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  I sit back, determined to change the subject. "We're heading down to Colin's together tomorrow?"

  He's quiet for a second, obviously understanding what I'm doing. For a moment, I'm afraid that he's going to keep the subject on our dad. Then he nods. "I figure we'll just use a driver. Easier that way. We'll leave at six?"

  "Perfect." I frown, remembering. "Mom said you were asking about all of Colin's ex-girlfriends. What's up with that?"

  I see a flash of emotion in his eyes--surprise? confusion?--but it's gone before I can identify it. "Oh, nothing. A ridiculous idea I had for a housewarming present. I've abandoned it. I'm going with a plant. Bamboo. Gin swears that even Colin won't be able to kill it."

  "I'm bringing candles," I say. "By the way, the conversation with Darcy went really well." I explain how Darcy heard the name Deliverance, and then relay my understanding of the role Dallas plays. How he pretends to know someone who's used the team before and puts the potential client in touch with them.

  "I'm sorry about not running you through it beforehand," he says.

  "No, this was good. It kept the interview real. But who's the friend you put him in touch with?"

  "Me," Dallas says. "Sometimes the role is played by one of the other guys. We use computer software to alter our voices. Works out well, and keeps me out of the spotlight."

  I nod, conceding that it's a solid ploy. I'm about to ask for more details when he checks his watch. "Are we on a timetable?"

  "As a matter of fact, we are. There's somewhere we need to be."

  I frown. "Now?"

  He downs the last of his martini and tosses a hundred dollar bill on the table. Then he grins, wide and boyish. "Come on and I'll show you."

  What he has to show me is a one-bedroom apartment in an exclusive building just three blocks from my townhouse.

  "You're going to buy it?" I ask as the real estate agent wanders off onto the balcony, obviously giving us a chance to talk.

  "I'm thinking about it."

  "It's so close. You might as well move in with me."

  "That's pretty much the idea."

  Ohhh. "Camouflage," I say.

  "Something like that. Plus, it's a short sale, so the price is right. I think it'll be a good investment. And ..."

  I frown. "And what?"

  He shakes his head. "Nothing. I just want a place in the city."

  I consider pushing, but I don't want to be that girl. It's one thing not to have big secrets between us. It's another to feel obligated to share every single thought and idea.

  "It's only one bedroom," I point out.

  "Do I need more? After all, as far as the world knows, the point of this place is so that I don't have to commute from the mansion. Go to work, come back to my Upper West Side apartment."

  "You could afford something bigger. With an office."

  "True. But I can pay cash for this place without tapping the trust."

  "Really?"

  He nods. "I want to do this on my own. And I have enough saved from work and what I make from Deliverance."

  "Oh. I'd kind of assumed it was a charitable thing."

  He chuckles. "We don't turn down cases if there's a need. But our services aren't given free. We invest back into the tech. And we compensate ourselves, too. Our time is valuable. For that matter, so is our service. So," he continues, "what's the verdict?"

  "I think you should go for it," I say, then tug him into the bedroom long enough to give him a deliciously sensual kiss before we join the agent on the balcony to tell her the good news.

  Afterward, we walk the short distance to the townhouse, and he steps back as I unlock the door. "You're not coming in?"

  "No," he says. "I'm not."

  I tilt my head, surprised. Then he moves in and stands very close to me as he reaches around to open the door, his arm brushing my shoulder. "Pretend I'm kissing you good night," he whispers, then backs away.

  "Dallas." I hear the plea in my voice. I want him to come in.

  But he just shakes his head and smiles. "Sweet dreams, sister mine. Until tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow," I repeat. And when I go into the townhouse, I'm smiling, too.

  Steak and Potatoes

  Just a normal dinner party, Dallas thought. Just your average, every day evening around the table with the man who may well have masterminded your kidnapping, the sister you're in love with, and the older woman you used to sleep with.

  No doubt about it--as a group, they made one hell of a Norman Rockwell painting.

  "This is why I chose this house," Colin said, indicating both the dinner table and then, with another sweep of his hand, the patio upon which he had grilled their steaks and vegetables. "Entertaining. Family. And perfectly done steaks."

