Blog Only! "Untitled Short Story" Part 1/5?

Chapter One:

"Come out with us," Meghan Wheeler cajoled, tugging on her best friend's hand. "Lisa and I will buy all your drinks tonight, and we won't even make you dance unless you want to. It'll be a quiet night."

Kacy Adams shook her head and slipped her hand free. She loved Meghan like a sister, but they had different opinions on what constituted a 'quiet night.' In college, where they'd met as roommates, Meghan had always been the more out-going, party girl while Kacy spent most of her time in the library or computer lab. After eight years of friendship, Meghan still didn't understand that Kacy preferred historical texts to modern conversation.

"I think I'm going to order a pizza and veg out on the couch. My DVR's almost full so I need to watch and erase what I've got recorded."

Meghan rolled her eyes. "Yeah right. You're going to read those letters again."

Kacy shrugged a shoulder but didn't deny the accusation. Seven months earlier, she'd purchased an old trunk at an estate sale. To her surprise, and pleasure, the compartment below the trunk's false bottom contained letters written by Confederate Captain Samuel Crowder to his mother Annie and his brother John, a First Lieutenant in the Union Army. As she'd concentrated on the Civil War for her Master's, she'd eagerly devoured all forty letters.

Crazy as it sounded, she'd also fallen in love with Captain Crowder. He'd agonized over the split between him and his brother. He'd written to John and Annie about how he still loved his "Yankee" brother, and looked forward to the day they could all be together again. He'd tried to shield his mother from the true horrors of the war and constantly reassured her that he was fine. Kacy admired his spirit and his selflessness. It was a shame he'd been killed during the Battle of Chickamauga.

"You need a real boyfriend, Kace," Meghan remarked. It was an observation she made at least once a week. "I know it hurt when Paul the Prince of Pricks screwed you over, but that was two years ago. Stop licking your wounds and hop back in the saddle, kiddo."

"Oh please." Kacy waved her hand dismissively. "I am so over Paul."

Meghan playfully tugged on the end of Kacy's chestnut braid. She'd been there when Kacy had stumbled in on her fiancé Paul doing the horizontal mambo on the kitchen table with his "lab partner." Rather than falling apart or getting angry, Kacy had erected a wall around herself so thick that only her closest friends and family members could get through. And, of course, the Captain.

"Face it, kiddo, no one will ever measure up to the Captain," she teased. "Are you sure you don't want to come? Lisa and I have a bet going. She swears that if we hit the bar near the university, we can cash in on your fame and not pay for a single drink."

Kacy groaned. Shortly after reading the letters, she'd written an article on the Crowder brothers for one of the leading Civil War publications. The article had gotten quite a bit of attention and led to a short segment on several news programs as well as stint as an "expert" for the History Channel's most recent Civil War mini-series. Though the series had only aired a week earlier, she was already tired of the spotlight. Lisa, an AV whiz, had strung all Kacy's "bits" together and sent the e-mail to all their college friends. More than one had commented on her "crush" on Captain Crowder.

"I'm going to take that as a no." Meghan puffed out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout, but knew it wouldn't sway her friend. Once Kacy made her mind up, there was little that could change it. It was one of the things she both loved and hated about the other woman.

"Get out of here," Kacy laughed, shoving her friend towards the French doors that opened out onto the courtyard separating their townhomes. Meghan waved cheekily through the tinted glass as Kacy locked the deadbolt.

To prove to herself and Meghan that she didn't need to spend every night with the Crowder letters, she ordered a Hawaiian pizza from her favorite pizza delivery and settled on the couch with the remote and a glass of Hill Country Merlot. Halfway through her third slice of pizza and two hours into her mini Spirit Sleuths marathon, her eyes slid to the packet of letters on her desk.

"Stop it, Kace! They're just letters," she muttered under her breath and turned the volume up. When she got up to pour herself a second glass of wine, she took a long, winding path around the desk. By the time she got to the kitchen, her fingers were shaking and her heart was pounding. "This just proves you need time away from Samuel Crowder, moron."

She tried to sit still on the couch and pay attention to her favorite show, but her attention kept wandering. She'd catch her eyes drifting to the desk and her feet swinging to the floor and pinched herself as punishment. When the ending credits rolled across the screen, she realized that she didn't remember a single detail from the episode's plot. Disgusted with herself, she clicked the television off and picked her laptop off the coffee table. T.V. wasn't a good distraction, but work always kept her mind busy.

As a researcher and assistant-curator for the Texas Heritage Museum in Hillsboro, there were always things that needed to be verified and cataloged. She loved the museum and her job, but was looking forward to the following fall when she was slated to start her Assistant Professorship at her alma-mater in Huntsville. The only downside was that it meant leaving Meghan, an instructor for Hill College's Fashion and Design program, behind.

An e-mail from Juan Hernandez, one of her old study partners and a staffer at the Texas Civil War Museum in Fort Worth, caught her attention. As she was downloading the attached files, she noticed an e-mail from Nancy Jacobs from The Pearce Museum with a similar subject and attachment size. Was there a reunion or seminar she'd missed that they were filling her in on?

Scanned photographs from the Civil War covered her screen. They were from the Battle of Cold Harbor according to what Juan had written. While it wasn't one of her "favorite" battles, she appreciated the images. In two of the photos, a tall, lean man dressed in a shabby uniform standing so that only his profile was visible caught her attention. She zoomed in as closely as the program would allow. She knew the curve of that twice-broken nose and the line of that strong, square jaw!

While her top-of-the-line photo printer, one of the few things she'd splurged on, printed the photos, Kacy set her laptop on the coffee table and launched herself off the couch. Shortly after acquiring the trunk of letters, she'd exploited all of her contacts and managed to purchase a Crowder family photograph taken shortly before John and Samuel went to war as well as a photograph of Samuel in his uniform. She grabbed the framed photo of Samuel off her bookcase and dashed to her printer. She bounced anxiously on her toes as she waited for the picture to print.

As soon as the last photo slid onto the tray, she held it up to the light and peered at it through her magnifying glass. She held the Cold Harbor picture and the pre-war photo side-by-side to compare images. Though she'd have to use a facial recognition program to be absolutely certain, she was sure she was looking at a picture of Captain Samuel Crowder burying bodies at the site of a battle that took place nine months after he was killed in action.

Her hands trembled as she scrolled through the contact list on her cell phone. She drummed her fingers on the desk while she waited for Juan to answer. "Do you know what this is!" she exclaimed as soon as she heard him grunt a terse greeting.

"Kacy?"

"Of course, moron. Who else would it be? I just got your e-mail. Do you have any idea what those pictures mean?" She collected her photographs and collapsed on the couch. With the tip of her index finger, she traced the outline of Samuel's face through the glass.

Juan's voice dropped off. Static buzzed in Kacy's ears. Before she could hang up and redial, the static cleared. "Kace, I didn't send you an e-mail."

"Of course you did. Five Cold Harbor photos were attached."

More static. "I'm not working on any Cold Harbor projects. I've been working day and night on our Battlefield Medicine exhibit."

Kacy's smile faltered. She leaned forward to double check the contents of her inbox. The e-mail from Juan was still there and it had come from his museum e-mail address. She opened the e-mail from Nancy and found the same photos. "You sent it to me. Nancy sent me the exact same pictures an hour before you did. I've got to tell you, I'm not sure I like knowing you both have better contact than I do."

