Ride Rough - Tessa Layne Page 0,64

on the screen.

"I'm more interested in their eyes," Izzie pointed out. "It's been bugging me the whole movie. Who do Trace McBride's eyes remind you of?" Cecilia and Jeanine shared a look of confusion. "I can't believe you don't see it. I can't believe I didn't see it before. I think I've watched every one of Trace McBride's movies at least three times. Look." Izzie jumped off the couch and used her hands to cover up the actor's face, so that only his eyes showed. "Now can you see it?"

Chapter Twenty-Six

Icy fingers raced up Cecilia's spine. "It's just a coincidence, Iz. That's all." But it wasn't. Foreboding settled in her stomach.

Izzie shook her head. "I don't think so. I mean Trace McBride's hair is blond, but those eyes. They could be related."

"You don't think her Trace," Jeanine pointed to Cecilia, "is that Trace?" She pointed to the T.V., mouth curving up. "Wouldn't that be the story of the century? Girl reporter falls for superhero. Oh my gosh, you're like a real-life Lois Lane and Trace is Clark Kent."

Cecilia scoffed, growing more anxious by the second. "Hardly."

Jeanine cocked her head, eying the frozen image critically. "If I squint-"

"Exactly. If you squint. My Trace doesn't look anything like that Trace."

Izzie wrinkled her nose. "I'm not so sure. Wasn't there a big blow-up with Trace McBride last spring? Like he got fired or something? There were politicians involved."

Cecilia rolled her eyes. "I don't know. Last spring I was still working my story." She'd never disclosed the nature of her story to her girlfriends - loose lips sink ships and all that.

"Here it is," exclaimed Jeanine, waving her phone. "Dated April 1st. This isn't an April Fool's McAbs fans." Jeanine pressed the phone against her collarbone, covering a laugh. "Did you know his fans call him McAbs? O.M.G."

"What else does it say?" prodded Izzie, emptying the last of the wine into her glass.

"It seems that our favorite surfer boy and one of Hollywood's most eligible had a little too much fun skinny dipping in the pool the other night with producer Senator Whelan's wife. While PZX is still waiting for confirmation, rumors indicate that McBride has been fired from the set."

Cecilia cringed. "Eww. That is so not my Trace."

"Right? I mean, if you had any doubts about the man, just compare. But on the other hand... look at his eyes." Jeanine expanded the picture. "There's something about his expression... I swear I've seen it in our Trace."

Cecilia's stomach roiled, heart thumping in her throat. "Hold on. I know how we can find out." She bolted up, running out of the living room and taking the stairs by two. She paused at her bedroom door, refusing to look at the sheets still wrinkled from their early morning sexcapade. She looked at the small portrait of the Holy Family that her grandmother had given her before she had departed on her global adventure. "Please don't be true," she muttered over and over as she hurried to her dresser, then fished out a small USB drive from where she'd left it in the jewelry box. Tomorrow she'd be sharing the contents with Marissa using a secure drop service. The frozen frame downstairs had jarred her memory. She covered her mouth, dragging in a breath that was more panicked sob. She swallowed and squared her shoulders. This was just to prove they were all imagining things.

Grabbing her laptop, she rushed back downstairs. Jeanine and Izzy crowded in next to her on the couch as she turned on her computer and plugged in the USB. "Okay, so what you're about to see is confidential. Not like Prairie confidential. Like super confidential."

Jeanine turned sober. "We never saw it."

"Iz?"

She nodded, brows furrowed.

"You'll read about this soon enough, but the story I worked on most of last year had to do with an escort service in Chicago." Izzie's eyebrows shot to her hairline. "I received a tip from a source. And after working the lead for months, I'm pretty sure that the escort service, in addition to keeping a list of extremely high profile clients like Trace McBride and some that I'm sure were involved with the Russian mob, was involved with trafficking. Or at least looked the other way when minors were involved." Even saying it now, made her nauseous. She could never disclose to her friends how close she was to the source - scheduling clients, managing intake... even going on a date for Bonita in a pinch. She'd taken