“Yeah. Sure. I get it.” I toss my perky smile at him, as if I don’t have a care in the world.

  He sighs. “I’m not going to change my mind, El. I know you’re disappointed.”

  My shoulders sag. “Well, duh, Roger. Of course I am. I’ve been doing small stories for this entire semester. Last semester too. This was a chance at something big. Something real.”

  He nods. “I know, but I stand by my decision. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t certain you’d want the story anyway.”

  I shake my head in confusion. “Why is that?”

  “Because of Laguna Cortez. From the first day we met, you’ve told me that you left your hometown behind, and good riddance. I never asked why, Ellie. I assumed it was because you’d lost all your family. But I knew there was pain. So I didn’t feel too guilty about not offering you this story. Not when it could dredge up those memories.”

  His words hang on me for the rest of the day, and the truth is he’s right. I tell my best friend, Brandy Bradshaw, as much when I talk to her a few hours later. I’ve got my head phones in and am sitting in the park with a cup of coffee while she’s in her living room back in California.

  “I think he’s right,” Brandy says. “You won’t even come back to visit. Do you really want to write a story about Laguna Cortez?”

  “I suppose not. But I found out more about what happened. Corbin really did scoop me, the prick. Roger was all set to assign me the story and Corbin mealy-mouthed his way into it.And I’m sure that the way he pitched himself to Roger put me down. Like I’m too young or incompetent. Or that I’m too weak to cover the story.”

  “You’re not, and Roger knows it. And it makes sense that they wouldn’t want to send an intern to interview someone like Devlin Saint. The man could buy and sell the entire world.”

  She’s right of course.

  “—doing something about that grungy, old vacant lot.”

  I realize that I’ve missed the beginning of her thought. “Sorry, my mind was wandering. What did you say?”

  “You know. That yucky, old vacant lot on Pacific Coast Highway. The one that most people just use as a parking lot for the beach now.”

  I sit up straighter. “What about it?”

  “There was that ownership dispute about it for a while, but I guess Saint got that worked out. The one near the tide pools.”

  “I know the one you mean.” I hear how sharp my voice is and try to rein it in. “What about it?”

  “They announced recently that it had been sold. I just looked online, and sure enough, Saint’s the one who bought it. That’s where his foundation is going.”

  My entire chest seems to constrict. “Oh.” And in that moment, I know that Corbin-the-prick possibly did me a favor. Because I don’t want to cover that story.

  Corbin’s still a backstabbing asshole, of course, but this time it worked out for the best. I don’t want to go near this man, this Saint who is nothing of the sort.

  How dare he swoop in and destroy my memories? That lot was my place. Mine and Alex’s. And he’s just going to raze it? To build on top of it? To erase it from existence?

  I force myself to take a deep breath. I know I’m being ridiculous. After all, Alex is the one who hurt me, and Devlin Saint is no one to me. It’s just a vacant lot, and it really is an eyesore.

  But I can’t help the way I feel, and right now it feels like Devlin Saint is stealing my memories.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I try to focus on the article I was assigned for The Spall’s website, but, of course, I can’t. I keep thinking about Laguna Cortez. I keep hearing Brandy’s voice in my head asking me when I’m going to come back, even if just for a visit. And the answer screams through me, reverberating in my soul—never.

  My thoughts drift to Alex, and I know that if I were to go back, my time there would be filled with pain. Laguna Cortez was our place, full of our memories, and he destroyed all of that when he walked away from me.

  Now, that beautiful town is as dark to me as if it were a burnt out shell.

  I know I should be stronger than that. I know that I shouldn’t let the fact that he’s the ultimate prick of the universe keep me away from the place I grew up. But it’s not just him. Laguna Cortez was nothing but pain to me. Pain that I survived only because of my friends.

  My mother’s death. My father’s murder. The assassination of my Uncle Peter with a bullet to the head. Laguna Cortez is not a place I want to stay. It’s not a place I want be. I miss Brandy so much, but that’s not reason enough to go back.

