Ride Rough - Tessa Layne Page 0,65

all the precautions - different name, wigs, voice, contacts. At the time, it had felt exciting and dangerous, and a little like she was a real-life Trixie Beldon. Now, it just felt awful, knowing what could have happened.

Her girlfriends gasped, eyes full of disbelief. "Don't worry, I... took precautions. My source never met me face to face, and I used a burner phone for all our contacts. My name might be on the byline, but my source is safe." As safe as she could be working for someone like Bonita. Cecilia still wasn't sure if the young woman who was her primary source had managed to disengage or not. It was too dangerous to find out.

Jeanine pressed her shoulder against Cecilia's. "Wow, you're a modern-day Nellie Bly."

"Here it is." It had taken her a minute to go through the long list of photos she'd named by who was in them. She clicked on a file and a picture of Bonita, Trace McBride, Emerson Scott- a Hollywood mover and shaker connected to McBride, and a young blond girl.

Izzie inhaled sharply. "Holy shit, Ceece. She looks like a kid."

"I know. She never did admit her age. I don't know if she's a minor, but she's definitely not twenty."

"Eww." Izzie wrinkled her nose, then peered at the photo. "I don't know... the Trace in the photo screams California surfer dude. Our Trace... doesn't."

"Doesn't he?" Cecilia challenged, slipping into investigative journalist mode, where she felt honor bound to poke holes in every angle until there were no holes left to poke. "He's only been wearing Wranglers since Lexi Grace's wedding."

"And his truck still has California plates," Jeanine pointed out.

Cecilia tapped a finger to the top of her lip. "Has Weston mentioned anything at all about Trace?"

She shook her head. "Sorry. Weston's a vault."

Cecilia puffed out a breath. "Okay, let's do some playing." Cecilia opened Photoshop and dragged in the picture, cropping out everything but Trace McBride. She started by making his hair brown, then she erased the floppy lock of hair that cut across his forehead. The air became charged. Trying not to let her eyes focus, Cecilia took a stipple brush and slowly filled in along McBride's jawline.

Izzie hissed out a breath. "Oh, no."

It couldn't be. Her eyes were playing tricks on her. She was simply imagining things. She turned to Izzie, whose eyes were wide with shock, then to Jeanine, who looked the same. "There has to be a reasonable explanation," Jeanine said. "Lemme text Weston."

There was no reasonable explanation, her brain screamed as her heart began to shatter in slow motion. All the little incongruences that she'd ignored in favor of her libido fell perfectly into place. The moments when her questions had been met with looks of fear. The one-off comments like news outlets are always looking for the next scoop. Only someone who had a fractious relationship with the press would have that opinion. You're a good writer, Cecilia. I may have only read the first page, but I can tell. Sure, he could tell. How many scripts did he read in a given month? "Weston knows, doesn't he?" Her voice was low and fierce.

Jeanine nodded. "I'm so sorry, hon. He had us all snowed."

"But why?" asked Izzie. "I don't understand."

A bitter laugh exploded from Cecilia. "Because he was undercover. Gathering information for a part in the same way I gathered information for my story. Only we accidentally got caught up in each other's research."

Izzie laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I don't think it changes the way he feels about you though. I mean, he did just buy you a car."

"I agree," Jeanine added. "He looks at you like you walk on air. You can't fake that."

"Does he look at me like that?" she waved toward the T.V. "Because that's damn fine acting."

Regardless of the explanation, Trace Walker was without a doubt Trace McBride, and she'd been an utter fool.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"One more round?" Trace asked, racking the balls. He could get used to this life, the occasional weekends of rodeoing with his friends - and he definitely considered Robbie and Jax to be his friends now - missing Cecilia and looking forward to seeing her again.

Jax poured out the remaining contents of the pitcher between the three pint glasses on the high top next to the pool table. On the other side of the table was a small dance floor where half a dozen couples swayed to the jukebox.

Robbie slapped a twenty on the edge of the