"Kacy," Juan drawled, his West Texas accent more prevalent than ever. He said her name the same way he had when she'd gone nearly catatonic over Paul and when he'd accidentally deleted all their notes for their big Western Expansion project.

"What?" she whispered, heart thudding painfully. Juan wasn't the type to play practical jokes. He was one of the most serious, straight-forward people she'd ever met. If he said he hadn't set the e-mail, she believed him.

"Nancy's in Belize. She's been there for a week, remember? Big destination wedding for her sister?"

"Oh." Kacy slowly closed the top her laptop with her e-mail still open. She drew her knees to her chest and cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder. Though it was October and relatively warm, she shivered and goosebumps dotted her arms. "T-thank you, Juan."

"Is everything okay, honey? You sound far away."

"I-I t-think I n-need to go now." With her thumb, she pressed the button to disconnect the call. Her teeth were chattering and tears stung her eyes. She licked dry lips and glanced down at the photos beside her. Captain Samuel Crowder, eyes dark and face grim, stared back at her. If Nancy was in Belize and Juan swore he didn't do it, who had sent the photos?

She let out a low screech when the wind picked up and rattled the French doors. Blowing out a shaky breath, she laughed at herself and stood on wobbly knees. They were finally getting the thunderstorm the weatherman had been promising all week. "Calm down, scaredy-cat. You know that always happens when you don't bolt the doors."

Kacy froze, hand extended towards the deadbolt. It wasn't locked. She'd done it after Meghan had left. She knew she had. She always locked the bolt when she was by herself. Was the wine messing with her mind? A lump in her throat, she flipped the bolt for the second time that evening and shoved her hands in her pockets.

As she shuffled back into living room, the sound of a low growl sent shivers down her spine.


AN:
So? Thoughts? Comments? Questions? Come on...

Blog Only! One-Shot -- Network Universe -- "The Sisterhood"

So, this takes place sometime after The Chaos Child (spoilers, beware!) and after Imperfection's Glory. Just a short piece.

"I am so, so sorry."

Viola tore her eyes away from the scene a few feet away and patted new her friend's twisting hands sympathetically. A particularly loud crash and familiar voices shouting out streams of expletives had both women wincing. "I keep telling you not to worry about it, Celia. Besides, if anything, I should be the one apologizing. It's my demon-dar that went off two blocks from the restaurant."

"Oh, please." Celia's nose wrinkled. "Like we wouldn't have gotten the call about it anyway. I suppose I should be thankful that it happened before dinner. Calls like that always come during -."

"Dessert," both women finished in unison. They shared an eye roll and giggled.

Viola was glad she'd met Celia Buckley, the New England Region Director's girlfriend. It was nice having someone who understood what it was like to have plans ruined by demons. She glanced down at her watch and frowned. "Do you think we're going to miss our reservation?"

Celia went still as she checked the timelines. "Not if your husband...," she broke off to shove Viola's head down seconds before a metal garbage can lid flew through the air. "Yes, yes we are going to miss our reservation."

While Celia dug her cell phone out of her purse, Viola hopped over the short wall they'd been sitting on to retrieve the lid. After calling out Duke's name, she tossed it to him as if it were a Frisbee. She tried to use their link to ask if he needed any help, but he shut her out before she could form the question. Furious and hungry, she crossed her arms over her chest and rejoined her friend.

Celia bit back a sigh as the restaurant put her on hold. If the Buckley and Whittier names weren't enough to get the stuffy man to cut her some slack, she was going to have to resort to bribery or threats. It made her jealous of Jeremy's influence over people. If he was on the phone, the droll Mr. Baines would have been tripping over himself to accommodate them. Then again, if Jeremy had been free enough to be on the phone, there wouldn't be a reason to change their reservations.

Fortunately, the Buckley name, and sympathy over her brother's recent death, were enough to get their reservation bumped back thirty minutes. That gave the boys twenty minutes to take care of the rampaging D'vork and ten minutes to get cleaned up. Celia snapped her phone closed and shoved it into her small evening bag. She smoothed the knee-length pleated skirt of her grape sateen dress. The '50s style dress was perfect for a night out with friends but not a night with demons.

"I love your shoes," Viola remarked, eyes on Celia's sparkly silver platform sling-back sandals. Her own black-and-rhinestone ballet flats looked dull in comparison. Even though the short, black sheath dress was one of her favorites, and Duke's if the glimmer in his eye meant what she thought it did, she felt frumpy seated next to fashion-plate Celia.

"Thanks. Wish I could pull off your look. That dress is amazing." Celia fingered one of the ruffles along the hem of Viola's dress. After three weeks of wearing nothing but black, she'd opted for a bit of color to cheer herself up. Was it too soon, though? Would people think her tacky or disrespectful of her brother's memory? "I can't wear flats with evening wear. I end up looking like a little girl caught playing dress-up. Not the look I want to go with in a room full of gold-digging sharks after my Jay."

Petite by modern standards but inches taller than Celia, Viola understood completely. Luckily, her job allowed her to dress casually and back home in Houston she and Duke weren't social butterflies. She'd go crazy if she had to wear heels or fancy dresses more than a couple of times a year. "I know I'm sidelined because of the spawn," she patted her slightly rounded stomach lovingly, "but why'd Jeremy bench you?"

"Oh, he does this all the time. He thinks that being chivalrous and acting like a superhero is going to help him get lucky at the end of the night."

"Does it work?"

"Not if I pass out from starvation first!" Celia snapped loud enough for Jeremy to hear. Her eyes narrowed when he impulsively tried to tackle the D'vork and ended up being thrown against a brick wall. She could already picture tiny rips and tears in the fine fabric. "I told him to take that jacket off. He's going to ruin it."

"Is that why you packed an extra in the car?"

"Of course. I never go anywhere without a spare set of clothes for Jeremy. Honestly, sometimes it's like having a three-year old."

Viola chuckled. Duke was the same way. He couldn't go a rotation without ruining a pair of jeans or a shirt. "You mean he doesn't listen to you when tell him you've seen him tear up his clothes?"

"He swears that the timelines don't cover fashion issues," Celia huffed. Sometimes she used the timelines for fashion issues. With the sometimes unpredictable weather in Baltimore, it was a necessity. "He can be such a... guy... sometimes."

Viola didn't need premonitions to predict that a night in the guest room was in Jeremy's future. Ripping a pair of old jeans or a t-shirt like Duke often did was one thing. Ruining what looked like a very expensive tailored suit jacket was a hundred times worse. She couldn't blame Celia for being miffed.

Viola's stomach rumbled to remind her that all she'd had for lunch was a salad and that had been hours earlier. Feeling out Duke through the link only told her that it was still on lock-down. Stupid, overprotective idiot. "Think we should step in to help?"

"Help? Oh, honey, we're taking over." Celia yanked off her shoes and set them on the wall beside her purse. She leaped off the wall and bounced daintily on her bare toes while waiting for Viola. "I'm through watching those two screw around. It's cold, I'm hungry, I’m going to ruin yet another pedicure, and if I end up missing Flavio's tiramisu, I will feed them to a pack of savage Zilas."

