Chapter 6

Six

Anne.

All I can think of is that little girl. A sweet kid who may have started out as my professional charge but has become part of my family.

"She's older now," I whisper. "If that video's released, she'll know it's her." The last word is broken by a sob as I lift my head and look at Aria through tear-filled eyes. "She won't understand all of it, but she'll know people are watching her. Pitying her. I can't let that happen. I have to?—"

My frenetic thoughts are interrupted by a high-pitched tone coming from my phone, followed by that terrifying, filtered voice. "And now a word from our sponsor." The voice is almost lyrical, the humor unmistakable underneath that tinny, canned voice.

"Remember the rules," it says. "You will not call the police or any sort of law enforcement official or private security company, team, or person. If you do, we will know. Break this rule and the videos will be released."

There's a pause, as if my tormentor is letting that settle in. As if I need more time to understand how much the people I care about will suffer if those videos get out.

By the clock, the voice is silent for only a minute. In my heart, it's an eternity. When it returns, it's harder somehow. The danger even more palpable.

"If you want to protect the little girl—if you want to know the price to keep your own secrets hidden—if you want to know the price to make this all disappear—scan the code again in five minutes."

The image of me and the stranger and Anne freezes, then turns to black. A beat later, a yellow smiley face emoji fills the screen, along with the words See You Soon in a comic-style font.

"Fucker," Aria whispers.

I say nothing. I'm too numb. Too scared.

"Bree—"

I hear the catch in her voice, and I lift my head to look at her through tear-filled eyes.

"You have to tell Mr. Stark."

Ice floods my body. "I can't."

"They said price . And I'm pretty sure this house doesn't have enough equity to cover a blackmail demand. Besides, Anne's in the middle of it. He and Nikki should know."

She's right, but I just shake my head. "I can't. They've finally healed from the kidnapping. They're on a family vacation. I'm not even sure where to find them." That's not actually true. They own an unpopulated private island in the Caribbean, and they've gone there for a family getaway. Damien took his satellite phone for emergencies only, but I'm not about to track down the number and call.

Aria gives me the look that says she knows perfectly well that I could get in touch if I wanted to. "Oh, well, then, definitely let them come home to find this blasted all over the internet."

I sag, my whole body sinking into itself. "I can't do it to them. The family. How can I draw them back into this?" Just the idea makes me queasy, and hot tears are already pooling in my eyes.

"You don't have to," Aria says as she gently wipes away an escaping tear. "Just Damien. Tell him what's going on. Tell him that you have to pay to keep it quiet, and you need his help. You know he will."

I want to nod. I want to say that, of course, I'll contact him. After all, Aria's right that he makes the most sense, and he could have ransom money wired within the hour. But I can't make those words come to my lips. I remember only too vividly how broken he was. I'd been through hell, and they'd released me without Anne. I felt like I'd been turned inside out. Like I'd never be me again. Like the world was bearing down on me, and I was only half-living in my body.

When I'd looked at Damien, I knew he felt the same way, too. He hadn't been taken, but his little girl had, and the trauma had gone through him like acid.

"I won't," I whisper. "Not unless I'm a zillion percent certain there's no other way."

I can tell Aria wants to argue, but to her credit, she only nods. "Fine. You win." She groans with frustration. It's a strangled, rough sound, and she stands up, then runs her fingers through her choppy hair. When she starts pacing, my spirits lift. Not much, but a little.

The truth is, my bestie's pretty much a hot mess who's quit or gotten fired from every job she's ever held. She's edging up on thirty and still doesn't have a clue about what she wants to do for the rest of her life.

She's worked as a receptionist, vet tech, Uber driver, and more. She has a degree in biology and dropped out just shy of getting another in physics. She has a zillion trophies from gymnastics competitions, and she taught herself to speak near fluent French. She's worked as a runway and print model, and even did some background vocals for an indie record.

None of which has translated into a paycheck that lasted longer than five months.

But toss her in a pressure cooker? That's when she shines, and I feel the tiny, green shoots of hope start to push up through the black that has swallowed me.

"Okay. No Damien and no cops or security types," she says after a silence so long I'm afraid she's going to burn through our five minutes "So we put a pin in that while we listen to this next message, then we make a plan. Possible sources for the price they're demanding. And possible bad guys. I don't care how crazy, we write them down. And we figure out how that card got into your basket."

"I haven't got a clue about that," I admit. "The basket was on my table the entire time."

"Not before the signing, though. And I doubt you were paying attention when it was beside you. You were signing and talking to readers, right?"

