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  Copyright © 2014 by J. A. Huss

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN- 978-1-936413-62-1

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Photo: Ryan Orange

  Cover Model: Steve Boyd

  Edited by: RJ Locksley

  Formatted by E.M. Tippetts Book Designs

  Other Books by J.A. Huss

  Losing Francesca

  Social Media

  Follow

  Like

  Block

  Rook and Ronin

  Tragic

  Manic

  Panic

  Rook and Ronin Spinoffs

  Slack: A Day in the Life of Ford Aston

  Taut: The Ford Book

  Ford: Slack/Taught Bundle

  Bomb: A Day in the Life of Spencer Shrike

  Guns: The Spencer Book

  Dirty, Dark, and Deadly

  Come

  Come Back

  I Am Just Junco

  Clutch

  Fledge

  Flight

  Range

  The Magpie Bridge

  Return

  Chapter One

  #NotTheGirlWithTheWorldsBiggestproblems

  KRISTI AND I drive in silence for almost thirty minutes. We’re going east, I know that much, because the sun is glaring ahead of us and my sunglasses are missing from my little purse. I prop my head on my hand and lean into the window, the air-conditioning blaring into my face, which in combination with the sun forces me to close my eyes.

  What did we do last night? Asher was so convinced that I talked. But I never talk. Why would I say those things to him? I do remember some things, I wasn’t being entirely truthful with him. But he shocked me. How did he find about my parents? How did all these people suddenly figure out who I am?

  OK, Grace. Think hard. Did you tell him things? What happened after you went upstairs?

  I remember the rug. God, I love that rug. And the pink champagne. That was delicious. We did have sex. And it was… my face heats up. It was spectacular, as usual. If there’s one thing Vaughn Asher know, it’s his way around a woman’s body. He knows all the sweet spots.

  Sweets. He called me that all night. I remember that too. He said… I’ll be yours if you’ll be mine.

  And I said…

  Kristi sniffs back a sob and I open my eyes to look over at her. She has not spoken a word since we got on the freeway and right now she’s deep in thought, chewing on her thumbnail.

  I wonder if she’s worried about ruining her manicure for the wedding. She can’t really be thinking of ditching Johnny Blazen. Can she? Is this all my fault? For projecting my insecurities about Vaughn onto her situation? God, I am a horrible person. Because she probably does love that guy and I’m using her right now because she’s helping me escape from Vaughn and the media.

  That whole thing hits me hard and I just close my eyes again and shake my head. All these years I’ve been left alone. No one knew Bebe’s mother was my lawyer during my trial because she practices law under her maiden name. And I don’t know if people just couldn’t stomach my reality, so they blocked it out, or if they just wanted to believe the fairytale ending. That my life went back to normal and I got the happily ever after. Either way, they lost interest in me. And even though it took many years of support from a small group of people who helped me through that time in my life, I did, in fact, recover.

  Time is my friend. The more time between then and now, the better I get. I’m not broken any more. I’m really not.

  “Do you think I’m crazy?” Kristi asks.

  I look over at her again. She’s tapping her fingernail on the steering wheel now, looking like a mess. The car is her wedding present from Johnny. A replacement for the 2008 model she’s been driving in Denver. “I think it’s cold feet, Kristi. I’m a complete fuckup. You should not listen to a damn word I say. I was reeling from that whole pregnancy thing with Vaughn.” Just saying his name is enough to make my heart ache. I don’t say any more and Kristi drops it as well.

  I like the silence.

  She turns the Mercedes into a driveway with one of those rustic entry arches cattle ranches have. Red Desert Resort, the sign hanging from the arch states.

  “What’s this place?” I ask, sitting up a little straighter.

  Kristi looks over at me, her eyes red and teary. “My childhood home.”

  “Oh, you have family here? I didn’t know that. Why didn’t they come to the rehearsal dinner last night?”

  She sucks in a sob and then places a hand over her chest to steady herself. “Because they hate me.”

  I just stare at her, trying to process her words. And I realize I know absolutely nothing about this woman. Aside from her being the almost-future Mrs. Blazen, I’ve not gathered any facts about her. I’m a terrible friend. “Should we go somewhere else?”

  She ignores my question. Or maybe she just can’t answer it right now. Silence is your friend when you’re keeping secrets. So she just keeps driving. The road curves around and then we are at a guard house with a stop gate. Kristi pulls up to the guard and buzzes her window down with one hand while shuffling though a purse resting on the center console with the other. She finds her wallet and flips it open

  “Can I help you, ma’am? The resort is closed right now, we’re not accepting guests.”

  Kristi says nothing to him, just hands him her driver’s license.

  He takes it, studies it, and then looks at Kristi like he’s trying to make a decision. “They’re not here,” he finally says. “They’re on vacation.”

  Kristi straightens her shoulders and tips her chin up, steeling herself to be brave. “I’m not here to see them. Now open the fucking gate.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He retreats back into the guard house. The barrier lifts and our way forward opens up. Kristi buzzes her window up and drives off.

  “What was that all about?” I ask. “You really grew up here?”