"Amen, sister." Viola grinned. She linked her arm with Celia's and marched across the asphalt. "What's the plan?"

Celia paused for a moment to check the possible timelines. "Swing around to the D'vorks left side and distract him. I'll shoot it in the flesh part of its neck with Jeremy's tranq gun. We'll let the boys do the clean up."

"Works for me and, since I'm just the distraction, it should keep Duke from flipping his lid."

Viola watched with amusement as her blonde friend angrily tapped Jeremy on the shoulder. When Jeremy turned around, Celia ripped the gun from his hands. He looked as stunned as Duke had when Viola shoved him out of the way. Oh yeah, she definitely liked spunky, little Celia.

"Tag, boys, you're out. Let the pros handle this one."

One-Shot - "Sucker Punch"

A/N: This was an experiment and, hopefully, the start of another story. It takes place in the same “universe” as the Family Lies series, but in a different region of the Network. Sadly, Duke and Viola won’t be making an appearance. Thanks for giving it a shot



Sucker Punch

Before I even knew her name, I fell impossibly and irrevocably in love with a grinning, golden-haired angel.

It started the way most of my evenings usually ended: in an alley or secluded area with a dead demon at my feet and some of the bitter anger that eats at me every damned minute of every damned day temporarily appeased. Except this time, the demon wasn’t dead. I’d feigned right when I should have ducked left, and I’d misjudged how little traction I had. I lashed out with my foot, hoping to catch the demon in its fleshy stomach, but it anticipated my move and countered with a punch that left me seeing stars.

Pinned to the wall by a Fwar claw crushing my windpipe, my life did not flash before my eyes. As fifteen out of my twenty-eight years had been downright hellish, I was grateful. There was no white light beckoning me into the great beyond, either. As I made peace with the end, a harsh, shrill scream and something heavy slamming into the Fwar caused the demon to drop me to the ground. My head cracked the edge of a protruding brick on the way down. The world spun and went gray.

“Well, this blows,” was my last thought as I sucked dirty rainwater into my nose and lungs. It was an undignified, but oddly fitting, way to die.

Rather than fluffy clouds and harps or burning flames and brimstone, the toes of scuffed running shoes were the first thing I saw when I reluctantly opened my eyes. I followed the curve of the shoes to the daintiest pair of ankles I’d ever seen. The shadows over my head shifted and the ankles were replaced by a pair of denim-covered knees.

As my skull throbbed in pain, I rolled over onto my back and spat when more filthy water tried to trickle down my throat. The knees dropped and splashed into the puddle near my head. Small, pink-polished fingers fluttered at my temples. As even the dim light in the alley hurt my concussion-sensitive eyes, I kept them half-lidded and could not see my angel’s face.

“Oh,” she muttered. Even with my senses dulled, I picked up on the self-recrimination oozing out of her. “Oops.”

Oops? What kind of angel says oops? Soft fingers brushed wet hair off my forehead before lightly pressing against the pulse throbbing in my throat. Seemingly satisfied with my heart rate, the angel breathed out a relieved sigh.

“Who’re you?” I managed through swollen lips and a tongue that felt like a stone.

“I am so, so sorry,” my angel apologized, sincerity and guilt flooding my senses. I watched as she tugged off a short denim jacket, balled it up, and gently placed it under my head. “I swear I didn’t see you with the Fwar. I mean, from his position I knew he had a victim, but I didn’t know he’d drop you!”

“S’okay,” I responded partially to reassure her and mostly to stop her from rambling at a thousand miles an hour. My aching brain couldn’t keep up with the stream of hastily uttered words.

She moved, bent so that I could see her face. A riot of unruly blonde curls and sorrow-rimmed green eyes filled my vision. The tip of a pink tongue poked out from between a pair of perfect lips. “Are you all right?”

I lifted a leaden arm and massaged my right temple. A bump had already formed. Fortunately, there was no blood trail so I hadn’t broken the skin. “I’ve had worse.”

Those perfect lips thinned. A crease formed between her fair eyebrows, and her left eye twitched. After a long moment, she cocked her head to the side and frowned. “You have, haven’t you?”

An unfamiliar, but enticing, scent wafted across me. Beneath the musk of jasmine and bitterness of dust, I caught the sharp tang of magic. Had she peeked into my mind and seen one of my memories? I growled at the thought of the intrusion. I hated telepaths who had no sense of personal boundaries.

“I’m no telepath,” she held her hands up and leaned backwards. “I see things.”

“Seer.”

“Chronos cursed,” she corrected with an apologetic smile.

I was familiar with the term. My angel did not see flashes of future or past events, she saw all future possibilities. Timelines, split off at key decisions, appeared to her. Skilled possibility-viewers, the Network-approved term for people like my angel, could see the past as well as the future.

I was not aware that there was a viewer in the region. Was she not associated with the Network? Before I could ask her if she was in the Network and which region she was with, she ran those smooth, cool fingertips along my jaw. I winced at the certainty that the coarse stubble I’d neglected to shave that morning had abraded her soft skin.

“I am so, so sorry,” she repeated, misreading my wince. Her compassion was a soothing balm to the anger that constantly burned in my chest. I wanted to bottle her emotions, so clear, cool, and honest, and carry them with me. When tears sparkled in her eyes, I gathered my wits and sent a warm wave of reassurance crashing over her.

She rocked back, eyes wide. One of her hands went to her throat. Her mouth gaped open. “Oh! Oh! You’re a projector! Well,” she gasped, “that’s so not fair.”

“You peeked at my timeline,” I reminded her, not the least bit apologetic for having used my gift on her. I had a feeling that if I allowed it, she would keep on apologizing until the sun came up. As an empathic-telepathic projector, I could not only sense others’ emotions but could project them so strong that it could actually make a person cry from sorrow or faint from fear. Unlike regular empaths, I could narrow my focus to a single person or cover a crowd of twenty people and I did not need to be feeling the emotion myself in order to project it. It was an ability that had served me well.

“True,” she conceded with a nod of her head. Seemingly not minding her wet capris, she rose to a crouch and linked her fingers with mine. “Ready to sit up?”

I wasn’t, but I wasn’t going to tell my angel that, either. With surprising strength, she helped me sit upright. I swallowed down a swell of bile. I’d be damned before I threw up in front of her. Craning my neck, I glanced down at her jacket. It was utterly ruined.

“Don’t worry about it.” She lightly hopped over my outstretched legs and gracefully dropped to the ground beside me. Though we were hip-to-hip, the tips of her toes didn’t even reach my ankles. “I was looking for an excuse to buy a new jacket.”

Beneath the lingering guilt, it was obvious that cheerfulness was her natural state of mind. Glancing at her with all my shields down, the brightness of her aura nearly blinded me. Rarely did I see anyone over the age of ten with such light. How had she managed to maintain such a positive disposition, especially if she was at least peripherally involved in the Network?

“I should call you a cab or an ambulance.”

“My car’s around the corner.” At least I thought it was. Chasing down the Fwar, I’d lost track of what street we were on. For all I knew, my SUV was four blocks back.

“You’ve got a head wound. I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to drive.”

