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“Hey.” The word emerged like a long, breathy slur.

  “Hey, what? Who is this?”

  “Come on, Jackson. It’s me. Your bro.”

  Jake. His jaw solidified into a granite block.

  Blaire stroked his cock, momentarily teasing him out of his sudden mood shift. He looked at her and grinned.

  “You’re wicked,” he mouthed.

  She laughed.

  “Can you spot me a few? I’m a little short for rent, bro,” Jake said.

  Jackson rocked into Blaire’s hand, barely hearing his brother.

  “Are you there?” Jake said. “Jackson? I’m short for rent.”

  “Fuck,” Jackson said, dragging his attention away from Blaire. “You’re high is what you are.”

  Blaire’s lips formed a thin gash indicating her disapproval. She tugged up her bra straps.

  “One sec,” Jackson mouthed to her, holding up his finger.

  “I’ll pay you back in a week, I promise,” Jake said, sounding ten-thousand miles away in some distant dimension.

  “Yeah, you said that last time and the time before that, and the time before that, Jake. We’re a little tight this month.” Jackson raked his free hand along his face. “Where were you today?”

  “What?”

  “What I said. Where were you?”

  “Why do you need to know?” Jake said, his voice taking on a jittery tone.

  “I just do. Two kids are dead today from a fire.” Jackson’s teeth ground together.

  “Why the fuck do you think I had anything to do with it?” Jake said, a little too defensively.

  “Where were you today?”

  “Hanging with friends, I don’t know.”

  “Was one of the friends Jovantay Macavelli?”

  A heartbeat of a pause met his ears before Jake said, “No. I said I was with friends, all right? Macavelli and I don’t hang out.”

  Jackson wanted to reach through the phone and strangle his brother. He’s lying.

  Blaire scooted from the table and stepped around him.

  He reached for her shoulder.

  She wriggled away.

  “Look, I’ve got to go,” he said, and then disconnected the mobile phone. He set it to silent and turned to Blaire. “Now, where were we?”

  “I can’t remember. Total buzzkill alert, Jackson.” She folded her arms over her chest.

  “I know, I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for her.

  She shrugged free of his embrace. “Stop. I’m so over your mooching brother and his constant cycle of drama I can hardly stand it.”

  “I said ‘we’re tight right now,’ didn’t I?” Jackson felt like the ground underneath his feet dissolved into quicksand.

  “It doesn’t matter what you say. I’m sure in his mind, Jake thinks he’s going to get the money.” Her hands went to her hips. “Look. I know he’s your brother, but he’s a leech, a loser, and an addict. He can’t be trusted. Our finances have taken a hit because of him, and it doesn’t sound like it’s getting better. I’m done sucking up to Jake.”

  She flung her hand over her head.

  “Okay, I’ll stop giving him money, I promise.”

  Blaire shook her head. “Not good enough.” She tied the sash at her waist, cinching her flowy garment around her luscious skin, trapping it out of reach from his eager hands. “Let’s eat, I’m hungry.”

  He began to sink into the quicksand.

  “Baby, please. I promise to stop giving him money.”

  She pulled her lips between her teeth before speaking. “No. I’m done.”

  His heart stopped and started like a faulty engine. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, find a solution to Jake or else.” She folded her arms across her chest.

  “Or else what?” He blinked rapidly like a complete moron.

  “I can’t take your waffling anymore. I’m sorry. Your refusal to set boundaries with your brother is a real problem. It’s affecting you; I know it. And it’s affecting our relationship.” Her head dropped, and she stared at the floor. “Besides,” she said, lifting her head and directing a pointed glare at him. “You know he stole my grandma’s heirloom brooch. That was precious to me.”

  “Fuck. This again? I thought we’d resolved that topic.” Jackson’s anger stabbed him in the chest like a guilt-tipped arrow.

  Jake had stopped by a couple of months ago, asking for rent. When Jackson had said, “no,” he’d become quiet. Then, he asked to use the bathroom, and he’d taken his sweet time about coming back to the front room.

  Blaire said she’d never seen her beloved brooch after that.

  Jackson still couldn’t believe his brother would stoop so low.

