Chapter One

Aja Blue LaLonde was being followed. She was sure of it. The only question was, why? She didn't owe money to any unsavory characters. She wasn't in trouble with the Internal Revenue Service. All her bills were paid, and she had no debt. No skeletons hung in her closet, nor were there any enemies she knew of. She was about as vanilla as you could get.

Was it because of Jay and his tormentors? Polly and Dirk?

As a child television star, Aja Blue was used to her fair share of admirers. Most had been innocent fans, but odd ducks had always glommed onto her, some even going so far as to think they were married. Creepy. Usually, her admirers were older men who sent disturbing letters with chunks of hair, underwear, or one time even blood. They'd accost her at signings or press events, and it had all started before she'd hit puberty. She'd grown up with beefy bodyguards, and she'd hated it.

Aja Blue's first year of college had been the same. All she'd wanted to do was study and learn, but she'd been forced to keep to herself because the press and paparazzi had craved a glimpse into her new life. Fellow students wanted to hang with her for what she was, not who. After she'd been there a while, people forgot about her, and she'd been able to move around easier. Still, she'd made few friends in her undergrad and grad school years. She didn't trust easily.

Aja Blue's mother, Candace, was a failed actress and a bonafide stage mom. She'd started Aja Blue in commercials when she was an infant. Her resume had included dozens of credits before she could walk. When she'd landed the starring role in a new television series, her mother had celebrated as if she'd already won an Emmy. When the show had been named after Aja Blue, her mother's jubilee had reached Oscar-winning status.

Aja Blue had won an Emmy during her career. Several, actually. Even though she'd starred in many movies, she'd never won the coveted Academy Award, much to her mother's chagrin.

Despite her success, Aja Blue had never felt like she belonged in Hollywood. Standing in front of cameras and listening to directors had not made her happy. She'd always loved interior design and had decided to make that her career.

Telling her mom about her plans had been one of her worst days. Candace had acted as if Aja Blue had ruined her life—hers, not Aja Blue's. Their fight had reached epic proportions. Even today, their relationship hadn't healed, though Aja Blue had tried. Candace couldn't forgive her daughter for stepping away from the spotlight, and Aja Blue couldn't forgive her mother for not being what she needed.

Aja Blue didn't remember her father. He'd left a month after she was born and started a new family. He had tried to reconnect once she'd become famous, but her mother had forbidden her from having anything to do with him. He'd died in a car accident a few months later, before she'd had the chance to know him.

No brothers or sisters—her father had remarried, but the union bore no children—so Aja Blue had no family except for her employees.

A honking horn brought her back to the present. She looked out her car window at the man standing across the street from her office, lounging against the wall. There was nothing casual about his pose. He was laser-focused on her door. She snapped a few photos, making sure she captured his image. The first time she'd spotted him was a week ago. He had been outside her condo, and she'd only noticed him because he'd been wearing a dark suit, sunglasses, and a black fedora pulled low over his forehead, like he was now. He'd looked like a hitman or something, totally out of place in a beachside community overrun with people in bathing suits, Hawaiian-print shirts, sundresses, and flip-flops.

The second time he'd come across her radar, she'd been in Sedona, Arizona, trying to track down a lead on her old castmate, Polly Deeken. It had freaked her out so much she'd jumped into the embrace of the first man she'd spotted.

Aja Blue's heart pounded, remembering the rock-solid, muscular arms that had gripped her tightly. They belonged to the most gorgeous man she'd ever seen. Christian Zamora. Just saying his name in her head made her body shiver. She'd felt such a strong connection, though she'd just met him. His long-lashed blue-green eyes had invaded her dreams every night since. Her fingers itched to slide through his silky blond hair again. And, oh, could he kiss. The man was a master. She'd caught him off guard, but he hadn't missed a beat. He'd all but inhaled her. Then, he'd been outraged on her behalf when she'd informed him she was being followed. And he'd called her stunning. She'd fallen a little in love with him that day.

Her finger traced the card he'd given her. It read: Christian Zamora, CObrA Securities. The card had a phone number but no address. She'd kept it close since, hoping to see him again one day. He'd made her feel as if nothing bad would happen if he were around. He could take on the bogeyman and easily win.

Instead of staying to see if there might be something between them, she'd gotten a tip from an old friend who knew Aja Blue had been searching for Polly. The woman thought she spotted her in Scottsdale, so Aja Blue had made the two-hour drive only to run into another dead end. She'd checked out various resorts, all to no avail. However, she'd been smart about using credit cards and had paid cash using aliases. When her search took her to Tucson, she'd kept her eyes out, but she hadn't seen the man following her again . . . until today when she'd driven straight from the airport to her office.

Maybe taking off on a whim to search for her friend had been foolish, but Aja Blue was worried about her. Polly had suffered a rocky path after their show, Aja Blue and Polly Too, had been canceled. Polly had tried to land other roles but had been largely unsuccessful. She'd been typecast as the na?ve, not-too-bright sidekick, and that was all the casting agents saw when she auditioned for their shows.

Polly had run through her savings account, and the residuals from reruns hadn't been enough to maintain her California lifestyle. She'd sold her condo and started waitressing to supplement her income when the jobs dried up. Polly had resorted to working in gentlemen's clubs when even that wasn't enough money. That was where Starla Hart had been born, Polly's stripper name.

