Chapter 2 #2
Because she couldn’t bring herself to cut all ties to Milo, she followed his sister’s bar’s social media page. God, he’d looked good—well, more like his profile in the background of the picture of his sister, Tasha, had looked good.
He’d changed. His hair was now finger length but still raven black, his body even more ripped.
The bulge of his curling bicep against the sleeve of his shirt was dangerously sexy.
He’d held a glass to his lips while the photographer snapped a picture of Tasha at the pub she owned in the Gaslamp Quarter: The Fainting Goat.
Serena eased down the winding drive and drove toward the city limits. Night had fallen and stars lay hidden from sight amid the rain clouds.
Milo was back in San Diego, where they’d both grown up.
So what? Why did that burn a river of temptation through her?
The last time she’d seen him, he’d stomped on her heart .
. . after kissing her senseless. Why was she pining over a relationship that had died when she was seventeen?
They were done. So done that there weren’t even ashes to resurrect.
After the failed gig in Beverly Hills that Sebastian had set up, she and Dani had cut ties with their uncle and lain low while Serena worked on her realtor’s license.
It was only a matter of time before Milo’s path and hers would cross.
Because that’s what life did for its sick, torturous amusement.
Serena merged onto W University Avenue, and the wipers sped up, making the rain bounce off her windshield at warp speed.
This much rain was so rare in San Diego that she sat a little straighter in her seat.
All it took was a slight change in weather for people to forget how to drive.
She turned down one of the side streets in Hillcrest, and traffic slowed.
He probably hadn’t even looked her up. She’d changed her last name—Serena Smith had a nice ring to it—and her once blonde hair was now a rich brown.
With her history of theft, she’d been hesitant to take on such a public career.
But no one had been looking for her then, and no one would be looking for her now.
Least of all Milo Baxter.
She glanced at the clock on her dash. Just after 7:00 p.m. A hot shower, leftovers, and her couch would help her forget about him.
She used voice dial to call Melanie over Bluetooth.
The phone picked up and Melanie chirped out a greeting.
The constant tick, tick, tick of long fingernails on a keyboard told Serena that Melanie was still at the office.
No surprise there. She pictured her boss—curly red hair piled on her head in a topknot and honey-colored eyes that Serena had never seen unhappy.
“I think I got it.” She let loose a little squeak of excitement. The typing stopped.
“Ah! No way. He signed already?”
She lowered her shoulders and grasped the bottom of the steering wheel. Raindrops spiraled down the windshield in an artistic wave. “Not quite. He said he’d call Sunday, but it sounded good.”
“You rock. My promise still stands. If you land Titus’s contract, the promotion is yours. Before you get too excited, he’s also met with Ryan Des and Angelique Martin—so the pressure is on.”
Serena rubbed the crest of her forehead.
Dammit, she should have known he’d consult Ryan and Angelique.
If it weren’t for Melanie’s name and track record, Serena never would’ve had a shot at a deal this big.
After her partner died in a tragic accident three years ago, Melanie had gone on the hunt to grow her team.
When Serena had shown up at her office with a fresh license and zero experience, she’d taken her under her wing.
“Thanks, Mel. I’ll cross my fingers and keep you posted.”
The euphoric wave Serena had been on evaporated, leaving her with a mound of stress. Oh well. She’d given her consult with Titus everything she had. There was no way she could have performed better. The decision was out of her hands.
She halted at a four-way stop, scanned the intersection, and pulled out. The screech of tires filled the air and headlights blared through her side window. A truck closed in on her. Frost prickled her skin and she jammed her foot on the gas. Her SUV shot forward.
But not quickly enough.
The impact whipped her to the side and glass pelted her cheeks. The airbag fired toward her. She raised her hands to protect her face but the parachute whacked into her skull. A piercing ring reverberated through her eardrums.
No, no, no!
Her pulse spiked. Her hands trembled as she flipped open the console between the two front seats and fished around inside.
It was an accident. It had to have been an accident.
Tremors overtook her body and her teeth chattered against the chilly wind that circled in through the blown-out window. A door slammed. Bile burned the lining of her stomach. Glass crunched outside as footsteps approached.
