Wrapping herself in a fluffy white robe, AnnieLee padded over, unlocked the double locks, and stepped back to let the maid wheel the folding table inside. “Thanks a million,” she said. “You can put that over by the couch, I guess.” She headed back into the bathroom.

  As she stood in front of the mirror, combing through her wet hair, she could hear the wings of the table clicking into place and the sound of water being poured into a glass.

  “Bon appétit,” the woman said. “Au revoir!”

  “Thank you,” AnnieLee called. “And um…au revoir to you, too.”

  They really like their French around here, she thought.

  With her hair brushed and her skin slathered with one of the fancy complimentary lotions, AnnieLee came back out, re-bolted the door, and then walked over to inspect the breakfast spread. Beneath a gorgeous spray of lilies was a bowl of cut fresh fruit, a basket of buttery pastries, and a cappuccino with a fleur-de-lis design in its foam.

  She was too nervous to be hungry, but she took a croissant and made herself eat it as she paced around the luxurious hotel room, going over her set list in her mind. She’d open with “Driven,” and then go into “Dark Night, Bright Future”…

  Knowing that Ruthanna was the true headliner of the show took a tiny bit of the pressure off. But AnnieLee and Ruthanna hadn’t sung together in weeks, and their only rehearsal time before the performance was in less than two hours.

  The story is old

  Has often been told

  Of a rich city boy and a poor country girl

  She sang through their duet—she had the high harmony, and Ruthanna the lower melody—and then she walked out onto the balcony to feel the sun on her face. She could see a turquoise pool glimmering a block away, and beyond that, the tip of the fake Eiffel Tower and the High Roller observation wheel. Somewhere even farther out lay the wide, flat desert—and, nearly two thousand miles beyond that, her little cottage in Nashville, Tennessee.

  As wonderful as her tour had been, she wouldn’t be sorry to get back to normal life, where she could take walks and write new songs and make plans for what would come next. She had an entire album to make, after all. And what if ACD wanted her to do music videos? Or perform on SNL? Or tour with Luke Combs? It was too much to think about now.

  She went into the suite’s bedroom and turned on the TV. Half listening to a young couple trying to decide which McMansion to buy, she finally opened the box that Ruthanna had sent to her room earlier that morning.

  Inside blush-colored tissue paper was a halter-neck Proenza Schouler dress in a black metallic knit, with a fitted bodice and a tiered, ruffled skirt. “Ohhh,” she breathed, lifting the dress to her shoulders and looking in the gilded mirror. It was a far cry from her usual jeans and boots, but tonight was a special occasion, wasn’t it? Certainly Ruthanna would be dressed to the elevens, and it wouldn’t do for AnnieLee to swagger onstage looking as though she’d outfitted herself at the nearest Goodwill.

  You know what I say about “too much”… Ruthanna had written on the front of a little card that had been affixed to the box.

  “What?” AnnieLee said out loud to the empty room, and then she looked inside the card. Out fell five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills.

  I say I never, ever heard of such a thing! Break a leg tonight, kid. And then buy us ten rounds of drinks. Love, Ruthanna

  Grinning, AnnieLee tucked the money into her robe and then reached into the tissue paper again. She pulled out a pair of black six-inch stilettos with sparkling rhinestone heels.

  “Shoot, I probably will break a leg if I wear these,” she said. She dropped the shoes onto the bed and picked up the dress again. She was about to slip off her robe and try it on when she heard a noise that made her freeze.

  A low thud. It had been faint, but close by. Had it come from the TV? From a neighboring room?

  Slowly, she reached for the remote and hit Mute; now the young couple on-screen debated kitchen design in silence.

  The thudding sound came again, and then one more time.

  It was coming from the hallway, AnnieLee realized, sighing with relief. People were walking by and brushing against the wall outside her door.

  She was way too jumpy today—that was for sure. She flopped onto the bed and stared up at the crystal chandelier. You just need to calm down for a minute, she told herself.

  She was counting her slow exhales when out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of movement. A flash of dark clothing, a gleam of metal. She barely had time to form the thought Someone’s here before he was on top of her.

