Chapter 4
The Whispering Pines Inn sat on the edge of the Smoky Mountains, its glass and stone facade blending into the forest. After the chaos of the past week—threatening emails, sleepless nights, that horrible video playing on repeat in my mind—it looked like sanctuary.
Angelica went in while I stayed outside, breathing mountain air that tasted nothing like LA smog.
"Two suites, side by side." Angelica handed me a key card. "Doug and Gretchen run this place now. Good people. Discreet."
She drove us around back. We parked near shallow stairs. My designer luggage felt heavier with each step. Exhaustion pulled at every muscle.
Our doors were next to each other. Angelica followed me into my room.
The suite exceeded expectations—a small living area with a fireplace, and through an archway, a king bed that looked like salvation.
"Get some rest." Angelica's voice softened. "Tomorrow I'll show you around town."
"I don't know if I'm ready to meet people."
"Trust me. These aren't Hollywood people. They're real."
The door clicked shut. Silence wrapped around me like a blanket. Then I spotted the bathroom, and more important, the soaking tub.
Twenty minutes later, I sank into water hot enough to turn my skin pink.
Lavender-scented steam rose from bath salts I'd found on the counter.
I'd grabbed Olivia Michaels’ latest romantic suspense from my bag—been trying to finish it for weeks.
Between memorizing lines and the nightmare of that video, reading had become my only escape from watching myself say those horrible things.
Things I'd never said, never even thought.
I opened to my bookmark. The heroine ran through the darkened cabin. The killer chased her down the hall. My fingers pruned between page turns. He raised his gun. She had nowhere to run. My heart pounded. The hero had to save her. Had to—
The bathroom door burst open.
I shrieked. The book flew from my hands and splashed into the tub.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry!" Angelica pressed a hand to her chest. "I knocked but you didn't answer. The connecting door wasn't locked."
I fished my waterlogged book from the bubbles, pages already swelling. "Angie! What the hell?"
"I wanted to make sure you had everything." She bit her lip, fighting a laugh. "Was it good?"
"I was one page from finding out if she survived." I held up the soggy mess. "Now I'll never know."
"I'll buy you another copy." She grabbed a towel. "I worry about you. This whole situation, that video—I know how scared you must be."
My irritation slid away. She'd dropped everything to help me. She arranged this hideaway and hadn't asked for anything in return.
"When did you last get a full night's sleep?"
I tried to remember. The video had arrived six days ago.
Since then, I’d gotten maybe three hours a night.
I kept jolting awake, seeing my face on that video, hearing my voice saying those vile words about my co-star, my friend Marcus.
The way they'd manipulated my mouth, my expressions… It was perfect.
No, it was horrifying.
"It's been a while." I sighed, looking down at the cooling water.
"Then sleep. Real sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll figure out your next steps."
She backed out of the room and this time I heard the sound of the connecting door being closed.
I drained the tub and wrapped myself in the plush robe. The bed welcomed me like an old friend. I didn't bother with pajamas, just crawled under the covers and let exhaustion win.
The pounding started at what felt like dawn.
"Kit! Katherine Lord! Open up!"
I pulled a pillow over my head.
"I have food! Down Home Diner's famous cinnamon rolls!"
My stomach growled. Even though I’d had a fried chicken dinner with mashed potatoes, I was starving.
"Kit, if you don’t answer, I'll use the connecting door again."
I dragged myself up, fumbling for the robe. "I'm coming."
Angelica stood on the front stoop with white paper bags and a coffee carrier. She'd transformed—jeans and a Jasper Creek High sweatshirt replaced her usual designer clothes. With her hair pulled back and no makeup, she looked younger and happier.
"It's ten-thirty." She pushed past me. "You slept eleven hours."
"Still feels early."
"Good thing you're in Tennessee." She unpacked the food onto the small kitchen table. "Cinnamon roll, bacon cheddar scone, country ham with redeye gravy, scrambled eggs, cheesy grits. And coffee. Real coffee."
The smell hit me hard. Butter, cinnamon, bacon, something rich I couldn't identify. My stomach demanded attention.
"Fine. You win." I grabbed the coffee. It could strip paint, nothing like my usual oat milk latte, but exactly what I needed. "This is amazing."
"Little Grandma's recipes. She's something like a hundred and three, still sits at the hostess stand every day."
"For real? When I met her yesterday, she had too much energy to be that old." I remembered the sharp-eyed woman who'd nodded when Angelica introduced me as Kathy, then asked about my work with genuine interest. Yeah, the Kathy, bit hadn’t fooled her at all.
"Maybe a hundred and four. She knows everybody. Co-founded the diner back in the day."
I bit into the ham and almost moaned. The meat was salty, rich, the gravy unlike anything I'd tasted. "What is this?"
"Red-eye gravy. Coffee and ham drippings."
"Coffee in gravy?"
"Don't question. Just enjoy."
We ate in silence. The food was nothing like LA's organic, locally sourced art on a plate. This was real food, made by people who understood that sometimes you needed butter and salt and things that stuck to your ribs.
"I want you to meet my brother today," Angelica said.
I paused mid-chew. "The Navy SEAL?"
"Jase. Injured his leg, had to retire. Now he works at a local company. Onyx Security."
The bite of food turned to ash in my mouth. "I don't think—"
"Jase isn't just people. He's family." She leaned forward. "Kit, whoever made that video has resources. Technical skills. You need real help, not Hollywood fixers."
"He's military. What does he know about deepfakes?"
"The military deals with information warfare constantly. Plus, he has contacts." She grabbed my hand. "When he was fourteen, his parents took him to Brazil to visit orphanages. I was maybe two, trapped in this horrific place."