  On the contrary, what I want is to erase thoughts of my former hometown from my mind, but I can’t. Devlin Saint and his foundation have brought them back. The man may be nothing to me, but the fact that he picked the spot that I shared with Alex to build his foundation cuts me to the core. I can’t get Laguna Cortez or Alex out of my head.

  But I also can’t seem to shake thoughts of Saint—this man who has so inadvertently brought the ghost of my past back to haunt me.

  Since I can’t focus on my article, I decide to go out. I’m not thinking about where I’ll go exactly, but I know that I’ll end up at a dance club, my blood buzzing with alcohol. That’s what I do. I flirt with danger.

  I drive fast. I fuck hard, and I make bad choices. It’s not like I’m a mystery to myself. I even know why. It’s because of all the death that’s surrounded me. It’s because I don’t understand how it is that I survived when my family is dead.

  It’s guilt. And now I tempt fate at least a little bit every single day.

  Right now, I’m in the mood to tempt her a lot.

  I put on tight jeans and a skimpy top, then slip my feet into my favorite pair of Jimmy Choo. I can’t dance for long in the four-inch heels, but this night won’t be about staying vertical.

  I hail a taxi at the corner, fully intending to give the driver directions to my favorite dance club with the kind of loud, pounding music that entirely prohibits thinking. Instead, I tell him to take me to the Stark Century Hotel.

  What the hell did I do that for?

  I almost tell him never mind when he pulls up in front and the valet opens my door. But I climb out. I came here for a reason, after all, even if I’m not sure what that reason is. It’s not to harass Corbin as he tries to write the article, that much I’m sure of. His appointment with Saint isn’t until tomorrow at the press event scheduled to immediately precede the benefit.

  Bottom line, I don’t know why I came, but since I’m here, I may as well see what my psyche is thinking. I pay the driver and get out of the cab, then walk past the doorman and into the lobby. The hotel is magnificently appointed, a perfect mix of ornate and comfortable. Somehow, it manages to be both high-end and welcoming.

  I feel completely out of place in my girl-goes-clubbing outfit, but I hold my head up and am relieved when none of the staff gives me the evil eye. Since I didn’t have a specific purpose in mind for coming here, I go where I’m most comfortable—the lobby bar. I find a seat where I can have a drink as I watch the faces of the people coming in and out of the hotel.

  Is that why I came here? Because I want to see Saint?

  Maybe, but it’s not like it’s a sure shot that I’ll see him here. And it’s not as if I’m a celebrity chaser who’s desperate to see the man. Honestly, the whole thing is ridiculous, and after twenty minutes, I’m both a little buzzed and frustrated with myself.

  I finish my drink, then tell myself that I’m leaving. Since I don’t know why I came in the first place, I may as well get out of here. Go to a club, finish what I started.

  Decided, I leave cash on the bar and slide out of my chair. That’s when I see him. Saint. He’s walking across the lobby, moving from the elevator banks toward the front door. Just looking at him is like a sensual punch, as vibrant as I’ve ever felt. As intense as the sexual and emotional kick I’d experienced the first time I saw Alex.

  My reaction disturbs me. Hell, it angers me. Alex left, and I’m still healing. The last thing I want is some other man affecting me the same way. Not now. Not ever again. I’m in control now. That wild, desperate longing is for women who are weak. Who get hurt. Who don’t know any better.

  But I know better now. I have Alex to thank for that lesson. Arousal, sure. I’ve felt that. Hell, I seek it out. But an attachment? A need? True desire?

  No fucking way.

  Not even with all the men I’ve let fuck me in dark alleys or finger me in shadowy corners of clubs. That’s not desire. It’s warfare. Attacking my own self, my own fears, my own doubts.

  I don’t want to be someone who falls hard for a man. I don’t want that lack of control. I don’t want to surrender. And yet this sharp and brilliant attraction to Saint makes me feel like I’m surrendering all over again, even though he doesn’t have a reason to know that I’m alive, and I will surely never actually speak to him, much less touch him.