  "Here, here," Jane said. "But don't forget the wine." As if to illustrate the point, she took a long, slow sip of an exceptionally smooth pinot, keeping her eyes on Dallas from over the rim of the glass. Damned if just the look in her eye didn't make him go hard.

  "I could use a refill." Adele pressed her hand on his thigh while she leaned across him to grab the bottle. "Pardon my reach," she said as her sleeve brushed against his.

  He knew she was trying to get a rise out of him, but he had no reaction at all. Not physical, anyway.

  Emotionally, he wanted to tell her to calm the fuck down, because Jane was there. But Jane was sipping her wine and chatting with Colin, and so maybe Dallas was being hyperaware and paranoid.

  Maybe.

  Hell, maybe he was being paranoid about Colin being their jailer. Because how on earth could the man just casually have them over for dinner--how could he have interacted as a friend for the last seventeen years--if he'd put both Dallas and Jane through that kind of torture?

  The man would have to be so fucked up it was almost beyond belief. Dallas, however, knew better than most that some horror stories were real. And that some monsters looked like men.

  For that matter, some monsters looked like women.

  They moved to the patio for port and dessert, and the conversation flowed from the house to their jobs to the weather to travel. It was normal and pleasant and way too surreal.

  And despite everything, he was actually enjoying himself. Which, frankly, added to the strange quality of the evening.

  "You met him?" Colin was asking Jane when Dallas tuned back into the conversation. "Lyle Tarpin?"

  Jane nodded, looking exceptionally pleased with herself.

  "He's the sitcom actor, right?" Dallas asked.

  "I've heard he's looking to do features," Adele said, then laughed when everyone turned her direction. "Well, I do pay some attention to West Coast gossip."

  "Yes to both of you," Jane said. "And the feature he's most interested in is The Price of Ransom."

  "The movie based on your book?" Colin asked. "Sweetie, that's amazing." He pointed his finger at the group in general. "And that boy's a fine actor. I watched two seasons of his show when I dated the woman who played his mother."

  "Did you?" Adele asked. "Dallas was just asking me who you dated between Lisa and me." She leaned toward him, then squeezed his leg as if to underscore the comment.

  Dallas shifted, freeing himself from her touch, and saw that Jane was no longer looking at Colin, but was staring right at him.

  "Mom said that, too." She peered at Dallas. "What was it you said it was for?"

  Dallas frowned, wishing both women had kept quiet. "An ill-advised housewarming gift." He looked at Colin and forced a grin. "Trust me when I say you're glad I realized the stupidity of the idea."

  "A montage of all the women in my life?"

  "Something like that."

  "Well, I can't say I regret any of them." He smiled at Adele, then turned his attention to Jane. "Not even your mother. Lord knows I put her through hell. Divorcing me was probably one of the two best things anyone has ever done for me."

  "And the other?" Jane asked.

  "It hurt, but terminating my rights to you. I'd gotten pull
ed in all the wrong directions. I needed a solid kick, and your mother and Eli provided it. I may not have realized it at the time, but I realize it now. And in the process, you got a good father." He looked from Jane to Dallas. "A good family."

  Jane leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she said, as Dallas's gut twisted. Christ, he didn't want it to be true. He didn't want to learn that Colin was as bad as they suspected. That all this warm fuzzy talk was just a load of bullshit.

  And there was Jane, laughing and talking as if Colin was one of the best men she knew.

  He should tell her the truth about his suspicions. But then her smile wouldn't be so bright, and for every moment from here on out, she'd look at Colin through different eyes.

  How could he take that from her? Destroy that relationship? Twist it so radically?

  He couldn't. Not yet anyway. Not until he was sure.

  For the next hour, he tried to slide back into the groove of the conversation, but he couldn't get his mind off the job. He'd already planted a device in the kitchen and Colin's bedroom--thanks to Colin's offer to give them a tour of the house early on--but he still needed to hit the study. And he needed to tell Colin about Bill's determination to poke into the Sykes kidnapping. Once he'd done that, he and Jane could leave.