  “Apparently, it’s still an issue,” Blaire said. “In that my grandma’s brooch hasn’t been found and I’m convinced Jake took it.” She fixed her jaw in a rigid block.

  “Okay, I get it.” Jackson stepped away from Blaire.

  The quicksand had nearly swallowed him at this point. He knew Blaire was right. He had to set some boundaries. But he and Jake had raised one another in their messed-up childhood, and old habits die hard.

  “We can work this out,” he said. “I can change.”

  Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at him. “Good. Because I don’t think I can live this way anymore with your brother standing between us.”

  With that declaration, this day swiftly became one of the worst days of his entire life. Jackson could face fires and save lives, but he couldn’t set a solid boundary with his brother. And, unless he set some walls, his relationship, his career—all of it could be in jeopardy.

  Chapter 2

  The still-fresh sting of fighting with Jackson last night kept Blaire from focusing on her job at Hip, Hip, Hairay. Jackson’s the best thing that ever happened to me, she thought, as she dragged her comb through her client Josie’s tri-colored blonde, damp hair. And I go all radical snot-wad, making veiled threats to leave him if he doesn’t deal with Jake. Meanwhile, I’ve got more dirty laundry than he’ll ever know. I am so not the squeaky-clean person he thinks I am. Without thinking she tugged on her comb, snagging a snarl in Josie’s over-processed hair.

  Josie winced and then glared at her in the mirror.

  “Sorry!” Blaire said, scrambling back to the present.

  It wasn’t her first mistake of the day. Since arriving at the salon at eleven, she’d tripped over her hairdryer cord, dropped two combs and a brush and had to hustle to find clean tools mid-client, and almost mixed the wrong color for Josie’s Balayage.

  Her cheeks flushed as she met Josie’s piercing, hostile gaze.

  “That’s quite a snarl you’ve got,” she said. After gently disentangling the knot, she tucked the comb in the pocket of her black apron.

  “Not anymore,” Josie said, pressing her lips together in a tight line. “You’ve jerked a lock of hair from my scalp. I’ll probably have a scab there tomorrow.”

  She rubbed her head in a dramatic gesture.

  Sharp spikes of guilty anger stabbed at Blaire’s insides. “I can assure you I didn’t yank any hair from your scalp,” she said, annoyance seeping into her tone. While she should have been paying better attention, Josie would no doubt turn this into a “bigger than it was” event. She stared at the large photo of Marilyn Monroe on the wall, thinking, this is one of the many things I hate about my job. What would you say, Marilyn, to a brat like Josie?

  Lola, the salon owner, gave her a side-eyed glance from the station next to her where she stood sweeping up after her last client. The twisted strands of her coffee-colored hair exploded from a bright yellow hair tie in deliberate disarray.

  Blaire straightened her back and pasted on her best “I really care” expression.

  Lola smirked, looking down her nose at Josie. She made a nonchalant wave of her hand as if shooing away a fly, but Blaire figured the gesture was meant to convey her annoyance at Josie the Drama Queen.

  In a few short minutes, Josie would no
doubt be posting on social media how Blaire had taken a knife to her. She needed to make quick amends.

  “Oh! I forgot to mention…since you’re my twentieth customer this week, you’ve won a free bottle of this new styling product we just got in,” Blaire said, inwardly cringing at the hit her bank account would have to take.

  Unwelcome thoughts of a horrific time in her life floated to the surface. When she had been caught up in unsavory activity in South America, a bribe to soothe a spoiled brat’s temper was nothing. Life in Caracas was a system of giving favors to receive favors—you didn’t get anything without offering up something in return. The consequences of not returning the favor when needed, could be deadly. She thought about how well Josie would fare in Caracas, Venezuela, a city she’d escaped by a wing and a prayer, along with seven dollars and a bus ticket north.

  Blaire was lucky to be alive.

  Josie wouldn’t have lasted a day.

  Josie blinked. The girl wore way too much eye shadow like she’d been gang-banged by a box of crayons. “Oh? What is it?”

  “I’ll be using it on you today,” Blaire said, grabbing the bottle of Wet off the tiny shelf next to her mirror. She held it in front of Josie’s face, and tipped it side to side, making it sparkle in the sun. “It’ll make your hair glisten with flecks of real gold.”

