ran toward the crash, he dialed nine-one-one and filled in the dispatcher. When he got close enough to the two cars, he did a quick scan and sniff for gasoline.

Since he didn’t see any danger signs, he jogged to the driver’s side of the Escalade. The photographer had a gash on his forehead and was testing his shoulder gingerly. “What the fuck happened?” he asked when Finn appeared.

“Looked like a blowout.”

“Damn.” He groaned and groped for his glasses, which had gotten knocked onto the dashboard. Finn reached through the half-open window and grabbed them for him.

“Paramedics are on their way,” he said. “I just wanted to check on you.”

“Thanks. And sorry about before. We’re just doing our job.” He put on his glasses and squinted. “Hey, is someone stealing your car?”

Finn swung around to look at the Mercedes.

A man in a backpack and a deer hunter cap was running across the street toward the driver’s side door. He had a gun in one hand.

Dear God. Molly.

“Call the police,” he ordered the photographer, and hurtled back down the street toward the Mercedes.

“Hey!” he yelled as he ran. “Police are on their way. Don’t be stupid!”

The man ignored him and flung open the door of the Mercedes. Then he jerked in surprise. He hadn’t expected Molly, Finn realized.

When Finn was only a few steps away, the gunman swung around and aimed his weapon at Finn. “Stop where you are. Where’s the nurse?”

“She’s not here. She’s back in Houston. You’re too late, she already made a statement. Whoever hired you, they’re probably already in custody.”

The man, who had a sandy crew cut and a nervous manner, kept the gun on Finn. “This is her car, right?”

So he wanted the Mercedes? Jesus. “Take the car. Let me get the woman out of it. She has Parkinson’s and I’m taking her to the doctor. You don’t need her. And you’d better let me take her quick, because the cops are coming.”

The gunman gave a brusque nod and gave him a go-ahead gesture. Finn ran to the passenger side and flung open the door.

Molly fixed wide eyes on him. “W-what’s happening?”

“He wants the car and we’re going to give it to him.” He bent down to unfasten her seat belt.

“Don’t touch anything else,” the man said sharply.

“Anything else? Like what? There’s nothing in here.” He put one arm under Molly’s knees and the other around her back. As he maneuvered her out of the car, he wondered if that was correct. Maybe Lisa had left something important in the car. Her backup file, maybe. Though why that would matter at this point, he had no idea.

Not important. All the mattered right now was getting Molly to safety. He settled her trembling body into his arms. “I’m so sorry about this, Molly. Bet you’re regretting picking me as your transport, huh?”

She shook her head. “I’m g-glad you’re here.” She pulled his head farther down to whisper in his ear, “He has a l-lighter. I smelled gas. I think he wants to burn the c-car.”

Finn gave a quick glance at the man, who was impatiently scanning the street ahead. “We’ll get out of your way now,” he said, hiding the panic roiling inside him. He took a casual step toward the sidewalk. He had to get Molly out of here without causing the man to panic or change his mind or decide to take a hostage or…

Stop it. Just get out of here.

The man ignored them and turned his attention to the Mercedes. Finn kept going toward the sidewalk, relieved when his foot hit the curb. This area of Jupiter Point was known as the Flats; it held metal shops, furniture warehouses, that sort of thing. The closest building was a commercial bakery that supplied packaged bread to stores along the central coast.

If he could just get inside, they’d be safe.

Even though Molly couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and twenty pounds, she made an awkward bundle. He hunched his torso around her as a kind of shield and headed for the bakery. But when he reached the front door, he saw no signs of activity, no lights. Damn it—closed.

He couldn’t go back, so he kept going. The next building on the street was a sprawling warehouse, its front door another half-block away. But between the two ran

a side street—more like an alley. Maybe he could find a side door into the warehouse, and in the meantime stay out of the gunman’s sight.

He veered onto the side street and instantly felt safer. Even though the man wanted the car, not them, the further away they got, the better.

Yeah, it would suck to tell Lisa that her car was stolen. But that was nothing compared to protecting Molly.

“F-Finn,” Molly cried. “He’s c-coming!”

He swung around.

Molly was wrong—the man wasn’t coming. But the Mercedes was. It rolled slowly down the alley with no one at the wheel. Trailing liquid behind it. He sniffed. Gasoline. He must have steered it into the alley on purpose. So it didn’t blow up in the main street?

Blow up. Holy mother of God—it could explode at any moment. There was no way he could reach the end of the alley in time, not while carrying Molly.

Finn scanned the alley for a way out and spotted a Dumpster about fifty yards away.

He ran for it. It was like running a sprint while carrying a hundred pounds of cement. He made a mental note to thank the entire Jupiter Point Hotshot crew for making him train so hard. Even so, his thighs burned by the time he reached the Dumpster.

He propped open the lid. The Dumpster was filled with packaged loaves of bread that must have recently expired. Instead of garbage and rotting produce, all he smelled was the comforting, yeasty scent of wheat rolls.

“We got lucky, Molly. It’s like a nest in there. The best-smelling Dumpster on the planet.”

She clutched at his shoulders. “Why…what’s happening?”

“We’re getting in,” he told her. “Ever heard of Dumpster diving?”

Her white hair bobbed as she nodded. He swung her over the edge of the Dumpster and half-tossed, half-guided her onto the pile of plastic-wrapped bread. “You okay? How you doing?”

She glanced around the big metal container. “Hungry.”

He laughed. “You’re a wonder, Molly. You’re not panicking at all, are you?”

Looking into the tight space, he hesitated. A shudder of fear passed through him. Whatever was coming their way, getting into the Dumpster seemed even more terrifying. He’d be shut up, closed in, helpless…

But one look at her terrified face decided him. He couldn’t leave her alone here. No way. This was their best chance if that car did blow up.

He hauled himself over the edge of the Dumpster and tumbled in, doing his best not to land on her.

Slip-sliding on the plastic bread bags, he maneuvered her so she lay behind him. That way he would take the brunt of whatever danger came at them.

“Seen any peanut butter and jelly in here?”

She laughed softly, a shaky sound that clutched at his heart. With one last look at the oncoming Mercedes, he reached for the Dumpster’s top and pulled it down. It didn’t fit perfectly, so he could see an uneven strip of light between the lid and the edge.

“Thank you, Finn,” Molly whispered from behind him, patting his back. Her hand trembled against his shirt.

He drew in a long breath of yeasty air. The walls of the Dumpster seemed to close in around him. The last time he was crammed into a tiny space with danger threatening outside—oh God. The trunk. The same feeling rushed back—claustrophobic fear. Dark confusion. Terror. And—a memory.

A name.

And then a blast shook the Dumpster. The world rang like a bell, then turned bright as a supernova.

Then black as smoke.