imprisoned for the death of his son. His young wife, Una, worked relentlessly to have him exonerated and succeeded, but it took her and the lawyer almost seven years. By then, Charlie had been badly affected by everything that happened to him and others while he was in prison, and he convinced Una to go on a devastating journey to find the man who’d killed their son. Through everything that happened to them, the couple’s bond and faith in each other was unshakeable.
The book didn’t have a happy ending.
I cried when I finished it. Not just because Charlie sacrificed himself for justice (or was it vengeance? It was up to the reader to decide) and left Una on her own, but because the story was chillingly relatable. Moreover, the writing style reminded me of Jamie McKenna’s.
The boy I’d loved.
My phone buzzed in the ass pocket of my jeans, making me jolt, my heart racing a little. Pulling it out, shaking off my memories, I opened a text from Asher.
Hang in there. I’m on my way.
He knew me so well.
I’m hiding in the library, I texted back.
My phone buzzed again.
You’re adorable.
Chuckling, I shook my head and put my phone back in my pocket. Asher didn’t mind the parties and the glamor. He grew up in the Hollywood environment and was far better suited to faking his way through it.
Putting Brent 29 back on the shelf, I ran my fingers along the walnut cases as I studied Patel’s collection. He’d shelved the books by genre, then alphabetically. When I found a bookcase of mixed genres and authors, I frowned. Why was this case unorganized? Reaching up for a book by Stephen King, I flipped it open and grew still at the sight of the scrawl across the title page.
It was signed.
My attention caught on a pristine hardback copy of Brent 29, just a few books along from where the Stephen King book sat.
Putting the Stephen King title back, I reached for Griffin Stone’s instead. Sure enough, the pristine copy was signed. I traced my finger over the autograph, liking the way his G and S stood out in big, attractive loops in comparison to the brutal stiffness of the rest of the letters. I wondered how Patel got a signed copy.
And not for the first time, I wondered what Stone was like.
I felt strangely connected to his book.
I enjoyed his ability to make me care for a deeply flawed character like Charlie and a determined, loyal woman like Una, even though she followed love into chaos.
A shuffling noise behind me drew my attention over my shoulder and—
My heart stopped.
A man stood in the doorway.
There was something incredibly familiar about him.
As his face began to make sense, a cold sweat prickled my body as though I’d stepped into a shower of ice water.
“Jamie?” I breathed.
He glared at me with Jamie McKenna’s face. Older, harder, scruff covering his angular jaw. His hair was a little darker, too, but I’d know that moody brow and those soulful eyes anywhere. The book slipped from my fingers, making a soft thump against the hardwood. I took a step toward him. “Jamie?”
He moved swiftly from the doorway, disappearing down the hall.
No!
Heart pounding so hard all I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears, I hurried after him, hitting my leg on a goddamn coffee table in my rush to keep up. Bursting out of the library, I turned right down the hall, but he was gone.
“No, no, no,” I whispered, frantic, tears burning in my eyes.
I searched the house from top to bottom, all thoughts of Patel’s privacy overshadowed by the blast from the past I’d just seen.
Yet … there was no Jamie.
Stepping into the huge entrance hall where the floating stairs led down to the first floor, I gazed into the crowded sitting room and tried to make sense of what had just happened.
Had I imagined that Jamie McKenna, love of my life, had somehow appeared at a party in the Hollywood Hills? Wasn’t he supposed to be on the East Coast?
Trying to breathe through the panic tightening my chest, my cheeks tingled as everything around me began to feel very far away.
I was having an anxiety attack.
Stumbling toward the staircase, I slumped onto the second step as I let the sensation move through me. It took a while for the chest pressure to alleviate, for the faraway feeling to fade, and for the noise of the party to return. Exhausted, I pressed my hands