She did, unfortunately, have a point. My head was killing me and spots danced before my eyes. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I harmed anyone in a car accident. “You’ve seen one of my memories. Knowing my address at this point is nothing compared to that.”

“I can’t drive.” At my confused stare, her cheeks flushed and small, white teeth bit down on her lower lip. I’d never been so jealous of a pair of incisors before. “I mean, I can. I passed my test ages ago, but I don’t have my license. Not anymore. It’s dangerous.” She tapped the side of her head for emphasis.

It made sense. I knew many Seers who refused to drive. As I tried to remember where my car was and if I still had my keys, I felt the warmth I’d been sending her double back and hit me. The gentleness of it eased the ache in my head. “Are you doing that?”

My angel shrugged a slim shoulder, her cheeks still pink. “I figured you needed it more than I did.”

She smiled at me, her hand slipped under mine, and a few of the ice bricks I’d used to wall up my heart melted. She wrinkled her nose cutely as the scent of garbage and dead Fwar was picked up by a cold northern wind. “What do you say we get out of this alley?”

To my dismay, I had to rely on my angel to both stand and stagger out of the alley. My car, thankfully, was at the end of the block. Small hand darting into the pocket of my jeans, she retrieved my keys, helped me into the backseat, and slid behind the wheel. She smiled at me in the rear view mirror. “One more quick peek and then I should be good for a while.”

Before I could ask for clarification, her lips thinned and her eye twitched. Was that what happened every time she got a vision? With a shake of the head, she turned the key in the ignition. “Fourth Street, right? Big green house third from the left?”

“Yes.”

“Only a few blocks from where I live. I can jog to the bus stop at the corner after dropping you off. Perfect.”

While she carefully navigated the rain-slick Baltimore streets, I used my cell phone to have two of the Trackers on rotation take care of the Fwar corpse. I also informed my second-in-command that I was done for the night. A bit of reassurance sent through the line kept him from worrying too much. I’d only been head of the region for six months and he feared I was only one bad night from cracking under the pressure. I hadn’t had the heart to tell him that I’d broken long before my return.

“You live here?” I asked when she pulled into my driveway.

SUV parked, she whipped off her seatbelt and spun in the seat. Her eyes were dark with concern. “No,” she stretched the word into three syllables, “you live here.”

“I meant in the city.”

“Oh,” she giggled, rolling her eyes at herself, “yes, I do.”

“I don’t have any viewers on the roster.”

Her eyes dropped to the leather headrest. Her fingers plucked at a loose threat in the stitching. “No, I’m not part of the Network. Not anymore.”

The regret, anxiety, and guilt that poured off of her hit me like a sledgehammer. She obviously wanted to be part of the Network. People who turned in their membership cards yet tracked down Fwars were not people who had left voluntarily. Had something happened in her old region? Focusing my energy on her, I caught a flash of annoyance, familial annoyance. Had someone forced her to quit?

I fished a wrinkled, damp business card out of my wallet. All of my contact information, along with my title, was printed on the plain white card. With the way things were, I could use a viewer’s help. “You can call me anytime.”

The smile and bubbling affection she sent me were blisteringly warm. I wanted to bask in her warmth until the long-neglected corners of my soul were as clean as her spirit. Did she have a century or two to spare? She practically slithered out of the car and skipped around to open my door. Her fingers automatically wrapped around mine as she helped me out of the car. Like an old-fashioned gentleman escorting his date home, we walked arm-in-arm up the short walkway.

“See you again, Mr. ‘J. Whittier?’”

“You’re the one with the pipeline into the future,” I teased, pleased when a fresh flush darkened her cheeks. I regretted the decision to put only my first initial on the cards. I wanted to hear her say my name.

Her eyes glazed over for a second and she swayed against me. The previous times she’d had a vision, I hadn’t realized just how vulnerable she appeared when she zoned out. All my protective instincts rose to the forefront in response. After a second, she grinned beautifully. “We will. Under better, nicer, circumstances, too.”

She pressed my keys into my hand and popped up on the toes of her sneakers. Warm lips brushed across my cheek. “Bye for now.”

I reached out to stop her, but she was already out of reach. Her curls bounced and shimmered in the light as she jogged down the street. I hadn’t gotten her name. I’d given my card, and quite possibly my heart, to a complete stranger.

I hadn’t felt happier in years.

Is May Over Yet????

It's been a very long month. I'm ready for June, and not just because of my birthday. I'd like to leave May far, far in the past.

From what I've posted on FP, it may seem like I've done a ton of work on TCC but most of those chapters were already written. I've had a hard time doing much more than that.

Work has been absolutely crazy. JT's been sick and I've misplaced my patience. I'm supposed to be doing some WWII interview transcriptions for my grandfather. I've got two cats that need to go to the vet (one for shots and one to get spayed) and my car is dying for an oil change. Also, I've had three migraines in two weeks.

Needless to say, all the plans I had to finish 3 chapters for Glide Like Ghosts have been scrapped for now.

On the plus side, Daughter of Deception is continuing to do very well on Amazon and is up at Barnes&Noble, though I need to figure out why the cover didn't load. Glide Like Ghosts is up as a free e-book for anyone interested.

Hope everyone has a great weekend! I'm going to clear off my chore-list and then enjoy a few episodes of The West Wing and Doctor Who.

Ashwood-verse

Okay, so when I said I was writing a Duke-centric Glide Like Ghosts, I was wrong. I've got the urge to do something pre-Sebastian, Olivia, and Viola. Alicia Ashwood isn't my favorite character, she's not meant to be. Which is why, I suppose, I want to write her story. Well, part of her story anyway.

It goes a little something like this:

For nineteen-year-old Alicia Ashwood, the proposal she dreamed of, with flowers and music and a shiny diamond ring, was nothing like the reality. Seated on one side of the kitchen table with her mother while her fiancé-to-be sat with his parents and aunt on the other, Alicia felt like she was in the middle of a courtroom drama or a corporate merger. There was nothing romantic about having her future boiled down to “negotiable terms” and “power transfers.”

She sighed as quietly as possible, well aware that if she caught her mother’s attention, she could expect a lengthy lecture once their guests were gone. She was a lady, an Ashwood, and she was supposed to be above petty things like boredom and disillusionment. She smiled serenely, brushed an errant lock of blonde hair off her forehead when Gerard Burke, the man who’d stolen her heart, glanced in her direction.

----

And for the rest, you'll just have to wait. :)

Beautiful Day

It's a beautiful day to relax with a nice, cold beer, fajitas, and grilled veggies.
I don't want to worry about work or writing or anything else until tomorrow!

Hope everyone has a great Sunday!

stuff

Been on a roll lately with The Chaos Child. It's nice. Feel like we're getting back into the plot-y things, again.

Of course, I'm still distracted by anything shiny and new. Which is why I'm working on an Ashwood-verse prequel. Viola at sixteen/seventeen - Dad's been gone for a year and she's settled into a bizarre routine with Sebastian when she starts seeing her father again. This is where they first learn that he's not exactly the same as he used to be.

Also, I started a weird alien story. It's going to be fun. The short summary I've got for it is: "This is not a booty call!" Delia asserted angrily. Had she known those would her last words on Earth, she might have reconsidered her phrasing. Eh, it's still pretty rough, I know.

