The house was in bad shape, but I could see that someone was at least trying to improve it. The grass was mowed, and a large section had been pulled out and replanted with grass seed in an effort to kill all the weeds. There were a few new paving stones in the front walk and a stack of tools sat on the sagging front porch, like someone was planning to do work with them as soon as he was free.

I circled around the house to the back. Jace had said he lived in the guest house on the family property, and sure enough, behind the main house was a smaller building, big enough for just a few rooms. The day was receding into dusk, and the air smelled sweet. A few yards over, a dog barked. A quiet day in the neighborhood on the wrong side of the tracks.

I could see no light on in the guest house, no car parked in the cleared gravel space at the side of the house. I knocked on the door anyway and waited patiently. Funny that the idea of digging into Jace’s file and finding his phone number felt like a breach of privacy to me—which was why I hadn’t done it—yet this didn’t. I was probably crazy and he would kick me off the property. I should probably go home.

Especially since, as it seemed, he wasn’t even home. I left the guest house and walked back around the house, but instead of heading back to my car I mounted the steps to the sagging front porch and rang the bell for the main house.

Because apparently, when it came to Jace Riggs, I had no idea where to draw the line.

There were footsteps behind the door, and it was opened by a wildly good-looking man wearing a white tee and a low-slung pair of jeans. He had dark hair and high cheekbones and a bad-boy curl to his lip that probably slayed women for miles. I knew instantly that he was Jace’s brother Luke, who Jace had said lived in the main house with his girlfriend. The two men didn’t look exactly the same—Luke had a casual, lazy air, where Jace was all coiled-up tension—but the Riggs genes were there: size, muscles, smoldering good looks. The Riggs parents might be useless, if not abusive, but they produced downright gorgeous sons.

“Yeah?” Luke Riggs said, looking me up and down, in a way that was curious rather than sexual.

“Hi,” I said, trying to sound like a halfway normal person. “I’m looking for Jace Riggs. Is he here?”

Luke blinked, and his curious gaze intensified. “You’re looking for Jace?”

“I am,” I said. “You’re Luke, right?”

Now he was very curious, though he masked it with his lazy drawl. “You know who I am,” he said slowly, “but I don’t know who you are.”

“Tara Montgomery,” I said. I thought about sticking out my hand, then decided it would look too dorky with a guy this cool. “I’m, um, an acquaintance of Jace’s. I really need to talk to him. Is he here?”

Luke just stood there looking at me for a moment. I couldn’t quite read his expression. “He’s not here,” he said finally. “He went out.”

I blew out a breath. Damn it. “Where do you think I could find him?”

“No offense,” Luke said, “but I don’t know you, so I don’t think I’m going to say.”

It was then I realized what his expression was: distrust. “I’m not going to hurt him,” I said. “I just want to talk.”

Luke leaned a shoulder on the doorframe, still looking at me with that dark, distrustful gaze that had an edge of hostility to it. “I’m trying to figure out who you are,” he said. “You’re definitely someone official, because Jace doesn’t have a girlfriend and women don’t come around looking for him. You’re not his PO. I’m tossed up between a cop or a social worker, and Jace doesn’t need to talk to either one.”

I opened my mouth to say something, I had no idea what, but a voice called from behind Luke’s shoulder. “Luke? Who is it?”

A woman appeared in the doorway. She was blonde and gorgeous, even wearing yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt. She stepped next to Luke and looked at me curiously.

“A woman,” Luke said, “looking for Jace.”

The blonde’s eyes went wide.

“She says her name is Tara Montgomery,” Luke said. “You know a Tara Montgomery, Emily?”

The woman—Emily—looked thoughtful. “Doesn’t ring a bell,” she said to Luke. She turned to me. “Did you go to Westlake High?”

“Um, no,” I said. “I went to private school.”

Emily’s eyes went wide again, and Luke elbowed her gently. “Cop or social worker,” he said to her. “That’s my guess.”

“Look,” I said, feeling my chances slipping away, “can you tell me where Jace is? I’m not a cop or a social worker. I really need to speak with him.”

Emily glanced at Luke, took in the set of his jaw, then looked back at me. “Honey,” she said, “come clean.”

What was the deal with these two? “I’m his friend,” I said.

“Jace doesn’t have friends,” Emily said bluntly. “He especially doesn’t have good-looking, private school, female friends. So just say what you want, or Luke will send you on your way, and I don’t blame him. Jace has already been to hell and back, and he doesn’t need any more trouble.”

So that was it. I saw it now: they were protective. Jace thought no one in his family gave a shit about him, but apparently someone did. I took a breath and rolled the dice. “Here’s the deal,” I said. “I was assigned by the court as his counselor, but when he came to see me I fucked it up. I really did. And I submitted my report and said nice things and I’m not his counselor anymore, but that isn’t enough. I want to make it right. I need to apologize to him. That’s all—just apologize.” I looked back and forth between them. “Please.”

The corner of Emily’s pretty mouth twitched. She leaned against Luke, curling one arm casually over his shoulder, her hip against his. “I vote you tell her,” she said to him.

I tried not to stare at the easy way she touched him, the way her body fit against his, the way he looked so relaxed with her leaning on him like that, like she was meant to be there. These two weren’t just dating—they were in love.

And they were having sex, a lot of it. It was pretty much there for anyone to see. It made my throat close because even when I was engaged, I’d never had a relationship like that. I’d never leaned on Kyle without thinking the way Emily was leaning on Luke right now. I’d never felt so physically close to a man—even a man I was sleeping with—that I’d notched my hip against his. Like we just totally belonged to each other. What must that feel like?

Emily obviously won Luke over by touching him—something I gathered wasn’t new—because Luke said, “Okay, fine. He went to play pool at the Guardhouse. Left about two hours ago.”

I knew the Guardhouse, a pool hall on the downtown Westlake strip. “Thank you,” I said, turning to leave.

“Apologize,” Luke said, and though his voice was even, I knew he meant it. “If you fucked up, tell him you’re sorry. Emily is right. Jace is the last person who needs anyone’s shit.”

I nodded and turned away, heading for my car. I felt like I’d been put to the test, but I couldn’t feel bad about it. In fact, it made me almost feel hopeful. Because someone really did care about Jace.

If only he could be made to believe it.