  His legs straddled her midsection, his weight pressed her breathless. And he was holding a gun.

  Her gun.

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  For an instant, fear blinded her. But then she recognized that cruel, hated face. She knew that heavy brow and those hard blue eyes. She could smell him, too, a familiar, bitter smell of sweat and cigarette smoke.

  “You,” he spat, stabbing her in the chest with the muzzle of the gun. “You dumb hick, you thought you could run.”

  “Get off me!” AnnieLee yelled.

  He clapped his hand roughly over her mouth. “Rose,” he said, shaking his head. “Rose.”

  “I don’t know any Rose.” She spoke into his fat, hot fingers.

  “Is that what you say these days?” he hissed.

  She could feel her panic rising, threatening to overwhelm her. “I was never,” she said desperately. “I wasn’t—” Her thoughts raced and her heart hammered against her ribs. She didn’t know what she could say to stop him from hurting her. Her breath was coming in sharp pants.

  “You wasn’t what, you skinny piece of trailer trash?” He sneered at her. “I took care of you—and this is how you repay me.”

  AnnieLee’s eyes were wide above his sweaty palm. She tried to shake her head, but his hand was pressing down hard. She wanted to bite him so he’d take his hand away. But then he’d hit her.

  Or else he’ll just shoot me, she thought.

  As he glared at her, waiting for her answer, she moved her right arm slowly along the bed, her fingers searching blindly in the sheets. If she could only reach…

  “I wasn’t going to say anything,” she pleaded. The press of his hand made her teeth cut into her lips. She could taste her blood and his sweat. “Please,” she whispered. “I won’t tell.”

  “What do you mean? You’re singing about it,” he said.

  She closed her eyes. “It’s just a song,” she whispered.

  He dug the muzzle of the gun into her breastbone. She’d reached her arm as far as it could go.

  Nothing.

  “You belong to me,” he said. “Remember?”

  She reached a millimeter farther, and she could feel…leather. Her finger hooked around a strap.

  “But you can’t be trusted,” she heard him say.

  She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. “You’re right,” she hissed as she grabbed the shoe by the sole and drove the stiletto heel into his eye socket. He hollered in shock and pain, and she bucked her hips up as hard as she could, unbalancing him. Another buck and he was falling off the edge of the bed. AnnieLee scrambled up and flung herself away, landing on her hands and knees. Then she sprinted out of the bedroom.

  Behind her, she heard him crash into something, half blind and raging. She’d hurt him, but it didn’t matter. He was coming.

  As she rounded the corner, she saw that he’d blocked the door with an armchair. She’d never get it out of the way in time, not before he reached her. She screamed in rage and turned toward the living room.

  She ran, nearly colliding with the huge, stupidly luxurious sofa. As she cleared the coffee table, she heard another crash behind her. Up ahead was her only escape.

  A balcony leading to nothing but air.

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  The hot, bright sun flared in her eyes. She could hear music floating skyward from the pool, the bass thudding like a distant heartbeat.

  AnnieLee stumbled and caught herself against the doorframe. There was a crash from behind her as she stepped onto the chaise longue. It tipped under her weight, nearly unbalancing her, but she grabbed the railing and flung her leg over it.

  Her stomach twisted in nauseated fear, and her courage wavered.

  I can’t, she thought. I can’t do it.

  But then she heard him calling for her, and she knew that she had to.

  If she had to die, she was going to do it on her own terms. No way in hell was she going to let that bastard kill her with her own damn gun.

  She was on the railing now, perched like a bird. It was time to fly. Either she’d know all kinds of answers soon—like if there was a heaven, and if her mother was waiting for her—or else she might know nothing ever again.

  She turned her head and saw him coming, the gun hidden behind a pillow, and suddenly she almost laughed out loud. He’d called her a dumb hick, but he thought a pillow actually worked as a silencer?

  But these didn’t seem like proper last thoughts, and last thoughts they probably were. He was only going to fire once, and he was going to make sure it hit.

  There was only one way out. She flung herself into the air.