I hope to relax and do as little as humanly possible this weekend. I need to catch up on two weeks of very, very little sleep. I hope the most strenuous thing I have to do is watch my cousin's baseball game. Really looking forward to the new (to me) Doctor Who episode on Saturday. I know JT's going to want to watch the Ben Ten thing tonight so maybe I can sneak off to bed early.

Have a great weekend everyone!

Re:Updates

Wouldn't you believe that as soon as I post an apology about The Chaos Child, I get a kick in the six and...
Chapter 11 is now up.
Yippee!

Updates

I just want to apologize, in advance, for how long it's taking me to get The Chaos Child out. I've got it all outlined out and most of it written, but the parts I don't have are elusive. And I'm tired all the time.

Plus, between work, home, and the hundred other things I've got to do, it's moved a little lower down my list of my priorities. There's also a Viola-centric prequel that keeps popping up in my mind.

Thanks for sticking with me this far!

Secrets, Lies, and Folks in Disguise

Celebrities going incognito, the best man hooking up with the maid of honor, love at first sight, and nosy siblings. A cliche-riddled fic that doesn't take itself, or anything else, really, seriously. Also, a challenge response.

Secrets, Lies, and Folks in Disguise

Part One:

"Excuse me."

Robert Addison's spine stiffened. He tugged the brim of his black baseball cap lower over his eyes. Being an actor was great but the loss of privacy was killing him. All he'd wanted was to enjoy a beer in a bar before meeting his agent for dinner. Was five minutes of peace and quiet too much to ask for? Hopefully, if he ignored the fan and/or autograph-seeker, she would go away.

"Hey!" The sharp feminine voice barked from behind his right ear. Robert jumped when a finger jabbed him in the shoulder. "I'm talking to you."

He kept his shoulders hunched as he turned his head to glare at the woman. The fluorescent lights overhead emphasized the brightest, and angriest, pair of green eyes he'd ever seen. Aside from her striking eyes, the woman wasn't anything special: medium height, shoulder-length light-brown hair, and a slight build. Even her clothes, jeans and a faded Rolling Stones t-shirt, were average.

"What?" Robert relied on his years of training, and self-preservation, to pitch his voice an octave lower.

The woman arched an eyebrow at his gruff tone. She flattened a slender hand on top of the stool beside him. "In case you didn't notice, it's a little crowded in here. You're hogging two stools."

"What? So?"

The woman blinked rapidly. Pink lips thinned. "You've got your self-absorbed ass on one stool and your foot on another. I'm going to either take the one under your foot or I'm going to take the one under your ass. I'll let you pick."

Robert didn't doubt for a minute that the woman would make good on her threat. He hastily snatched his foot off the rungs of the stool on his right. The woman offered up a tight smile before she yanked the stool off the ground.

"Wait," he called when she was only an arm's length away. She stopped but didn't turn to face him. "Was that all you wanted?"

She pivoted on the heel of her worn running shoes. This time, both her eyebrows had disappeared up into her bangs. "Yeah. That's it. Thanks."

Robert found himself oddly disappointed. Was the woman not a fan? Had she not recognized him? He shook off the feeling, concentrated on being relieved. If she had recognized him, she would have lead a gaggle of squealing girls to his side. He should be thankful for his anonymity.

Four hours later, dinner with his agent over, Robert returned to the hotel bar. He told himself that he was not looking for the rude, stool-grabbing woman. He just wanted a nightcap before heading up to his room.

The bar was as crowded as before. He pushed his way through the throng of people, hoping that his hat, scruffy beard, and bulky leather jacket would still be enough of a disguise. There was only one stool open in front of the bar. Robert didn't bother looking at the patrons on either side as he gratefully plopped onto the stool.

The person on his left shifted, placed a beer bottle on the bar. "Oh, it would be you."

Robert flinched at the familiar voice. Rude woman. Of course. "I promise to keep to my own stool."

"Good." The woman idly twirled her bottle. When the bartender glanced their way, she jerked her head towards Robert. "His next one's on me."

"What?" Robert tugged on his ear. He was certain he'd misheard her.

The woman rolled her eyes. "You say that an awful lot." She tapped the side of her beer to signal the bartender for another. After Robert hesitantly ordered his drink, she spun on her stool. A jolt of electricity shot through him when her knees bumped his. She used a white paper napkin to wipe the condensation off her hand before extending it for a hand shake. "Sorry 'bout earlier. Was a beast of a day. I'm Amy."

Mouth agape, Robert stared at the woman. Either she honestly had no idea who he was or she was one hell of an actress. Only one way to find out. He folded his long fingers around her hand. Her skin was warm and soft. He could feel small calloused on her palm. Few of the women he associated with had calluses. "R-er- Bobby."

Amy's smile, more genuine than anything she'd flashed him before, was hypnotizing. It started with the curve of her lips, put a hint of color in her smooth cheeks, and made her eyes sparkle. Robert had to tear himself away before he did something embarrassingly like drool or ask her for a date. He still couldn't be sure that she wasn't a rabid fan or member of the paparazzi.

He sipped his Scotch. Since someone else was paying for his drink, he hadn't ordered his usual smooth and expensive brand. The alcohol burned its way down his throat to his stomach. He tried to quietly clear his throat. Something must have given him away because when he turned back to Amy, she was chuckling softly.

"So, er, you had a rough day?" He had to take the attention off himself. It was the best way to avoid blowing his cover. Besides, he was curious about the woman who threatened to knock him off a stool and then bought him a drink to make up for it.

"Rough week, actually." Amy shrugged, sipped her beer. "'S'okay. We'll wrap things up tomorrow. Until trial time, of course."

Though it meant potentially opening the door to an awkward conversation, Robert couldn't help but ask what business she was in. She didn't look like a lawyer or a cop. Was she a paralegal?

"I'm a forensic engineer." At Robert's blank look, Amy sighed. She really had to find a better way to explain her job. "Accident reconstruction. Mostly vehicular accidents, but we've done a couple of plane crashes."

"And you work for the NYPD?"

"No. I work for a private company. We get called in by state or city governments and sometimes the feds. A lot of high-profile incidents, too. We pride ourselves on being unbiased and as unobtrusive as possible while maintaining our integrity." Amy broke off with an embarrassed chuckle. "Sorry, I sound like a commercial, don't I?"

"It's okay. I don't mind at all." It wasn't a lie. Robert was fascinated by the judicial system. Like most people, he loved the bevy of fictional and reality forensic shows on television. If he'd had the grades, and the focus, he liked to think he would have gone into a similar field.

When it looked like she was going to ask what he did for a living, he jumped in with, "what made you go into forensic engineering?"

Amy's eyes dropped to the scarred bar surface. She plucked at the label on her beer bottle. "When I was three, my grandmother was driving my oldest sister to a slumber party. They were in an accident. No survivors. Forensics wasn't what it is now. No one could explain why Grandma and my sister were dead."

"And you wanted to know. Have you used your expertise to dig into the case?"

"A bit. It upsets Mom, so I try to keep quiet about it. I don't understand it, but she's almost happier not knowing." Amy shook her head when the bartender gestured toward her beer. It was late and she had a mountain of paperwork to finish up in the morning. "You're a very good listener, Bobby."