  I tell myself to simply walk away, but I can’t seem to wrench my eyes from him. I tell myself it’s nothing more than animal hunger. After all, the guy is damned good looking. That sexy scar. The perfect poise that makes him seem so confident and sure. What woman wouldn’t notice him?

  But I know he won’t notice me. After all, why would he?

  Then I see the woman who has just stepped into the lobby. She’s hurrying toward him wearing a silky dress that clings to her curves. She has blonde hair that brushes her shoulders and she’s moving like an arrow toward him. He greets her, kisses her lightly on the cheek, and she hooks her arm through his. As she does, she turns enough that I see her face, and I feel the ultimate kick in the gut.

  Carrie Bartlett.

  All through high school, she said I wasn’t in her league. Now I have to wonder if maybe she wasn’t right after all.

  Carrie was in the house the night I met Alex. It was my 16th birthday, and Uncle Peter had set me and my friends up in the media room so that we could spend the evening watching movies and eating junk food.

  I met Alex when I’d gone downstairs to ask Uncle Peter to order us pizza, and that moment is one that will be marked on my soul forever.

  Carrie met him that night, too. He’d brought the pizzas upstairs to the media room, then stayed to watch the movie. He’d claimed the seat beside me, and I’d noticed Carrie watching us with interest. Enough interest, in fact that she asked me about it later that week when we ran into each other in a store on Pacific Avenue.

  “He works as your uncle’s assistant?”

  I told her that he did, explaining that Alex was taking time before college to work.

  “He’s super cute,” she’d said. “Don’t you think?”

  I did. And more than that, too. I’d never reacted as viscerally to a guy as I had to Alex Leto. But while Carrie and I were friends, she wasn’t like Brandy. She wasn’t my bestie. To be honest, the only close friend I had was Brandy. Carrie operated on the fringes. She was in enough my classes to be a friendly acquaintance, but she also hung out with the mean girl crowd. Which meant that you never quite knew if you were talking to the friend who would laugh with you or if you were talking to the girl who would sneer at you behind your back for wearing last year’s fashion.

  “So is he dating anybody?”

  I told her that I didn’t know, though of course I did. He wasn’t. And I was glad of it. Not that I expected anything to happen between Alex and me. At least, I didn’t expect it then. As far as I was concerned, whatever there was between Alex and me was a one-sided crush.

  Over time, of course, I realized it was more than that—for both of us. I also realized, as the weeks drifted on, how much time I was spending with Alex out in the real world. Carrie noticed it too, though I don’t think that anyone else paid much attention.

  “Do you really think that he’s interested in you?” she asked me one day. “It’s not going to happen, Ellie.”

  I remember the spark of anger that had shot up my spine. “What? Do you think he’s going to fall for you?”

  She made a little humming noise. “I’m not saying he would or he wouldn’t. I’m just saying that you and me aren’t in the same league.”

  That was true enough. With her blond hair and blue eyes and curvy figure, Carrie was stunning. The kind of girl who could have made a living as a model, and she knew it. She always had a swarm of guys falling all over her, and I think it galled her a bit that Alex wasn’t among them. Not that she didn’t try. She did. At least four times that I know of.

  I know, because Alex told me.

  Nothing happened between them, of course. Alex and I were destined from the first moment we laid eyes on each other. I realize that now. Hell, I’d realized it back then. I even felt it on that very first day, though I hadn’t let myself believe it.

  Still, Carrie’s observation had been a warning to both of us, and we made it a point to be careful whenever we might be seen together.

  And even though we had to see each other in secret, I knew that I’d won a victory over Carrie, and it had made me smug. I had the guy that she coveted. The boy who got away from her was mine.

  In the end, though, none of that mattered. Because it was Alex who screwed me over, and it was my heart, not Carrie’s, that was broken.