  Dry wind whipped at her face. She heard people yelling, but her own scream strangled in her throat.

  Regret consumed her, hot as fire. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want—

  She couldn’t take anything back. But she pinwheeled her arms, as if she could slow herself down. Her white robe billowed around her legs.

  Below her was the glass canopy of the hotel entrance, glittering in the sunlight, rushing up toward her. It would be over soon. The fall—and maybe everything. She relaxed every joint, every muscle. She closed her eyes.

  Then she plunged through the awning, shattering it into a thousand sharp and shining pieces. A second later she crashed down onto one of the boxwoods that lined the Aquitaine entrance, and then she spilled onto the golden carpet.

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  She couldn’t feel or see anything. She seemed to exist outside her body, painless and floating. She wondered if she was dead and her brain didn’t know it yet.

  She struggled to open her eyes, and when she finally could, she gasped to see where she was. She was lying on a sagging mattress in a dim, humid room. There was no comforter or pillow, only thin sheets. The air smelled like stale and unwashed bodies. Her body was too heavy and she couldn’t sit up. She turned her head toward the window, where a few rays from a streetlamp shone through the vertical blinds. A thin wisp of cigarette smoke curled toward the ceiling.

  No, she thought. No, no, no.

  She blinked, but the vision didn’t change. Sick as it made her, she knew the truth. She had always been here. Nashville was nothing but a dream—a warm, bright place she had conjured from a hundred dark nights of despair.

  “Maybelle,” she cried, blindly reaching to the side of the bed. If she had her guitar, she wouldn’t be totally alone.

  Then there were strong hands on her shoulders, shaking her, and her eyes opened for real in a room full of light. AnnieLee blinked in wonder. She was not in a dingy motel. She was lying in a hospital room, and a man’s stubbled, handsome face hovered inches from her own.

  “AnnieLee,” he said. “You’re okay, AnnieLee. You were having a bad dream.”

  “Who?” she said. She put her hands up to touch her damp cheeks, but the man gently took them away and held them in his own. Then she knew who he was, and who she was, and everything came back to her in a flood of color and relief.

  “I lived?” she whispered. She clutched at Ethan’s fingers, proving to herself they were real. “Or is this some kind of messed-up heaven?”

  Ethan gave a bark of a laugh—a sound of utter relief. “This is definitely not heaven, AnnieLee.” He glanced over at a steaming Styrofoam cup. “If it was, there’d be a lot of angels and much better coffee.” He grinned. “And you’re so damn ornery, I don’t know if Saint Peter’d let you in.” Then his expression turned serious and his eyes searched her face. “Oh, God, AnnieLee, I thought we’d lost you.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” said a voice. A large nurse in a bright-pink uniform had pushed her way into the room, waving a blood pressure cuff. “I’m going to need access to the patient. We have a little business to take care of.”

  Ethan retreated to the far wall while the woman—her name tag said PATIENCE—checked AnnieLee’s blood pressure and pulse and then shone a flashlight into her eyes. “Looking good,” she said. “You play the lotto?”

  “Never,” AnnieLee said. “Why?”

  “Because I never heard of anyone surviving a four-story fall with barely more than a few scratches. If you got that kind of luck, dear, there’s no reason not to test it out. See if you can get yourself a piece of that three hundred million.”

  “Oh,” AnnieLee said. “Right.” She shifted her legs under the covers, still marveling that she had lived. That this room and everyone in it—herself included—was real. “I’m really okay? I don’t think I can feel my feet.”

  Patience smiled. “You’re pumped pretty full of painkillers right now because you’ve got a sliced-up heel and a gash along your left leg. But if someone asked me what’d happened to you, I’d’ve bet twenty bucks you just fell off a bike.”

  “Luck be a lady tonight,” AnnieLee sang softly. Five heartfelt wishes, and survival hadn’t even been one of them. She was luckier than she’d ever thought possible.

  “Hmm?” Patience said as she wrote something down on AnnieLee’s chart.