  “Yes. My grandparents owned it, then when they died five years ago, the ownership was split up between me, my brother, and my parents.” She looks over at me. “My partial ownership is the only reason I’m allowed to be here right now. I’m what you call the black sheep.”

  I have to admit, that surprises me. Perfect Kristi is the black sheep? “How? Why?”

  She shakes her head. “It’s a long story. I wanted my wedding to be in Vegas on the off-chance my parents would actually show up, but”—she looks over at me—“I guess that was a huge fail, right?”

  I slump back into my seat. Her disappointment fills me up and makes me weary. I’m not the only one with problems. I sometimes forget that fact. This is how I get when I’m Daisy instead of Grace. I start thinking that I own the title of Girl with the World’s Biggest Problems.

  That’s why I changed my name and started a new life. Daisy is a victim. Daisy is weak, and sick, and pathetic. Grace is graceful. Grace is strong, and determined, and brave. I’ve tried so hard to put my past away. Just lock it up and forget about it. Be the new girl. Be Grace.

  But this today… I just don’t know what it might mean. Will I ever be able to go back to being just Grace? Will I have to be Daisy again? Will I be some very fucked-up version of both of them?

  I just don’t know.

  The road winds a little and there are thick patches of juniper and spruce trees, so when we finally round a corner and the resort comes into view, I’m breathless. I drop the pity party and take it all in. “Wow. It’s stunning.” There’s a huge lake, man-made obviously, surrounded by a scattering of bungalows. The main building i
s a Santa Fe-style adobe, with a large terrace filled with empty tables. A café, I realize.

  We pull up to the valet area, but no one comes to take our car. Kristi shuts the engine down and we just sit for a moment. “I knew they would be gone, I guess. What did I expect?” She looks over at me and a tear slips down her cheek. “They close the place down every year at this time so they can travel. So I planned the wedding during vacation and sent the invitation. Hoping, ya know?”

  I nod. Because I get it. I get that desperation, that one last grab for love and acceptance. I had friends and relatives back in my hometown, but half of them thought I was guilty at first. And I can’t live with people who think I could’ve done what I was accused of. The other half kept pestering me for ‘my story’. They wanted me to talk to the media. Get paid for interviews. Write a book about my experience.

  Use me. They wanted to use me. So I pulled back, severed all ties, and boxed that life up and packed it away. And ever since then I’ve had this wall around me. Oh, it’s transparent, people get in, but there’s a limit as to how close. Even Bebe. When I think about it, I’m a little bit ashamed that I never told her everything. I know she’d be there for me. But when you’re safe, why invite the danger in?

  I guess I can relate to Vaughn in that respect. He has his own wall. No authentic relationships. And if I had been honest with him about… well, pretty much anything… then he’d have bounced that question right back to me.

  Because all my relationships are fake too.

  The temperature in the car is rising fast, and the rush of hot wind as Kristi opens her door draws me back to my reality. We’re on the run and now we’re stopped. Decisions have to be made. “So what are we doing here, Kristi? Do you have keys to get in?”

  She’s wringing her hands in her lap with worry. “My brother is here. He was going to come to the wedding, but I called him last night and talked to him for a long time and he…”

  I suddenly have a vision of Vaughn and his sister on her wedding night. How she went to him to confide her fears. How he was afraid of influencing her. “What did he say?” I ask. I need to know. I need to know this so badly because it’s just not fair that I don’t have a big brother to call for help. “What did he tell you?”

  “He told me to come home and he’d make it all better.” And then Kristi looks past me and a sob escapes. I turn to find what’s grabbed her attention, and there he is. Her brother. Standing there in the huge doorway that leads into the lobby.

  He smiles at her and she’s out of the car so fast, running into his arms, I am left confused and feeling out of place. I’m spying on that private moment again. The one where people have actual blood relatives who love them. The one where little sisters get to run to big brothers and get everything they need in a hug. The one I wish for so badly it makes my chest hurt.

  Kristi’s brother embraces her and all those saved-up sobs come pouring out.

  I get out of the car and wander up to them. He is whispering softly to Kristi now, telling her all the things a woman needs to hear after she runs out on her wedding day. And then he notices me for the first time and gives me a smile as well. He’s obviously older—the small lines around his eyes tell me that. And he’s nice-looking. Rugged and rustic. Like he’s lived on a desert ranch his whole life. He’s wearing jeans, not shorts, which, when paired with the boots, makes him look a little bit cowboy. The white t-shirt is now stained with Kristi’s make-up and he notices me staring at it and laughs. “You’re ruining my shirt, Krissy! You didn’t say you were bringing a friend. I’m Jack,” he says, peeling an arm from around Kristi to extend it my way. “Jack Bolton.”

  Bolton. I never even bothered to press her for her last name. I shake his hand out of habit, but then my mouth goes dry and I’m not sure what to say back. I’m a whirling mess of guilt, regret, fear, and sorrow all twisted together right now.

  “This is Grace, Jack. She’s in the same situation as me.”

  I squint my eyes at her. “Not really.” No matter what her secret is, she’s so much better off than me. And maybe that’s selfish to think my problems are more overwhelming. It probably is. But I’d give anything to be running away from a wedding right now instead of the past.

  “The media is after her. And so is Vaughn Asher.”