  He wanted to get her home. He wanted her in his bed. He wanted to lose himself in her and block out all the memories and all of his fears about Colin. About everything.

  But first things first.

  He leaned back in his chair and then casually turned toward Colin. "By the way, you should probably expect a call from Bill."

  Colin's brows rose, and he looked toward Jane. "Bill Martin? Why?"

  "Yes, why?" Jane put in.

  Dallas kept his eyes on Colin, studying his face as he answered the question. "Because apparently he's learned about the kidnapping. And he's dead set on pursuing an investigation, working with the FBI, Interpol, I'm not really sure."

  "Really." Colin's mouth curved into a frown. "Well, I'm sorry," he said, looking at both Dallas and Jane in turn.

  "Sorry?" Jane asked.

  "That he's going to force you to dig it all up again. Make it harder for you."

  "For the whole family, I'm afraid," Dallas said. "I'm sure he'll want to interview everyone."

  Colin nodded. "Well, I'll cooperate, of course. I want the bastard who did that to you caught and convicted, strung up by his goddamn balls. I just wish you didn't have to rehash it all in order to make that happen." He sighed. "If I could shield you both, believe me, I would."

  "We know," Jane said, her expression soft. "And we appreciate it."

  Adele had been quiet through the conversation, and now she picked up her wine and took a sip before slowly shaking her head. "It sounds like an epic waste to me. Not that I don't agree with the sentiment--whoever kidnapped you needs to be behind bars. But what on earth could they find now?"

  Dallas kept his eyes on her, careful not to look at Colin. "I guess we'll know when Bill tells us." He pushed back from the table and stood. "I didn't mean to put a damper on the conversation. I'm going to the kitchen for some coffee and to clear my head. Back in a few." He started toward the door, but was halted by Adele's hand brushing over his hip, then tugging on his shirt to stop him.

  He frowned down at her as she handed him her coffee cup. "Could you be a darling and bring me a refill when you come back?"

  "Sure." He glanced at Jane and Colin. "Anyone else?"

  With no other takers, he headed into the house, bypassed the bathroom, and headed straight for Colin's study.

  The device was easy to plant, and he adhered it to one of the bookshelves and then quickly left the room. As he did, he almost walked straight into Adele.

  "Get lost?" She took a step closer. "Or were you looking for someplace private because you're upset about Bill? Or maybe you're looking for a way to take your mind off of it?" she added, stepping close and sliding her palm down his arm.

  He shrugged her off. "Stop it." They were done. They had been for a long time.

  She lifted a shoulder. "You're so rigid. Always following the rules."

  "You know better than that. But I'm not breaking any with you. Not now. Not anymore."

  "Fair enough." Her eyes danced with mischief, the small lines at the corner the only indication of her age. "If you weren't looking for a tryst, then what were you doing in the office?"

  "Trying to figure out how he set up that wireless sound system that he told us about. I want to do something like that for my home gym." He started back toward the kitchen.

  "So now you're a handyman, too?" She patted his ass, and he twisted away from her touch. "Just pull out this nice, hefty wallet and pay someone to hook it up for you."

  "I'll take it under advis--Jane." She was in the kitchen, her eyes more or less on his ass, but at the sound of her name, she lifted her gaze to his eyes.

  "I was going to get more coffee after all," she said, "but I think I'm going to call it a night." She looked between the two of them, then back to Dallas. "Are you ready to leave, too? Or can you find another way home?"

  "I'm ready," he said. "Let's go."

  Five minutes later they'd said their goodbyes and were heading to the corner where Dallas had told the driver to meet them.

  "Jane, listen--"

  "You son of a bitch."

  "Excuse me?"

  She stopped dead a few feet from the car and looked up at him. "Do you think I don't know what you've been keeping from me?"

  His entire body turned to ice. Colin. How the hell had she figured out about Colin?

  "Do you think I couldn't see exactly what you were hiding in there?" she continued, before he could respond.

  He was frozen, but somehow he managed to thaw out his tongue enough to say her name. "Jane, please--"

  But she just pressed on.

