She was alone except for the occasional car. One was a light-gray sedan that slowed as it passed her, the windows so dark that she couldn’t see in. Probably another looky-loo like herself, except…except she’d seen a car like it before, somewhere…

She ate a donut.

Until a couple of weeks ago, before Blake’s death, she hadn’t had chocolate or donuts in months. Maybe years. She’d been on a strict eighteen-hundred-calorie diet, combined with a workout every single day, without fail. All to look good.

That’s what TV stars did. They looked good. She was paid to.

Except she no longer had a TV show to look good for. Back in L.A., she knew the job-finding frenzy had already begun. All her co-stars were busy auditioning, and what was she doing? Eating donuts instead of facing the fact that she was unemployed.

Her cushy, easy, comfortable, fun job had come to an end.

Life over.

She looked at Blake’s Girl and felt the last donut congeal in her throat. No. Her job was over, not her life.

Blake’s life was over.

God. Brushing the sugar from her fingers, she got out of the car. She wasn’t looking her best, but then again, there were no paparazzi in Santa Rey. And thanks to no one in the press making the connection between her and Blake’s Girl, there were no reporters to take pics of her pale, makeup-free face, or all of the bruises and cuts she’d sustained in the fire. Her wrist wasn’t bothering her, but the splint was a pain in the butt. She hadn’t been able to corral her hair into a ponytail, which meant it was flying wild around her face and in her eyes.

She could have asked Aidan for help but she’d rather have the wild hair than have his hands on her again.

Okay, that wasn’t true, wasn’t anywhere close to true, but she could pretend it was.

Dammit.

For those few hours last night in his arms, she’d not been alone and lost and hurting. She’d been transported, taken out of herself.

And along the way, she’d forgotten to make him regret dumping her. Nicely done. Rolling her eyes at herself, she moved closer to the docks. The charred remains of Blake’s Girl were taped off with yellow crime scene tape.

She didn’t know what that was about.

They thought Blake was a criminal? Fine. But they couldn’t pin this one on him, he was already gone.

Gone…

Chest tight, she walked along the yellow tape, getting as close as she could, which wasn’t close enough. No one was around, on the dock or otherwise, and she couldn’t stop the thought-what if she ducked under the tape? Surely, as Blake’s only living relative, she deserved to have a look.

The two boats on either side of Blake’s Girl were still there. Barely. One was nearly burned black, and in fact looked as if it might still be steaming. The other was half gone, and half untouched.

And between them? A shell of a boat, blackened and charred beyond recognition.

Blake’s boat was completely destroyed.

Looking at it, she could see it as it’d been two nights ago, when she could stand on it and still feel her brother’s presence, when his things had still been okay. She wished she’d gotten something of his, something, anything…

Maybe she could crawl beneath the tape and get onboard to comb through the torched remains, and thinking it, she bent down, but at the sound of an engine, stopped and turned.

It was the gray sedan again, making another pass of the parking lot.

Goose bumps rose on her arms as she got that same sensation of being watched she’d had at the hospital.

Who was following her?

It wasn’t Aidan. No way. He’d make himself known, that was for damn sure. He had a way of making himself known…

Someone else then.

Tommy?

No. Tommy didn’t have the resources to have her followed. She doubted anyone in Santa Rey did.

Then she remembered her earlier missed calls, and pulled out her phone, hitting the number.

No one answered.

She ran her hand along the yellow police tape, but the truth was, she didn’t quite have the nerve to boldly defy the law.

At least not during the daylight hours.

But tonight…

Yeah, tonight.

Under the cover of darkness.

Turning away, she squeaked as she accidentally bumped into a hard wall.

A hard wall that was really a warm, hard chest she recognized all too well, along with the big, warm hands that settled on her arms.

9

THE COLLISION SET KENZIE back a step, but Aidan held her upright.

She tilted her head up, up, up…and looked into his face, which was unfortunately indecipherable.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and calm, and concerned.

Okay, concern was good. Concern implied that he hadn’t noticed what she’d been about to do. But was she okay? Hell, no.