Robert flushed at the compliment. After having people constantly pressing him to talk about himself, it was nice listening to someone else's life story. With all his worries about the tabloids and the fans, he'd forgotten that he genuinely liked people. He pressed her for details about her favorite investigation. Though most of the technical details went over his head, he enjoyed the animated way she spoke about her job and her co-workers.

"Oh. My. Gawd!" A high-pitched squeal had everyone at the bar, except for Robert, spinning around. A tanned bottle-blonde teetering on spiky heels pressed a hand over her lips. She fanned her face with her other hand. As soon as she regained her composure, she headed straight for Robert and Amy.

Robert's heart sank. This was it. His cover was blown. Bobby, the guy who drank mid-priced Scotch and just talked with people, would soon be replaced by Robert the A-lister.

To his surprise, the woman completely ignored him. She clutched Amy's hands tightly. "I knew it! You're Lily Vaughn! You can’t fool me! The wig's awful and I hate your contacts, but I loved you in Love's Old Song. You are, like, my fave actress. Ever."

Amy wriggled her hands free. She shook her head regretfully. "I'm sorry, but you've got the wrong girl. My name's Amy Lampis. I'm not an actress."

The woman leaned forward so that her nose brushed Amy's. Her breath stank of vodka and, oddly enough, potato chips. "Are you sure?"

Amy bit her lip to hide her smile. "Absolutely positive."

"Oh." Face bright red, the woman slunk out of the bar and into the hotel lobby. Two women, equally tanned and blonde, wrapped their arms around her shoulders and led her to the elevators.

Once the chatter around them resumed, Amy gave into the laughter bubbling in her chest. Giddy with relief, Robert joined in. He playfully bumped Amy's shoulder with his own. "Lily Vaughn, huh?"

"I know!" Amy wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. Her cheeks ached from smiling so much, and her ribs, sore from a fall she'd taken earlier that afternoon, throbbed, but she hadn't been this happy in weeks. "It's flattering, at least."

Robert studied his companion critically. He was willing to alter his original opinion of her. She wasn't one of the drop-dead gorgeous actress or models he worked with, but, with pink cheeks and laughing eyes, she was stunning. And real. He'd worked with Lily on two pictures and knew for a fact that Lily'd had her lips artificially plumped and her hair was not naturally platinum blonde. "Oh, for Lily Vaughn, definitely."

"You're so full of it!" Amy glanced down at her watch. It was after midnight. If she was going to get all her work done in time for her three o'clock flight, she had to be up at the crack of dawn. "I should go."

"Oh. Okay." Robert didn't want her to go. He didn't know if it was because he wasn't used to dates, did this count as a date, leaving him or because he really enjoyed Amy's company.

"It was really great talking with you. Thanks for letting me babble." Amy slung her purse strap over her shoulder. She impulsively leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "I'm glad I met you, Bobby."

"Pleasure was mine, Amy Lampis." Like the gentleman his mother raised him to be, he held out a hand to help her off the stool and held the door open for her. To his surprise, she stayed with him all the way to the bank of elevators. He thought for sure she'd stay in the lobby, but she stepped onto the elevator.

"Fifth floor, please."

"You're staying here?" Robert couldn't keep the incredulity out of his voice. The boutique hotel was one of the most exclusive in the city. Accident reconstruction had to pay better than he expected. Was her client footing the bill for her stay?

"Yep. With a suite, my partner and I can stay together and use it as a temporary office. Saves the cost of two hotel rooms."

The way Amy's eyes wouldn't meet his had Robert believing there was more to the story but he wasn't going to press. He didn't want to ruin what had been a pleasant evening. "Will you be here in the morning?"

"Oh yeah. I'll be slaving away at my laptop long before the sun is up."

"Have breakfast with me." At Amy's arched eyebrow, Robert deflated somewhat. "I mean, will you please have breakfast with me? The restaurant here is great."

"Have you had the blueberry granola pancakes?" Amy's mouth watered at the memory. She'd had to add an extra half-hour to her daily workout thanks to the delicious food in the hotel's restaurant. If she didn't have to fit into a bridesmaid's dress in a matter of days, she wouldn't have worried about it.

"No. I'm more of a bacon and eggs guy myself." Fortunately he was six months from his next project and could afford to eat what he liked. His personal trainer would make him pay for it later, but he'd worry about it then.

"Seven-thirty okay with you?"

"What?" Robert tore himself out of horrific thoughts of all the lunges and cardio workouts he had to look forward to.

"You really need to find a new word. That one makes you sound like a moron." Amy smiled to take the sting out of her comment. "Is seven-thirty okay for breakfast? I know it's early, but I've got a ton to do before my flight."

"Where're you going?"

"Texas. My sister's wedding."

"How many sisters do you have?" Robert restrained himself from asking where in Texas she was going. He was headed to the Lone Star state for a wedding as well. Though it was highly unlikely they were attending the same wedding, it was a nice wish.

"I had three. Only two now. Both older. I'm the baby."

Robert grinned. "Spoiled rotten, too, I bet."

"Not in my family. There was no such thing as a favorite. We all pulled our weight and we were all treated equally." It was one of the things she loved most about her family. Despite all the pressures her parents and siblings were under, they remained close and as down-to-earth as possible.

"If they're anything like you, I'd love to meet them."

Amy dropped her chin to her chest and fought the giggle threatening to burst from her chest. "I'm sure they'd love to meet you, too."

Robert walked Amy to her door. On the way back to the elevator, he kicked himself for not kissing her goodnight. There was no guarantee she would really be there for breakfast. What if this was the last time he saw her? He should have asked her for her phone number or e-mail address.

Worried about being stood up, Robert was pacing outside the restaurant at quarter-to-seven. On his fifth circuit past the amused hostess, he ran, literally, into Amy. He grasped her forearms to keep her from falling to the floor. Her bare skin was damp with sweat and the tendrils of hair that had escaped her ponytail were matted to her forehead. He'd never seen a lovelier sight.

Finally steady on her feet, Amy pulled earbuds from her ears. "I'm so sorry! It's a book on tape. I get so caught up and I am such a spaz."

"It's okay. Really. Are you still hungry?" Robert mentally slapped himself for sounding like such a dork. He hadn't had to try this hard with a woman in years. He'd gotten used to being the pursued rather than the pursuer.

"Worried I was going to ditch you?" Amy teased. She sobered when Robert flinched. Had he really been afraid she was going to skip out on him? "Give me twenty minutes to shower and change. I'll be back in a flash."

"We can eat now. I don't mind."

"Ro-er-Bobby." Amy sucked in a calming breath. "I just spent an hour on the treadmill. My clothes are absolutely soaked. I stink. I am not doing anything until I have a shower."

Robert backed off quickly. That was the same tone she'd used when taking the stool last night. "Okay."

Amy bit her lip as she considered another option. It was an offer she never made, but she liked Bobby. Trusted him. "Or, I dunno, you could come up to my suite. My partner is sleeping the sleep of the dead and will be out for at least another hour and a half. We could order room service and eat up there."

A minute later, Robert was in the elevator beside Amy. He ordered the food then flipped through cable channels while she showered. He anticipated the wait to be longer than her estimated twenty minutes. The women he worked with never spent less than an hour getting ready. To his surprise, she emerged from her bedroom with five minutes to spare.

