Chapter 52
Ava
It’s almost surreal, seeing Pierce Maddox chained to a police interrogation table through the two-way glass.
It looks like a film set.
Except it isn’t.
I know, because every time the officer asks him a question, Pierce collapses into hysterics.
When he’s not threatening the man’s job, that is.
Harrison and I have been watching for half an hour now, standing side by side.
He hasn’t stopped holding me.
And I haven’t stopped wanting him to.
“How did you know where I was?” I ask.
He swallows the lump in his throat. “Gabe and I might’ve put an enhanced tracker on your phone. You know…” He shrugs a shoulder. “Just in case.”
Now it clicks. The upgrade he casually mentioned.
Harrison Evans has been watching me all along, keeping tabs from the other side of the country.
So why has he been avoiding me for weeks?
I shake my head, teasing to cover the flutter in my chest. “If you wanted to know where I was, you could’ve called.”
His chest rises, then falls, as he lets out a shaky breath. He’s nervous.
“If I talked to you,” he says, low, “you might’ve asked for a divorce.” He hesitates, those piercing blue eyes locking on mine. “And I would’ve had to give it to you.”
My pulse stutters.
It’s been weeks.
And my lumberjack doesn’t want a divorce.
I’m two seconds from kissing him when the door opens.
“We appreciate you coming down, Miss Alvarez.”
The officer isn’t in uniform. He’s in a suit. Plainclothes.
The kind I used to play early on, back when my credits read Plainclothes Cop #2 and no one bothered to learn my name.
He runs a hand over his salt-and-pepper hair. “He said he’d only talk to you.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Harrison murmurs, his frown cutting deep.
When he gives me that look, the one that asks are you sure without saying a word, I lean up and kiss his lips.
“It’ll be fine.” I nod toward the two-way mirror. “Nothing’s going to happen to me in there. Not with a big, brawny lumberjack watching.”
His jaw tightens. “A lumberjack that will pound that man into oblivion if he so much as breathes wrong.”
He takes both my hands, his thumbs brushing over the silly little ring still warm on my finger. His is still on, too.
I’m pretty sure, short of dynamite, they’re not coming off.
“Remember the questions?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes.”
I might’ve gotten the church wrong, but I can definitely remember a few lines to put Pierce Maddox behind bars.
His mouth twitches. Just barely.
“Then make that asshole squirm. I’ll be right here.” He kisses me again, and it feels like we’re making up for lost time. Like we’re stealing it back.
When we finally come up for air, he glares over my shoulder at Pierce. “If that fucker tries anything—”
“He’s handcuffed to a table and has been sobbing for the past half hour,” I say dryly. “I don’t think he’s going to try anything.”
That doesn’t stop the look on Harrison’s face.
I take a steady breath as the door opens, and I’m ushered out of the room and straight into the other one.
For years, I’ve battled demons and nightmares and enough fear to fill Dodger Stadium.
But for the first time, the fear isn’t sitting right under my skin, waiting to claw its way out.
Not with Harrison watching me like a hawk. I know nothing is going to happen.
I’m safe.
I take a long, hard look at Hollywood’s pretty boy.
I worked with this moron for years. Knew him too well. The same man who once nearly had an aneurysm over a hangnail.
I hate that he ever had me trembling in my boots.
But more than that, I hate that he made me miss my call with the kids.
So, it’s fucking on.
I pull out the chair. It scrapes horribly against the concrete floor.
I don’t rush it. I let the sound drag.
Pierce jerks his head up. “Ava. Oh, thank God. You have got to get me out of here.”
Wow.
Someone’s delusional.
I sit slowly, then drum my fingers against the table, having not quite decided yet if I’m leaning into good cop or bad. “Why don’t you explain the notes?”
He scoffs, already irritated, like I’ve asked him to explain basic math. “They’re love notes. Jesus, what’s wrong with you? Can’t you take a little romance?”