  “Nothing. Just a song,” AnnieLee said. “So if I’m not really hurt, when do I get out of here? I’ve got a show I’m supposed to—”

  “Not any time soon, you don’t,” Patience said. “You just lie back and relax. I’ll be back to check on you in another hour.”

  When she left, AnnieLee turned to Ethan. “I can’t stay here,” she said.

  He came back to her bedside. “You don’t have a choice. The concert’s been called off, and the police want to talk to you.”

  Her heart gave a painful kick in her chest. “What for?” she managed.

  “Because you plunged down fifty feet, AnnieLee, and it’s a miracle we didn’t need a spatula to pick you up.” He sighed and glanced out the window and then toward the hall. “Because they think that maybe someone pushed you. Or that maybe you might have done it on purpose.”

  AnnieLee pushed herself up to a sitting position. She could feel her breath coming faster. Suicide? That’s what they thought this was?

  The easiest thing to do—tell the truth—was also the impossible one. Because the story wouldn’t stop with the man in her hotel room, and it was a tale she never wanted told.

  “I fell. I didn’t try to kill myself,” she said. “But even if I did, suicide’s not a crime.”

  Ethan took her hand again. “What were you doing, messing around on the balcony like that?” he asked.

  She turned away from him. “I need you to go to my hotel room,” she said. “Get me my bag and my phone and some clothes.”

  “You can’t go anywhere,” he said.

  “I’m not going to!” she yelled. “I just want my things!”

  Her voice was sharp and cruel. She wanted to tell him that she was sorry, but he was already gone.

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  Ethan stalked into the hallway, angry at AnnieLee and more grateful than he could even fathom that she was alive and unhurt. When he’d come back from the event center and seen her strapped to the gurney, being loaded into the ambulance, he’d almost—

  “Excuse me, Blake!”

  He’d run right into Ruthanna, almost unrecognizable in a brown wig, huge dark glasses, and tennis shoes. “Sorry, boss,” he said reflexively, and then without even knowing he was going to do it, he grabbed her and hugged her hard against his chest. He felt her arms tighten around his waist after a second’s hesitation. “AnnieLee’s fine,” he said, shaking his head at the wonder of it. “She’s absolutely fine.”

  Ruthanna pulled away from him and fluffed her wig in agitation. “Thank God,” she said. “I’ve run a nonstop prayer since I heard. Poor Jesus must be up there going, ‘Will someone please shut that woman up?’” She laughed nervously, twisting her pink-nailed hands in front of her. “She’s really going to be okay?”

  “Yes. But she has to stay here for a little while.”

  Ruthanna’s expression grew grim. “Jack called. He said it’s all over the Internet already. ‘Woman falling from Vegas luxury hotel looks suspiciously like rising country star AnnieLee Keyes.’ Eileen is doing her best to calm the rumors, but these people are vultures, Ethan.”

  But Ethan was distracted by the policeman now entering AnnieLee’s room. The man left the door open, and so Ethan could hear him introduce himself as Officer Gates. He looks like he’s been out of the academy for all of five minutes, Ethan thought.

  Officer Gates took out a notepad and asked AnnieLee to tell him what happened at the Aquitaine Hotel.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” AnnieLee said, the fire still in her voice. “I fell off the balcony. I should sue the hotel for it!”

  Gates gave a tiny, noncommittal nod. “Can you talk about what exactly you were doing on the balcony? And how you…fell? The railing’s nearly four feet high, Ms. Keyes, and you’re not particularly tall.”

  AnnieLee crossed her thin arms. “I don’t see why you need to bring my height into it, Officer Gates.”

  “Ma’am—”

  “And I am sure as shit not a ma’am.”

  “I apologize,” Gates said as Ethan rolled his eyes in the hallway. They must not really think AnnieLee was a danger to herself, he thought, or else they would’ve sent someone who knew what he was doing.

  “I went out there to get fresh air. To take in the view. I don’t know what I was thinking. I mean, I used to climb all over everything when I was a kid. I was never afraid of heights. I could balance like that guy—what’s his name? The one who walked the high wire between the Twin Towers.”