He wished breakfast could have lasted all day. Once again, he'd encouraged Amy to dominate the conversation by asking questions about her sisters. He heard humorous tales of three girls sharing a bathroom on family vacations and how they still gathered once a year to remember their late sister's birthday.

When it was time to go, he had a plane to catch and she had work to finish, he was reluctant to leave. He lingered at the door, asking for her phone number and e-mail address, for as long as possible. He made a show of slipping the plain white business card into his wallet. This time, he didn't forget the kiss. She tasted like blueberries, coffee, and syrup. Like forever.

Part Two:

"What's gotten into you, man?"

Robert glanced over at his close friend and fellow actor Nick Rudd. He understood the reason behind Nick's question. He'd had a silly grin on his face all day. Meeting Nick's future in-laws, the Vaughn's, had been a treat. Lily Vaughn was the typical nervous bride, but her younger sister and parents were refreshingly down-to-earth.

He even enjoyed being relatively isolated in the Vaughn compound on the Guadalupe River. The view was perfect and the water, though cool, looked inviting. As a bonus, the private road was guarded by a well-known security company.

"I met a girl." Robert's cheeks flushed as he made the admission.

"Oooh! Come here, Lil, and get a load of this. Our boy's met a girl."

Lily laughed at the deer-in-the-headlights expression on Robert's face. She slung an arm across his shoulders and pinched his pink cheek. "A girl like that Swedish model two weeks ago or a girl like that Australian pop singer last week?"

"Neither. She's... she's nobody."

"Robert!" Lily slapped his arm. She couldn't believe a friend of hers would say such a thing.

"I didn't mean it that way." Robert rubbed his stinging arm. For someone as delicate looking as Lily, she slapped pretty damn hard. He’d seen a news report about one of the three Vaughn sisters punching a notoriously pushy actor in the nose. Had it been Lily? "She's not in the biz. She's a forensic engineer."

Lily leaned around Robert's back to raise her eyebrow at Nick. Nick shrugged his shoulders. This was the first he'd heard of Robert's forensic engineer. He quickly tried to remember where Robert had been hiding out for a week and where...

"Her name's Amy. Amy Lampis," Robert continued, oblivious to the wordless conversation going on behind his back. "She's wonderful. Brilliant. Dry sense of humor, but I like it. Doesn't take any crap from anyone, either. She berated me in the middle of a bar for hogging an extra stool."

Lily forced a bright smile. The only thing keeping her from racing back into the house and grabbing her cell phone was knowing that the person she wanted to call was currently on a plane. "She sounds great, Robert. Is she a fan?"

"No! That's the best part about it. She has no idea who I am. I told her my name was Bobby." Robert blew out a heavy sigh. He missed Amy already. He should have asked her to be his date for the wedding. "You're taking this very well, Lily. I knew you and Rose were hoping I'd hit it off with your youngest sister."

"It's okay. Probably best this way. The old best man and maid of honor cliché never works out well." She linked her arm with Robert and led him down the worn path to the water. She jerked her head towards the house, hoping Nick would get the hint and share the gossip with her sister Rose.

"Tell me more about Amy," she prompted.

"We were at the bar in the hotel and a woman walked in. She swore Amy was you. Poor girl was embarrassed." Robert chuckled at the memory.

"How did Amy take it?"

"She found it funny. Strange thing is, it seemed like she'd done that before." Robert paused to ponder that thought before dismissing it. It was a one-off. Amy just had more patience than most people.

"Oh, I'm sure," Lily muttered under her breath. She was definitely going to have a long, long talk with her sisters.

"You don't want to hear me go on and on about another woman, though. I know nothing about the bridesmaid I'm going to be teamed up with for the week. What's your sister like? I think I've only seen a few pictures of the three of you out in public." Robert congratulated himself on a smooth topic transition. He could go on for hours about Amy, which was amusing considering he'd only known her for a few hours, but didn't want to bore or offend his dear friend.

"She's made it a point to stay out of the papers as much as possible. Most of the mags forget about her. The Invisible Vaughn, she's been called. It's good for her, though. She never liked the spotlight." Lily stopped a few inches from the edge of the water. She slipped off her flip-flops, brushed off the concrete ledge, and sits with her feet in the cool river. She absolutely adored growing up near New Braunfels. She and her sisters used to run wild up and down the incline to the river. Afternoons and weekends were spent floating and soaking up the sun. She missed those lazy days so much it was a physical pain.

"What does she do, then?"

Lily waved a hand airily. "Something science-y. She's a nerd. Always was. Rose and I would be trying on Mom's make up while she'd be analyzing it with her junior chemistry set. Lissie liked to break things down."

Robert joined Lily on the ground but pulled his knees up to his chest. He didn't want to go through the hassle of pulling off his socks and shoes then rolling up the cuffs of his trousers. "Lissie, huh? I suppose your mother ran out of flower names."

"Oh no. No one was spared. Poppy Lampis Vaughn, daughter of BellaDonna Lampis, gave birth to Dahlia, Lily, Rose, and Amaryllis." Lily laughed and tried to splash Robert. "It's a tradition that ends with my generation. The girls and I have vowed to give our children normal names."

The sound of the back door swinging open then slamming closed had Lily pulling her feet out of the water. She scooped up her sandals and rose to feet. "We should head back in. I need to iron out the final details for tomorrow afternoon with Nick before going in to pick up Lissie."

"Can I go? I flew into San Antonio. I've never been to Austin before."

"No!" Lily winced at her own vehemence. "I mean, no. Rose and I are going to go. We haven't seen Lissie in a couple of months and..."

"I get it. You want to spend time together. I think it's great that you three have stayed close. I know Rose's tour keeps her busy, and you've got the most amazingly busy shooting schedule I've ever seen." Robert thought of his own family and how rarely he saw them. He'd bought his parents a mansion, new cars, and anything else they desired but that didn't make up for never visiting.

"That's what you get when you've got a family full of entertainers and workaholics."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Lil. You're not a workaholic."

"I wasn't talking about me." Lily patted Robert's cheek before going off in search of her fiancé. She hoped he'd had a chance to speak with Rose.

Robert wandered through the dining room and into the kitchen. He liked the house's open floor plan. All the rooms flowed together and maintained a universal cheeriness. Not even a lack of family photos detracted from the warmth. He hoped his own house, whenever he decided to settle down, was just like it. It helped that he had an in with the 'designer to the stars' Poppy Vaughn.

"So, Roberto. I hear a slip of a girl in New York City has stolen your heart. Don't you know there's going to be thousands of heartbroken teenage girls?" Rose Vaughn popped her head around the open refrigerator door. A bottle of water in each hand, she kicked the door shut with her bare foot. She handed one bottle to Robert then perched on top of a padded stool.

"News travels fast in this family."

Rose's lower lip jutted out in a pout. "Not always true. Someone's been keeping secrets." Catching Robert's confused look, she dismissed it with a flick of her delicate wrist. "Never mind. Sister thing. You wouldn't understand."

