of adoption, from when my father’s high school sweetheart and second wife, Rita, adopted me. Both certificates had been kept under lock and key my whole life; no one could know my upstanding paps had once been head over heels for a Vegas escort.
“This would be such a lovely story for Page Six, don’t you think? Your father would be known for something besides pissing off Russia.”
“What do you want, Priscilla?”
She’d smiled. “I just want to get into your bed. I think you’d enjoy it.” She shrugged. “If you disagree, I think you will agree that your story is just too salacious, given what’s happened lately. Mother was a prostitute. A prostitute disappears after you fuck her. Sounds kind of creepy-kinky, doesn’t it?”
“Sounds like you know a lot of things that aren’t your fucking business.”
Her eyes widened, and she smiled widely. “Of course it sounds that way to you, silly man…”
I INHALE DEEPLY, returning to the here and now. I hear the sound of fabric swishing on the other side of my bedroom door and step back into my room just in time to greet her.
“Hunter.”
I hate the way she says my name. Like she’s talking to a puppy. Like she owns me, and for a secret I don’t give a shit about, not directly. I’m not overly worried about the blow to my father’s reputation if people find out my biological mother was an escort. It’s other things I need kept quiet—things more likely to come to light if a bunch of reporters start snooping around my family’s past. The kind of things that, if they were revealed, might even make me more likely to be wrongfully convicted in Sarabelle’s disappearance.
Maybe she’s the one who kidnapped Sarabelle—out of jealousy that I chose Sarabelle over her that night they were filming. Until I know for sure she’s not, I’m going to keep this hellish charade rolling.
Priscilla reaches behind her back, and the long, suede robe she’s wearing tonight falls dramatically to the floor, revealing only skin. She’s on me, has me stripped and on my mattress in a matter of minutes. Her hand slides around my cock, and I can’t help but respond. I grit my molars as I harden and throb, forced along by nimble fingers and a warm, damp palm.
“Come for me, Hunter. Come for Mommy.”
I slit my eyes open, and the glare of the bathroom light on her face makes them shut again. I’m having trouble finishing. I squeeze my eyes shut more tightly and picture another face…another pussy—tight and slick, puffy and pink. I’m done in no time.
“What a good man. If you want to keep your mommy happy, we’ll do chains tonight. It’s your night to wear them. I get to hit.”
I shut my eyes again and rub my temples.
“I brought your surprise.”
It’s molly, and I roll my eyes at the little pill. “Never been a fan.”
“I think you’ll like it this time.”
I pretend to take it, we fuck, and when Priscilla leaves, I follow her, thirteen miles to a small brick home with a familiar address. It’s the home of Michael Lockwood, the film assistant who recently quit working for Priscilla. The one who used to work security for Governor Carlson. Drake Carlson—the political heavyweight Priscilla used to fuck.
I park down the street and dial our guy, Dave. “I’ve got a change of plans. You remember Lockwood? Lives on Anderson? I want him followed, night and day. Priscilla Heat, too.”
Chapter 4
Elizabeth
Napa, California
“I ALREADY TOLD you, I’m his sister.” I look the evil nurse right in the eye and lock my jaw, like I mean business, because I do.
“Mr. Carlson doesn’t have a sister,” she says after glancing at her clipboard.
I reach into my worn Coach bag and grab a fifty, shamelessly sliding it across the high-gloss counter. If I had more, I’d offer it all. But the only rehab I could get Mom into this time is seriously pricey, eating up our meager allowance from the DeVille Trust, and my fellowship money only goes so far. If Suri didn’t let me live at Crestwood Place with her for free, I’d never make ends meet.
The nurse raises her right eyebrow and looks from my money to me. I cross my arms in front of my chest. “How many visitors?” I ask.
“Excuse me?”
I meet her pale brown eyes and hold her gaze. “How many visitors has he had since I came Monday?”
Her lipsticked mouth twists, and her eyes flicker down the hardwood hall toward Cross’s spacious,