  “You’re giving me a bottle of Wet?” Josie’s eyes glimmered with greed. She cast a squinty-eyed look at Blaire. “That’s a pricey product… and exclusive. You can’t just walk into a shop and buy it.”

  “That’s right, it’s very exclusive and extremely expensive,” Blaire said, opening a drawer and reaching for a sheet of tissue paper. “Not just anyone can get her hands on this stuff. But, you’re not just anyone.”

  While she’d have to cover it out of her own income, it beat seeing her and the salon shamed on social media. Josie was one of those social media influencers. Hip, Hip, Hairay’s clientele had tripled thanks to Josie’s posts. It could just as easy dwindle to nothing.

  She wrapped the bottle in the green tissue and handed it to Josie. “You’re going to love the way it makes your hair shine.” She flashed her teeth the way she imagined a super-model would in a big, bright, shiny smile.

  Josie drummed her long black gold-tipped nails on the arms of the stylist’s chair. “So. If you’re giving me a bottle of Wet, I’m assuming you want something in return.”

  Blaire feigned nonchalance with a shrug of her shoulder. “I wasn’t going to go there, but…”

  “Okay, I’ll post pictures of myself on social media with this product in my hair and mention that the only place to get Wet is right here in Singer Springs.” She nodded, more to herself than anyone.

  “Oh, that would be amazing,” Blaire gushed. “Honestly, I wasn’t expecting anything in return.” She pictured Karlos, the head of a Venezuelan cartel, a drug mogul and a homicidal gangster, smiling and winking at her, saying something like, “You’re a natural, chica. A born manipulator.” A snake-like chill crawled up her spine at both the thought of Karlos and the way deceit had come easily to her. But, I could have died had I not quickly learned to twist the truth.

  As much as Blaire would have liked to kick Josie to the curb, Josie said Blaire was the only one in town who could trim her hair correctly and apply the Balayage streaks to her satisfaction.

  Or, maybe I’m the only one who bribes her with a product to keep her from blurting out total fabrications on her many social media accounts. Maybe I’m just as much a pushover as Jackson.

  She plucked the black plastic hairdryer from its holder at her small, wooden station and got busy blow-drying Josie’s hair.

  “Going on any exciting upcoming adventures, Josie?” Blaire said over the noise of the hairdryer, as she smoothed and styled the honey-blonde and pale silver tresses.

  “Oh, my boyfriend and I are going scuba-diving with sharks in Palau. Then, we’ll probably head to France or something,” Josie said, the corners of her mouth curling upward in a pretentious smile.

  A wistful pang tugged Blaire’s heart, like the delicate tug of a spider’s web. She’d gone on quite a few trips to amazing places with her ex-boyfriend, Karlos, before meeting Jackson. Places like Portugal, Bhutan, Mongolia, and the Turkish Riviera could be booked at a whim. But the money used to fund her extravagant trips was as filthy as an outhouse collection hole. Now, she and Jackson lived frugally and saved as much as they could so they could take a vacation someday.

  But she would take the skimp and save with Jackson over living off dirty money with her ex any day.

  Once Josie appeared satisfied with her hair, she paid her bill and sailed out the room, the bottle of Wet in hand.

  “Girl, where’d you learn how to manipulate people like Josie? Bribing her with fancy product…” Lola shook her head. “That stuff ain’t cheap. And then her offering us something in return? Why did she do that?”

  Blaire lifted a shoulder and let it fall. Karlos had taught her well. Manipulation could be achieved with subtleties. “I don’t know. Maybe it was the way I emphasized ‘exclusive’ and ‘pricey.’ Josie knows her world is a ‘I’ll kiss you if you kiss me back,’ sort of world.”

  “Where on earth did you learn those skills?” Lola held out her hands and stared at them for a second as if seeking the answer in the lines marking her palms like a fortune teller. Then, her gaze lifted to Blaire’s.

  “I’m a middle child, remember? With two siblings on either end, I had to learn a trick or two to survive.” Blaire smiled, hoping the lie sounded plausible.