Her voice dropped. "The older kids were... hurting me. Actually, torturing me. Jase pulled me out of that cage and held me for hours, singing, until Mom could take me home."
"Cage?"
"They kept us in cages. Like animals." Her jaw tightened. "Jase, Renzo, and Malik told my parents they were adopting me. Three teenage boys deciding to save a broken toddler."
The food sat heavy in my stomach. "Angelica..."
"I'm telling you this because Jase doesn't give up on people. Ever." She squeezed my hand. "Remember Eric?"
"Your stalker ex?"
"He never talked to the tabloids. Never sold stories. My brother Bruno showed up, and Eric was moved out by three o’clock that afternoon. The smarmy little douche still won't come near me at industry parties."
"Bruno paid him off?"
"No. That's not their style. Bruno found leverage. Information Eric couldn't afford to have public." She met my eyes. "My brothers protect people. It's what they do."
I thought about the video. It had me talking to someone on the telephone, calling Marcus every racist slur in the book.
This film was a historical piece that demanded we treat everything with the utmost sensitivity, so the filth that came pouring out of my mouth would automatically have me fired.
But what was worse, it would have the whole world thinking I thought that way.
Every time I replayed that video over in my mind, it made me feel physically ill.
Every word had been crafted to destroy not just my career but my soul. Whoever made it understood exactly what would hurt most.
"They're expecting us at noon," Angelica added.
Of course they were.
"Give me twenty minutes to shower."
The drive through town felt different in daylight. The courthouse clock tower presided over the square. Draper's Hardware had customers loading lumber into trucks. Dorothy's Antiques displayed quilts in the window.
Every person we passed waved. Not the desperate, hungry waves of fans recognizing celebrity. Just neighbors acknowledging neighbors. For the first time in a week, my shoulders dropped from their position near my ears.
"This is it." Angelica parked in front of a two-story building. A discreet sign read "Onyx Security."
Before I could prepare myself, we were out of the car and she was pushing open the door. Male voices echoed from inside, laughing and taunting.
"Fifty bucks says you can't do it, Nolan."
"I'm not taking your money, Graham."
"Scared?"
"Of drinking a beer while standing on my head? That's not scary, that's stupid. Get Jase, he’ll do it. Jase does all the stupid things."
I looked over at Angelica. “Are you sure this is a good time?”
“I think this is a perfect time. We’re about to see Jase at his finest.”
She led me upstairs, and then we rounded the corner into chaos. A massive man was balanced in a handstand against the wall while a bearded guy tried to pour beer into his mouth. Most of it ran down the upside-down man’s face, pooling on the floor.
A third man counted. "Seven, eight, nine..."
"Stop pouring it on my face, Graham! Aim for my mouth!"
These were the security experts? These overgrown children?
"Fifteen seconds! Halfway there!"
The counter spotted us. His expression shifted from amusement to alarm. "Oh shit. Jase, your sister—"
Jase crashed to the floor. Beer splashed everywhere. He pushed up on his elbows, still facing away from us. "She's not coming until one."
"You sure about that?" Nolan asked at the same time that Graham bitched about all the beer Jase had splashed all over his shirt.
"How they ever let you be a SEAL, I'll never know," Angelica drawled.
Jase jumped up in one fluid motion despite the beer soaking his face, neck and shirt. "Angel!" He stepped forward with arms wide.
"Get away from me, you beer-soaked disaster. I don’t want you to get beer all over my clothes."
"What? That’s hardly a designer dress."
Angelica tugged at the high school sweatshirt. "You sent this to me when you moved here. It’s my favorite hoodie. I’d trade every last designer dress in my closet for this thing.
I snorted. Her dresses might be expensive, but Angelica always found her everyday clothes at consignment stores and thrift stores. She was a relentless bargain hunter.
He stopped, grinned. "Fair point."
"Miss me?"
"Always. What brings you here?"
"A client." She gestured to me. "Kit Lord, meet my brother Jase. The sensible ones are Graham Wallace and Nolan O'Rourke."
"Ms. Lord." Jase extended his hand. His grip was firm, controlled. "What can we do for you?"
Angelica launched into Portuguese, gesturing between us. I caught my name, 'perigo'—danger—and 'protec?o'—protection.
"English, please." Graham wrung beer from his shirt. "Some of us took French in high school."
"Kit needs help," Angelica said. "Someone's threatening her career. Digital manipulation sophisticated enough to destroy everything."
"Blackmail?" Nolan asked.
"Character assassination." The words scraped my throat. "They created a video of me saying things I never said. Racist things. If I don't walk away from my next role, they'll release it."
Jase's entire demeanor shifted. The goofball who'd been doing handstands vanished. In his place stood someone who'd hunted terrorists, protected convoys, made life-and-death decisions.
"Conference room. Now." He glanced at the beer puddle. "Graham—"
"Leave it for Roan," Nolan said. "He bet me twenty bucks I couldn't get you to do it."
"Let me grab a dry shirt," Graham headed down the hall.
Angie and I followed Jase around a corner. Each step felt heavier than the last. Once I told them everything, there'd be no taking it back. No pretending this nightmare might disappear on its own.
But looking at the set of Jase's shoulders, the way he moved with purpose and control, something in my chest loosened. These men might act like overgrown frat boys, but underneath was steel.
Maybe Angelica was right. Maybe they could help.
God, I hoped so. Because that video was a ticking bomb, and when it exploded, it would take everything I'd built with it. Hell, who was I kidding? It would take the very essence of who I was with it.