  Which makes me wonder if I actually won anything at all.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Before entering graduate school, I’d worked as a cop. It had been the natural choice. My father had been a cop, after all, but I don’t think that’s really what pushed me that direction. Not my blood, but my entire life.

  If I’d had a different life, I would have been a different person. But I suppose the same holds true for everyone.

  With me, there’d been horror and death and a world that simply wasn’t fair. Not to the mind of the young girl I used to be. Not to the mind of the woman who had quit high school and pursued a GED. Not even to the woman I am now.

  And so I’d sought out a job that expected me to go to the edge. To inch up against that cliff and look down into the darkness. I’d spread my arms and welcomed the shadows, and in doing so, I proved that I was alive.

  But I was also alone.

  Part of me needed to face death even as I longed for life—I know that now. And joining the force—well, maybe that wasn’t the right reason for chasing a law enforcement career, but I know that it was inevitable.

  I don’t regret my time in uniform. Hell, that’s how I met one of my best friends, Lamar Gage. He’s still a cop. A detective, in fact. But I gave it up. I told myself it wasn’t the job for me. That was true, yes, but deep down, I knew it was dangerous. Anyone looking at me would think I was dedicated and fearless. But I took risks, and I rode that high of danger.

  Now I’m studying to be a journalist. A different kind of danger, and one with much less risk of having someone shove a gun in my chest.

  But there’s less of a rush, too.

  I still crave that high though, and since I’m not out chasing criminals, I started to seek out a different kind of danger. The kind that comes wrapped in pleasure. That derives from being in charge, but knowing that the power could be ripped away from me in an instant.

  Sex is its own kind of danger, its own kind of thrill. A release? Hell, yes. On so many levels. And I’ve climbed to every one. It’s addictive. Thrilling. And, yes, dangerous. Choose the wrong guy, and maybe I will be joining my parents and my uncle.

  I tell myself I don’t want that—that I only want the rush that comes from playing the game.

  But sometimes, on dark lonely nights, I don’t know for sure. I feel the guilt of life weighing on me, but given the choice, would I actually leave this world?

  No.

  The answer screams inside me, but I don’t know if I trust it.

  I want to—I don’t want to be that far gone.

  But I don’t know.

  I just don’t know.

  I’m not going to find the answer tonight, though. Right now, I just want the release. Seeing Carrie—hell, seeing Saint—has twisted me up inside.

  Something about the way he moves. It reminds me of Alex, and I can’t simply go home. Instead, as soon as I’m outside the hotel, I have the valet call me a cab. I hit a few bars first, and after I’m nicely buzzed, I end up at The Eddy, an underground dance club with loud music, a seedy clientele, cheap liquor, and lots of dark corners.

  I’m on the hunt, my skin practically vibrating with the need to take the edge off. I’m not looking for a guy so much as I’m looking to be found. I want edgy and rough. I want to push the envelope.

  Mostly, I want someone who can fuck the memory of Alex—and, yeah, Devlin Saint—right out of my head.

  And then I see him. The guy with reddish hair that hangs into his eyes. Tight jeans and a white button down. Honestly, he looks more like a CPA than someone who’d frequent a club like this.

  I almost walk past him, then halt when he calls out to me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  I glance back over my shoulder, then make a point of slowly looking him up and down. I backtrack to him. He’s at least six feet tall, which means I have to look up at him. I do, meeting his eyes as I slide my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. “I’m going inside. What’s the matter? Won’t they let you in? Can’t wrangle your way onto the list?”

  “Really not a problem.” He has a cigarette in one hand and now he takes a long drag before tossing it away. “They won’t keep me out. But that’s not where you want to be.”

  “No? So where do I want to be?”

  “With me,” he says “I’m Max. You’re Elsa.”

  My heart pounds in my chest. I haven’t said my name to the bouncer tonight. That means he’s seen me around. He’s been watching me. Which means that this guy just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

  I consider playing it cool, but what’s the point. Soon enough, he’s steering me back toward the street. Not to his place, he assures me. He’s taking me to another club.