  Truthfully, she’d been mostly ignored as a middle child…not unloved, just caught in the shuffle of a large family. When she met Jackson, she’d been desperate for someone, anyone to find her important enough to care about. And not for what she could do or how she could serve an organization, the way she’d been exploited and forced to extort people under the tutelage of gang members in Venezuela. All she wanted was to be seen.

  Jackson gave her that in spades. But what are the odds he’ll still feel that way after he finds out about my past? And, I can’t return to my depressed, fucked up life after Caracas. I had to fight to get out of my mental cloud of doom.

  She wanted to tell him. She’d almost spilled her secrets a handful of times. But in the end, she’d always chickened out, telling herself the timing wasn’t right, or Jackson had a bad day saving lives or something.

  “You know how Josie is. Her fingers were itching to make up a story of the abuse she experienced at Hip, Hip, Hairay,” Blaire said. She glanced at her now-shaking hands.

  “And all of the people who believe in her lies would tell their friends. They’re a smarmy little group, and this is a small town.”

  “True,” Lola said, straightening a few items on her station. “But we don’t cater to smarmy people…except for Josie. One’s enough.” She cast a skeptical eye at Blaire. Then, she chuckled. “Well, if that’s the kind of thing you learned from being a middle child, tell your family thanks. But I’m sorry you had to front her the Wet.”

  The door opened, and Lola’s three o’clock entered, tottering through the door on spindly legs. She picked up her aluminum walker, extended her arms, and set the walker down; took a step, and repeated the process all the way across the room.

  Blaire reached for the plastic tray which had held the color formula for Josie’s hair. The black application brush still sat in the gooey remainder. Her hands shook so hard she dropped the whole thing, sending droplets of product spraying against her newish black slacks. The brush swiped against her red Chuck’s shoe when it landed.

  “Crap. I just bought these shoes.” She grabbed a towel from her side cart, crouched and cleaned off the floor, and then scrubbed at her pants and shoes. Then, she rose and firmly grasped the plastic tray and brush.

  “Mrs. Gonzalez, please take a seat,” Lola said. “I’ll be right with you.” She grabbed Blaire by the elbow and hustled her into the break room. She eased the door shut behind them and then
turned to face Blaire. “What’s really going on, girl? You’ve been off all day.”

  Blaire’s face fell as she stepped toward the sink to rinse out the supplies in her grip. “Oh, Jackson and I had a fight last night. It’s nothing. It will blow over.” And then the relationship will be history when I tell him about my past. She cringed at the thought. Maybe I’m using his brother to push him away because I’m too nervous about coming clean about the kind of shit I participated in?

  A sick feeling rolled around her stomach.

  Lola scrutinized her. “This doesn’t look like nothing. Something’s bugging you. Tell you what. I’ll be done in about forty minutes. Mrs. Gonzalez just needs a wash and style. After that, let’s head over to the wine bar across the street, and you can tell me what’s up.”

  Blaire shook her head. “I don’t know. I can handle my own business.”

  “I know you can. Ain’t nothing going to stop you. You and Jackson are crazy about one another. It’s normal to fight every now and then. You can tell me, don’t tell me, I don’t care. But you look like you can use a friend right about now.” Lola looked at her unflinchingly, her gaze clear and deep.

  A deep sigh left Blaire’s lungs.

  I could use a caring shoulder. There’s no one I trust who I can tell about my past. And, like Lola said…I don’t have to get all true confessions. Just tell her a little bit.

  “Okay, Lola. That would be awesome.” Blaire raised her chin. “It’s a deal.”

  “All right. Now, sit and drink tea or eat chocolate or something.” Lola gestured to the break room table.

  “I should go feed the dogs. Jackson’s on a twenty-four-hour shift.” Blaire peeled off her apron. “I’ll meet you there.”

  “It’s a date.” Lola nodded and then sashayed out the door.

  Blaire shuffled across the room to retrieve her purse from the wooden hook on the wall. As she passed the break room table, her gaze snagged on an article on the Entertainment page of the Seattle Times.

  Her heart iced over.

  There, with his shark-like smile gleaming at her, his dark hair slicked back away from his face, a picture of Karlos beamed at her.