  “Oh.” Jack Bolton looks me up and down and nods slowly. “Well, that’s quite a combination. Care to elaborate?”

  I hesitate and he takes the hint.

  “Never mind,” he says. “Come on, let’s go inside. Have you eaten?” he asks us as he leads Kristi inside, his protective arm still around her.

  “No,” Kristi answers.

  I follow them, trailing behind like a lost puppy. I haven’t felt this pathetic in years. A decade, in fact.

  They stare at me with suspicion and questions… and blame. Aunt Rachel, who was always my favorite, narrows her eyes at me as I walk past and take a seat in the small living room. I fold my hands in my lap, pressing them together so hard they ache, and stare at them. Not daring to lift my head.

  “What happened, Daisy?” they all ask. It’s like, simultaneous. That demand comes out of their mouths in various forms and tones. But it all leads back to the same thing everyone has been hinting at since I came back.

  What did you do to bring this tragedy upon our family?

  Kristi, Jack, and I travel through the main lobby of the resort, which is decorated Santa Fe-style to match the desert exterior. My eyes are all over Jack Bolton and I am insanely jealous. I haven’t thought about him in a long time, but I had a big brother once. I had a home, too. And parents.

  I’m not talking. I decided that back in the hospital. I’m not talking. I’m not saying one word to these people. The nurses were nice but they started asking me questions that I not only didn’t understand, but scared me to death. Sex, I knew they were asking me about sex. Did he touch me? What does that mean? Of course he touched me. Did I fight him? I don’t understand that one either. Of course I fought him. Did he hurt me? That one I get, but that was after the other two. Maybe if they had started with did he hurt me, I’d have talked…

  I want my mom and dad and brother so badly right now. I should call Bebe and my other parents, but I can’t. I feel like it would be a monumental step backwards to run to them with this grief. After all they did for me—after all the time and effort and, yes, love, they poured into me to make me better—admitting I’m not OK, that I’ve been hiding behind a name, would be a slap in the face.

  Kristi, Jack, and I arrive at the cafe before all those memories begin to surface and then I force myself to come out of the past—out of my nightmare—and try my best to live in my prefabricated fantasy.

  I desperately need that fantasy life. Reality is really not my thing. Because my reality is… my entire family is dead. And now that I think about it, I remember something else Vaughn Asher asked me something last night. Isn’t it better to live?

  But when you are the reason your whole family is dead… then no. No, it’s not better to live. How do I live with the guilt of knowing I’m the reason they were murdered?

  Chapter Two

  #ThingsYouCantUnknow

  “TALK TO me, Ray. How is no one tracking that car? How is the paparazzi not tracking that car?”

  “They gave them the slip on the Strip, V. That crazy football wife bossed her way through traffic and made a turn. Then they just lost them.”

  “Is that a rental car? Did someone get plates?”

  “I don’t think it’s a rental car, it’s got a temporary plate taped to the back window. But the tint is so dark, no one could read them. I put a call into Johnny Blazen, but he hasn’t gotten back to me.”

  Fuck. I scrub a hand down my face and just stand in the middle of my hotel bedroom. “We need to find Grace, Ray. Before the media does. I don’t think they know any more than they are reporting at this point, but Conner said that there’s more to her story and whatever that more is¸ I don’t want Grace to see it o
n TV before we find her.”

  “I understand, boss.” Ray says that in his I’m-here-to-fix-things voice. “No matter who that car belongs to, it has to have GPS and is probably linked to a private security system that can access the location of the vehicle. So I’ll keep trying Blazen and see if we can’t figure out which room is his from hotel sources.”

  “OK, thanks.” I end the call and walk over to the bed and sit down.

  My bare feet can’t help but appreciate the soft sheepskin rug and that makes me smile. Grace brought it in here last night so that the first thing she would feel when she got up to start her day was the soft fur. I lean over and pick up the empty champagne bottle. We did drink a lot of champagne last night.

  Does she really not remember?

  God, that kills me. I mean, I knew we were both pretty drunk by that point, but hell, I had no idea she was that drunk. I’d never do that against her will. That’s just wrong.

  And if she really doesn’t remember, there’s a chance she could remember at any moment. What if something jogs her memory and we’re not together to discuss it?

  Ah, fuck. I grab my hair with both fists. “Fuck! Why does this have to happen now? Of all times?”

  I turn on the TV and flip on the cable news. Midday news is mostly gossip and right now the Bellagio, Grace Kinsella, Vaughn Asher, Johnny Blazen, and Kristi the Fiancée are the only things people are talking about.

  And then the picture of Daisy Bryndle goes up. Grace, age thirteen. The murder scene at her home, a farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere. The missing child reports that went out all over the country as they searched for her. Both as a suspect in the murder of her family and as an abducted child.

  So confused were authorities on how to process the scene in a way that made sense, Grace was even on the FBI’s Most Wanted List. It was removed less than forty-eight hours after issue, but that’s not the point. A thirteen-year-old girl was on the FBI Most Wanted List. But they had to put someone on the list, I guess. They had no suspects other than Grace, even though it was highly unlikely that she would’ve been able to commit these murders alone.