Slow, steady footsteps. Not hurried, panicked ones. She rummaged through a pile of gas receipts and her pinky brushed against the cool steel of the object she sought. She lifted out the knife and her gaze took in the engraving on the handle.
M.B.
She flicked out the blade, and her breath spiraled in the air between her mouth and the deflating airbag. The screaming urge to run ricocheted through her mind.
You’re being paranoid.
The driver’s side door was yanked open and a gloved hand caught her sweater. Her focus locked on the barrel of a gun—pointed between her eyes. A man stood beyond the weapon, a knitted mask pulled over his face.
“Get the hell out of the car!” he barked. He moved his thumb and cocked the gun. Terror shot through her system.
He’s going to kill me.
She tightened her hand around the knife and thrust the blade toward his neck.
The smooth metal sunk into his skin. Blood gushed out in a giant stream, hitting the inside of her windshield and steering wheel.
A gurgling sound erupted from his throat and he collapsed on top of her.
The gun fell into her footwell. A scream squeaked from her lips as his weight crushed her.
Large, glassy brown eyes locked on hers through the holes in the mask.
She shoved at his shoulders and he crumpled to the ground.
Then she stretched toward the passenger seat, grabbed her bag, and jumped out.
“Get her!” Footsteps slapped against the wet pavement and she turned as three men charged from the SUV. Terror beat its ferocious drum into her skull.
She jumped over the man’s legs, her shoe narrowly missing a pool of his blood as she ran.
Her high heels splashed through puddles.
Water seeped through the unfit footwear and squished in her toes as she darted down the street.
No other footsteps sounded over the roar of traffic from the neighboring street.
Had they stopped following her? She whipped around and her ponytail splayed in front of her eyes.
She smacked it away and surveyed the night as she turned the corner of the next street.
They were gone.
Her lungs ached on every inhale of crisp air that coated her throat. Her overworked legs threatened to slow, but she wouldn’t give in until she was hidden. She dashed around a corner. An alleyway lay ahead, and if she cut through a yard, she could make it back to W University Avenue.
How had they found her? She’d changed her name, no longer ran in the same circle of thieving friends, yet her past had come back to haunt her. She’d been stupid to think someone wouldn’t find her, that they wouldn’t recognize her face on ads.
What do they want? Why kill me now?
The squeal of tires ripped through the air. She turned, and a black SUV rounded the corner, its front bumper crunched in and one headlight shattered. The one still working landed on her with the heat of a laser beam. The vehicle shot toward her.
No!
She skirted down the alleyway and squeezed between an old wooden fence and garage. She pressed her back against the planks. Blood roared against her throat.
The SUV crept down the alley. She pinched her eyes shut as it inched past. She had to get somewhere safe—and fast. She opened her eyes as the taillights passed.
She peeled herself away from her hiding spot and cut through the nearest yard, making her way back to W University Avenue.
She kept her face low and her pace swift as she charged down the still-bustling street.
Although it was still busy, there weren’t enough people to conceal her.
God, she wished she had one of their umbrellas to hide under.
Bang!
She shrieked. Her hands flew to her chest and sought out the source of the noise—a bus releasing air pressure. She fought to bring her heart rate down.
A bus! “Wait!” She ran to the door and pounded on the glass. The driver’s hand froze on the stick shift. He made a face and the door buckled open. She fished into her purse and dropped in enough fare to cover three bus rides.
The driver’s attention was already off her and on the mirror next to him. “Find the nearest seat, please.”
She dropped into the vacant one directly behind him. The vehicle’s fluorescent lights made her wince. She pressed her hands against her thighs and collected one steady breath after another. She couldn’t fall apart. She needed to hide. She dragged her gaze to the lit screen above the driver’s head.
Gaslamp Quarter
Her frigid blood warmed a degree. It was a sign she couldn’t ignore. Milo was the only one who could help her other than Dani. And she sure as hell didn’t want to lead murderers to Dani’s door—she had enough problems.
Milo knew her history. At one point, they’d run in the same crowds. Whoever was after her had to be someone from her past, and Milo could help her put the pieces together. But uncertainty weighed down her limbs. After the way they’d parted at Alban’s, he might not want to see her.