Not even close.

“Are you?” His gaze swept down her body, then up again, as if categorizing her injuries, which reminded her of last night, when he’d also been categorized her body.

With his tongue.

“Yes,” she managed. “I’m fine.”

“Good. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing. Are you following me?”

“No.”

“You’re not driving a gray sedan and going everywhere I go?”

“I drive a truck, a blue one and I didn’t follow you here. I got lucky on the first try. I figured you’d come here and try to do something stupid.”

“I did nothing of the kind.”

“You don’t consider ducking beneath that yellow tape stupid?”

“Only if I’d gotten caught.”

“Hello,” he said, still holding on to her. His fingers tightened. “Caught.”

“Yes, but you don’t count.”

He looked both boggled and irritated. “And why is that?”

“Because what are you going to do, arrest me? Last night you were kissing me, touching me, fu-”

“Okay,” he said with a low laugh. “Now just hold on a second-”

“I’m just saying.” She narrowed her eyes and went for bravado, even though she could hardly breathe while looking at the big blackened sailboat that less than two days ago had been Blake’s Girl.

Aidan had saved her.

He’d saved her and she was poking at him because she was all twisted up inside. So she let out a breath and looked into his face, where she found a surprising blend of sympathy and old affection mixed in with the frustration and fear.

“I came here to talk,” he said. “Not arrest you. Jesus. Now what the hell is this about a gray sedan?”

“Nothing.”

He just looked at her for a long moment. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing.”

“More like everything.” He let out a breath. “Tommy expects you to let him do his job.”

“I’m not going to get in his way. I’m going to help him.”

“Now see, I don’t think he likes help.”

“Too bad for him.”

“It’s going to be too bad for you if you piss him off. He can and will have you arrested if you don’t stay out of his way.”

“Believe me, I plan to stay out of his way.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “New subject then.”

Uh-oh.

“Last night…”

Kenzie didn’t know how she felt about last night. And because she didn’t, she absolutely didn’t want to talk about it. “Yeah. Now’s not a good time for me.”

“You don’t think so?”

She shook her head.

His eyes lit with something that might have been wry humor. He’d been just as beat up as her yesterday, but unlike her, today he did not look like something the cat dragged in. No, he looked tall and fit, and in his loose cargoes and T-shirt, he seemed very in charge of himself and his world.

She, on the other hand, was in charge of exactly nothing at the moment. “Maybe later.” And maybe not.

He hadn’t taken his hands off of her arms, and if asked she’d have said she wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but that would be a lie. At the moment, his support felt like a lifeline.

Her only lifeline. “Tell me something,” she said very quietly, her eyes on his so she didn’t miss any little nuance, because this was very, very important to her. “Arson. It’s a well studied crime, right? The people who do it, most of them belong to a particular character type. Aggressive. Violent. Repeat offenders.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “How do you know this?”

“We did a whole plotline about an arsonist last year. Would you characterize Blake as aggressive or violent?”

“Not even close.”

“Exactly,” she said.

“Which doesn’t prove anything. There’s physical evidence-”

“Okay,” she agreed. She knew about the evidence. “But most arsonists want their work admired. Isn’t that correct?”

“Yes, but-”

“But Blake maintained his innocence. Tommy told me that much.”

“Yes,” Aidan agreed, his expression reflecting his worry for her, whether he wanted it to or not.

Which she didn’t want to face. She meant to do two things when it came to Aidan, especially after last night. First: keep her distance. And second: leave him pining for her.

It was going to be nearly impossible to handle the second while doing the first but she would give it her best shot. “So can’t you concede that it’s possible that you’re wrong about Blake?”

“I’m not the one accusing him of anything.”

She looked at him, really looked at him, and understood something she’d missed before. He didn’t want to believe the worst of Blake any more than she did, and that was so much more than she expected from him, from anyone, that it was like a balm to all her fear and grief.

He wasn’t against her or Blake. She wasn’t completely alone, at least not in that moment, and she found herself closing the gap between them to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders, hugging him hard, so damn relieved to have him there with her.