“A little romance?” I tilt my head. “Do you think stalking is romantic?”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Ava. Who said anything about stalking?” He huffs. “I was trying to show you I can be just as romantic as your big, dumb lumberjack.”
He throws his hands up. Or tries to.
The cuffs snap him back short.
“Gah!” he yelps.
Is it wrong how much I enjoy that he did that to himself?
He glares at me, breath coming faster now. “Sending love notes isn’t a crime,” he shouts, his voice ricocheting off the concrete walls.
I flick my gaze to the two-way mirror. A reminder. Not for him. For me.
I have questions for Pierce Maddox. Harrison spent the last three weeks pulling at threads that went nowhere.
And Pierce is the only one with answers.
“When did you put the notes in my luggage?”
His mouth twists, disgusted. “I don’t do manual labor, Ava. You know that.” He sneers. “Someone else did it for me.”
I lean in. “Who?”
His lips crimp together hard. “I’m not saying a word. You can’t make me.”
“Fine.”
I tip forward and let bad cop off the leash. I slam both fists onto the table. The sound cracks sharp in the small room.
“I have your mug shot,” I tell him calmly. “Blinking weird. No guyliner. You talk, or it hits Page Six.”
He breaks, gasping for words. “Mother said it was the perfect plan.”
“Excuse me. Mother?”
He starts talking, and somewhere in my chest, something cold clicks into place. I realize this confession is going to detonate Hollywood.
It’s also going to end my career.
He shrugs. Actually shrugs. Like he’s confessing to borrowing a sweater. “Ms. Almyra Crowne is my mother.”
What. The. Fuck.
My manager is his mother?
No wonder she kept shoving me toward him. She wasn’t elevating me.
She was elevating this jerk.
“She said it was the perfect plan,” he continues, sounding almost proud. “When you didn’t respond to my romantic gestures—”
“I believe you mean the creepy-as-fuck love notes,” I cut in.
His jaw tightens. “You gave me no choice, Ava. I needed help, so I went to her. She said it was all taken care of. She’d make sure you’d be at a church.” He points to me. “You’d be there.” He points to himself. “I’d be there, and…”
Oh. My. God.
I swallow hard. “We were supposed to get married?”
He waggles his brows. “Yes.”
I stare at him, stunned. “Fake it till you make it? That was your plan?”
He sits up, beaming. “And then you’d have to love me.”
“Right,” I say flatly. “Because that’s how love works.”
“But then you ruined it. Like you always do. You showed up early.”
It hits me all at once. A full-body shockwave.
“So,” I say, clapping my hands once. “I did get the address right.”
I flick my gaze to the glass. Harrison, are you hearing this?
I turn back to Pierce. “It was almost the perfect plan. The priest. The paps.” I do a full-body shiver, imagining the headlines.
“Duh.”
My hands start to shake. Not from fear. Oh, no. More like barely contained rage.
He and Mommy Dearest would’ve had me under their thumb. Forever. And knowing the two of them, my life would’ve been a living hell. Movie contracts. Appearances. An unholy number of scenes and poses where I’d have to kiss him.
Bleh.
He’d never agree to a divorce.
I’d be Mrs. Prick Maddox until the end of goddamn time.
I crack my neck. A trick Connor and Ollie taught me when they’re about to go toe-to-toe, pro wrestling style.
Then I circle back to question number one.
“Who put the notes in my suitcase, Pierce?”
He jerks his face to the side, jaw clenched. Like he’s done talking.
I lean in, lowering my voice. “Do you know what they do to men who wax their balls in prison?”
He breaks instantly. “Okay. Okay.” His voice wobbles. “My sister helped with the notes.”
I go still. “You have a sister?”
Because up until this exact moment, I thought he was an only child.
“Technically, she’s my annoying half sister,” he says, like that clears everything up. “You know.”
I stare at him. Blank. “No. I don’t know. Who’s your sister?”
He blows out a long, exhausted breath.
And my close-knit world caves in.
“Kali,” he says. “Your PA.”