I nod. "And some readers added their own gifts to the basket. They were all so sweet. I can't imagine any of them would…"

"Probably not," Aria says. "They'd have to be really ballsy. But one could have been a plant. Not one of your fans at all. Just someone pretending. Someone trained. Like a pickpocket. Or maybe someone slipped in from the back of the store. The basket was probably in a stock room or something before they gave it to you."

I shrug. My head is pounding, and I realize I've had nothing but coffee since my very early dinner. Before, I was too nervous about the signing. After, too scared. Now, I stand up and go to the kitchen for Ibuprofen. And—because I really need it—my emergency half-gallon of cookie dough ice cream. With two spoons, of course.

"Maybe the store has security cams," I suggest when Aria joins me at the table. "I'll ask in the morning."

Ari nods as she shovels a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, then talks with her mouth full. "Good plan. Hopefully they'll have them, you get a pic, and this is all over in a jiffy."

Over . My stomach twists, but I nod. What Aria doesn't get—what I'm now absolutely certain of—is that all the shit that happened to me and Anne is never going to be over.

Ari stabs at the ice cream but doesn't take another bite. "Were you followed from the bookstore? Whoever sent this was probably watching you. I mean, they'd want to know you actually saw that first message, right?"

"Can't techie types tell that I was on the website?"

"I think they can see that someone is. But how would they know it was you?"

I hadn't thought about that. "I might have tossed the card thinking it could have a virus," I muse. "Or maybe the envelope fell out of the basket, and someone picked it up."

She taps the end of her nose. "Exactly. And since they need to be sure you got it, they must have been watching."

I glance around the spartan little house I bought for a song because it's in totally shit shape. I don't care, though, because I fell in love the moment I saw it. And the idea that someone could be hidden outside, watching and waiting, totally creeps me out. "Nobody followed me." I say the words firmly even as I try to think back. But the truth is, I wasn't paying attention.

When I left the bookstore, I was still on my book-signing high. Santa and his reindeer could have been behind me, and I wouldn't have noticed a thing.

And when I left the coffee shop, I was too wigged out. All I wanted was to get home. It hadn't occurred to me that someone might be watching. I don't mention the man who'd been waiting for the woman outside the coffee shop. Aria doesn't need to know just how jumpy I was. And still am.

"What about inside?" Aria asks. "Anyone standing too close when you ordered?"

"No, no. I wasn't inside at all. I went to the drive-through, then parked so I could check out the basket. If there was someone sitting in a car watching me, I didn't notice them."

That's true enough. The other man I noticed was standing right by Maisy's window without a covert bone in his body. For that matter, Ashton was about as overt as a man could be. But why had he come over to talk to me? And why was he there in the first place? He doesn't even live in Los Angeles.

Ari's eyes narrow to slits as she leans forward. "Dammit, Bree, tell me what you're thinking."

"Ash," I say. It's not him—I can't believe it could be him—but what if it's him?

"Ash," she repeats. "Ashton Stone? Damien Stark's son? That Ash?"

I nod feeling numb. "He was at the coffee shop. But it's not him. We're friends. Sort of. I mean, there's no way."

Ari's brow furrows. "And we're talking about the same Ashton Stone, right? The one who was all over the news for the shit he said when he crashed Stark and Nikki's vow renewal ceremony?"

She tilts her head as she stares me down. "The friend you almost got up-close and personal with at the airport four months ago?" She punctuates the word ‘friend' with air quotes.

" I did not. "

"Well, yeah. That's my point. You left the poor guy with blue balls. Maybe he's pissed."

My skin prickles, as if I've just been doused with ice water.

"Bree?"

I barely hear her. My head's too full of protests. And fear.

It can't be him.

I lift my head and my eyes meet Aria's. "He's a good guy."

"He's a guy with a reputation as a hot head who blows off serious steam when things don't go his way. He's a guy with a death wish."

"The hell he?—"

"Have you watched any of his races?"

"He doesn't race anymore," I say.

"Why are you defending him?"

"Because…" I trail off, uncertain. When he first burst into the Starks' life, Damien didn't trust him. Not only were there whispers of assault and a possible murder cover-up, but he'd called Ash reckless. A guy who had something in him that he needed to burn out.

But I know Damien doesn't feel that way now, and I've gotten to know Ash, too. He has an edge and a temper, sure. But a kidnapper? A blackmailer?

The thought is too horrible to even consider. I can't believe it. I won't believe it. "He had nothing to do with the kidnapping," I say firmly. "He wouldn't have those tapes."

And even if he did, he sure as hell wouldn't be tormenting me.

Would he?