  "You've slept with her," she blurted. And even as tears spilled down her cheeks, a wash of warm relief swept over him. "You've actually slept with Adele."

  Mrs. Robinson

  "Jane--"

  "No." I hold up my hand, my palm itching to slap him.

  "Dammit, Jane, just listen to me."

  "Honestly, Dallas, I'm really not in the mood." There's a cab moving slowly down the street, and I flag it. "You take the car. Enjoy the drive. Hell, maybe Adele needs a lift."

  I almost regret saying the last when I see the hurt on his face. Then I remember that he hurt me first. I slam the cab door shut and tell the driver to take me to the Upper West Side.

  On the way, my phone rings five times, each call from Dallas.

  I send each one to voicemail. And then, for good measure, I delete the voicemails.

  Jerk.

  I mean, what the hell? He's more than willing to tell me he's slept with a zillion vapid women and yet he never thought to mention that he was fucking my stepmother?

  Granted, she wasn't technically my stepmother, but that little fact didn't lessen the hurt.

  I'm still pissed when I get home and my phone rings again. I'm about to just turn off the damn phone altogether when I realize the call isn't from Dallas but from the guy in LA who's producing the movie.

  "Joel, I'm here."

  "Janie, Janie, sweetheart, Tarpin's over the moon. Loves the material. Loves you. Everyone at the studio's excited about him. He's ready to sign on."

  "Seriously? I was just talking about him and the movie tonight. That's so incredible."

  "Just one little thing. He wants to meet you first."

  "Me?"

  "Since the screenplay's not done, he wants to chat a bit. Make sure he's confident in the direction of the story."

  "And the book's not enough for him?"

  Joel chuckles. "Baby, this is Hollywood. Just meet us at The Ivy at ten tomorrow for breakfast and all will be good."

  I start to tell him that I'm in New York, but what the hell. It's not like I really want to be here at the moment anyway. And if I set up the flight right now, I c
an nap on the plane and still have time to go to my LA house, shower, then change before the meeting.

  "Fine," I say. "I'll see you at ten."

  I hang up and immediately call Brody. "Hey," I say when he answers, "I have to go to LA tonight so I can meet an actor for a breakfast meeting."

  "Tonight? It's already past ten. You'll never get a flight."

  "One of the perks of my family name," I remind him. "Nice, comfy private jet. Anyway, I just wanted you to know because I think I'm going to stay out there awhile and work on the screenplay and the new book."

  There is a very loud pause from his side of the phone line.

  "You want to talk about it?"

  I close my eyes and silently curse. The man really does know me too well. "You know, I really don't."

  "Whatever he did, I'm betting he's not quite the asshole you think he is."

  "Probably not," I admit, "but right now it doesn't feel that way."

  "Well, do me a favor, and don't celebrate your birthday alone. Go out with your LA friends. Drink. Dance. Go to the beach. But don't sit in your house and work. More important, don't sit in your house and mope about Dallas."

  "I won't," I promise, but even as I say the words, I remember the concert. Dallas and I were already planning on flying to LA tomorrow for the Dominion Gate concert and my birthday celebration. Now, it looks like I'm going all on my own.

  And you know what? That's just fine by me.

  At least, that's what I tell myself. And as I toss a few things into a suitcase, I try to convince myself that I actually believe it.

  I don't have much to pack since I have a house out there already stocked with clothes and toiletries. And that's a good thing since I really can't focus and feel like I'm moving through sludge. On the drive to the airport, I try to concentrate on the meeting tomorrow. About questions Tarpin might ask and how I can answer both honestly and in a way that will really entice him to sign on to the project.

  I try, but I don't succeed. Instead, all that goes through my mind is Dallas.

  No--actually, that's not all that goes through my mind. What really goes through my mind is the thought of Dallas and Adele. Talking. Touching. Laughing. Fucking.

  Over and over again like one of those goddamn Nickelodeon movies that just go round and round and round on some endless loop. All through the drive and all through the flight, and even when I try to sleep, they infiltrate my dreams, so jarring that I'm yanked back to wakefulness by the thought of the man I love fucking my pseudo-stepmother.