It had been at one of those seedy establishments where Polly first met Dirk Haines. He was a director promising her fame, but his movies weren't Hollywood blockbusters. They were sleazy, hardcore porn. Instead of marketing the films under Polly's stage name, he'd used her real one to draw more eyes. He knew people would be intrigued to discover what had happened to the red-headed imp from that long-ago show, and, sadly, he'd been right. She'd become the star she'd always longed to be, except it was among the adult industry crowd.

Though she lived across the country, when Aja Blue had found out what Dirk was doing with Polly, she'd tried to step in and get her away from him. She knew it wasn't the life Polly would have wanted. Acting had been her dream from the time she could walk. Making a living having sex with men and women on screen wasn't the same. Young, innocent Polly would've been mortified at what she'd become.

Aja Blue had been shocked when she saw Polly for the first time in a year. When they had first met, Polly had been chunky. Aja Blue had always thought the baby fat made Polly adorable, with her chubby, rosy cheeks. Directors disagreed with Aja Blue's assessment, leading to a lifetime of dieting. After the first year of their show, Polly had lost the weight and kept it off. So, she'd been thin, but now, she'd turned into a walking bag of bones. Sadly, Dirk had also hooked her on drugs, probably so he could get her to do whatever he wanted.

Aja Blue had taken Polly aside and tried to reason with her. She'd hoped to reach the old Polly, but her friend was too far gone. She had refused to leave Dirk or listen to what Aja Blue had to say.

Dirk had been outraged at Aja Blue for trying to take Polly from him, but that hadn't stopped him from wanting to hire her. He'd positively salivated at the thought of an Aja Blue and Polly reunion.

In hindsight, maybe she shouldn't have laughed in his face. But there was no way in hell she would go anywhere near one of his movies. His skin had turned an interesting shade of purple, and then he'd tried to intimidate her. He had threatened to sue for slander, though he had no leg to stand on. She'd made no false statements about him. Polly was the only person she'd said damaging remarks to.

Months later, Polly had contacted her during a lucid moment. Aja Blue had tried everything she could to talk her into leaving Dirk, but he'd caught them on the phone and disconnected the call. He'd made his lawyer send her a letter telling her to back off, or she would be sorry. That was pretty much exactly how he'd worded it, so Aja Blue doubted that the man was a legitimate attorney.

Aja Blue refused to give up. Polly had wanted help, and Aja Blue planned on doing everything she could to assist her. Then Dirk's production company had been shut down for shoddy practice, and Dirk and Polly had disappeared.

Aja Blue had sent feelers to several old acquaintances, searching for her friend. One had suggested that she thought Dirk was now using Polly as a hooker to make money. Aja Blue hoped not, but she wouldn't be surprised. Dirk was a scumbag.

Aja Blue had come close to catching up with Polly in Sedona. She'd asked around, and people remembered seeing her. The sojourn to Scottsdale had been a dead end. Still, she'd caught a break when a bellhop she had shamelessly flirted with for information told her he had overheard a woman matching Polly's description saying she was headed to Tucson.

It had turned out to be another bust. With no other leads, Aja Blue had hopped on a plane and headed home.

Instead of stopping by her condo, she'd headed straight to the office. Jay hadn't returned her calls, and she needed to catch up with him to find out how he was progressing with the Sinclair project. At least, that had been the plan before she'd spotted her tail.

On the flight home, Aja Blue had convinced herself that she'd been imagining things. The man hadn't been following her. Heck, he probably wasn't even the same guy. She'd believed it until now, when she saw him standing outside her office.

Movement out of the corner of her eye made her glance up. Son of a three-day-old butter biscuit. The man was walking toward her. She tugged the baseball cap she'd thrown on lower over her eyes and slid down in her seat.

The wind kicked up, blowing the side of his jacket open. Aja Blue gasped. He was carrying a gun in a holster beneath his arm like a gangster. Before he reached her, he stopped and pulled something from his pocket. She flinched, but it was only a phone. As he spoke, his eyes roamed the area. She held her breath as his head turned her way. Time stood still as his gaze slid past and snapped back, locking on her.

Aja Blue pushed the button to start her car. The man reached for the gun at his side. With a scream and barely a glance at traffic, she floored it, squealing her tires as she ducked as low as possible while still being able to see over the dash. Her mind rewound twenty-some years to when she'd portrayed Thelma Jo Portnoy, a nine-year-old hellion who'd stolen her mother's car and taken it for a joyride until the local sheriff had thwarted her plans. She hadn't really driven the car in that long-ago movie, but the way she was weaving and swerving now was remarkably similar to how Thelma Jo would've handled the wheel.

When no bullets shattered her back window, Aja Blue sat up and checked her rearview mirror. The man watched her, still talking on his phone, but no weapon appeared.

Her hands were shaking as she drove through the streets of Norfolk, Virginia. She wasn't sure where to go since the man knew where she lived and worked. It even seemed he had access to her itinerary and followed her to Arizona.

Aja Blue flipped on her blinker and swerved into the other lane before turning into the parking lot of a chain store. She ignored the angry blare of a horn and wheeled into a space. Then she picked up her phone and punched in the numbers from the card.