Knowing she was probably right, Robert leaned back against the kitchen island and crossed his ankles. He'd heard of Rose, hard not to have heard of the former teen TV idol turned pop princess, before he'd met Lily. He was delighted to discover that, despite the media's portrayal of her, Rose was just as levelheaded as her older sister.

"Rose, you'll have to forgive me, but I've been dying to ask you -."

"Do I really go out to parties without panties on?" Rose chuckled at the fierce blush that darkened Robert's face. He really was too cute for words. "Hate to break it to you, but that was a doctored photo. My mom would kill me if I ever did that for real."

"Yes, I would," Poppy Vaughn agreed, amusement coloring her tone. She bestowed a warm smile on Robert as she lightly smacked the back of her daughter's head. "You'd better not forget that, young lady."

"Of course not, Mom. Is Lils done playing kissy-face with Nick? We've got to get a move on. You know how Lissie gets if she has to wait for too long." Rose twisted the cap back on her empty water bottle before tossing it in the recycle bin.

"Oh, Rose. She was ten when she did that. Your sister's matured since then."

"Not much," Rose snorted. She beamed at Robert. "When Lissie was ten, she spent a week with friends in D.C. She flew home by herself. We were fifteen minutes late picking her up, but she was nowhere in the airport. Dad practically had the place shut down. I think they were ready to call a state-wide manhunt."

"Did you find her?" Robert knew that David Vaughn, a wealthy fourth-generation real estate mogul and state politician, had the clout to pull off such a thing. He imagined he would do something similar if a child of his ever went missing.

"Yep. She was about two miles from the airport dragging her suitcase. She'd gotten tired of waiting and decided to walk the entire way home." Rose shot her mother a scowl. "She got ice cream afterwards."

"She was grounded for a week," Poppy protested.

"After you bought her ice cream."

"What're you two arguing about now?" Lily appeared in the doorway with Nick at her side. She was dressed in the same floral sundress from earlier but had slipped on a pair of high-heeled sandals and tied her hair back with a ribbon. Her soft, feminine appearance was a startling contrast to her sister's vamp-ish tight pleather pants and halter-top ensemble.

"Nothing. Geez, Lils. Mom and I don't always argue." Rose grinned impishly. "We were just telling Robert about the time Lissie tried to walk home from the airport."

"Oh! Everyone was so mad and she couldn't understand why. She just asked for ice cream because she was hot. You guys took her out for sundaes!" They joked about it now, but Lily could still remember that terror-filled hour. Her mother had been so sure that she was going to lose another daughter.

"See!" Rose laughed at her mother's indignant frown.

"That's enough girls. Go on and pick up Lissie. She's smart enough now to try hitchhiking rather than walking."

"Yes ma'am," both Vaughn girls chimed. They each dutifully kissed their mother's cheek.

"I know you're going to have a good time tonight, but please don't stay out too late. And call your father if you need a ride. The last thing I want to do tomorrow is bail any of you out of jail. I'd be tempted to leave you there. Please keep the embarrassing photos to a minimum. You girls get to fly off when this is over, but your father and I have to live here." Poppy watched her daughters nod in agreement before dashing out of the house while arguing over who got to drive and betting on which wig Lissie had chosen to wear for the evening. They'd grown up so fast. It seemed like only a few years ago she'd been baking cookies for bake sales and pitching a tent on Girl Scout camping trips. Where had the time gone?

Nick crossed the room and slapped his friend on the shoulder. "Come on, man. You and I have dinner reservations."

"But, I thought -." Robert glanced back and forth between Poppy and Nick. He'd assumed they were going to have dinner at the house. He'd actually looked forward to a big, boisterous family meal.

"Tomorrow night. Triple Trouble won't be in until late. Girls' night or something like that," Nick explained.

"Oh, Triple Trouble. I like that," Poppy commented. She was grateful that she had daughters who got along so well, but she could attribute every gray hair on her head to her girls.

"See you in the morning, Mrs. Vaughn." Robert grabbed the keys to his rental car off the hook near the door. Rose and Lily had undoubtedly taken the car Nick had rented.

"It's Poppy, please. You boys have fun!"

By the time Nick and Robert returned, the rental car was back but the lights were off. Robert slipped between the crisp sheets on his bed and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He'd worry about meeting Lissie Vaughn in the morning.

Robert woke to bright sunshine streaming through the window over the bed. He blinked, rubbed his aching eyes, and swung his feet to the floor. Pulling on a pair of drawstring pants, he stumbled out of the bedroom. Where had Lily said the bathroom was? Taking a guess, he pushed open the first half-open door he came to.

It wasn't a bathroom. The walls were painted a soft yellow color. A laminated periodic table was taped to the back of a closet door. A sleek laptop rested on a cherry desk. The queen-sized bed wasn't made. Clothes were strewn all over the floor.

"That's Lissie's room," Rose spoke up. She lightly grasped his shoulder and turned him around, pulled the door shut. "Bathroom's over there."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Lissie's down in the water, and I won't tell anyone. Dad bought doughnuts this morning. Grab one and some coffee then join us down by the river. Mom gave us most of the morning for fun time." Rose opened the bathroom door then, with a cheeky wave, thundered down the stairs.

Robert treated himself to a long, hot shower. He'd had a few more drinks than he should have. Nick had toasted everything from his upcoming wedding to his in-laws, to the color of the bartender's tie. Hair still damp, Robert dressed in red swim trunks and an old white t-shirt.

He stuffed two chocolate glazed doughnuts in his mouth before grabbing a third and a soda out of the refrigerator. On the countertop, the newspaper was folded so that a large color photo was prominently displayed. He instantly recognized two of the women in the picture. He assumed that the third woman, face turned away from the camera, with blonde hair a shade darker than Lily's platinum blonde and without Rose's red highlights was the infamous Lissie. A glance at the caption confirmed his suspicions. The Vaughn girls are back in town! Pop diva Rose teamed up with Oscar-nominee Lily and camera-shy Lissie for a bachelorette party to remember. Along Sixth Street, there's sure to be a trail of broken-hearted admirers and well-tipped waiters.

Chuckling to himself, he followed the chattering voices down the slight hill. Poppy and Rose were sprawled out in lawn chairs on the water's edge. Lily had her toes in the water. David and Nick were in the water facing the house. A thin woman with light-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail stood, wobbled, on an inner tube held in place by the two men.

Robert swallowed the sugary pastries clogging his suddenly-dry throat. Though last time he saw her she'd been wearing a conservative blue blouse and pinstriped pants, he recognized the woman in the denim cutoffs and pink bikini top.

The woman slowly, carefully, turned around to face Robert. A wide grin split her face. Green eyes twinkled merrily. She wriggled her fingers in greeting. "Hello, Bobby."

Part Three:

Robert blinked to clear his vision. When he looked back at the river, he still saw Amy Lampis, his favorite forensic engineer, standing on a tube surrounded by his best friend and the rest of the Vaughn family. What was she doing here? How had she figured out his identity?

Poppy, ever the peacemaker, swiftly rose to her feet. "Get off that tube before you break your fool neck, Amaryllis Clover Vaughn."

Amy gestured for her father to move out of the way. She shuffled towards the edge of the tube until her heels hung over the edge then fell backwards into the water. She popped up, sputtering and spitting water out of her mouth, on the other side of the tube.

"I'd introduce you to my Lissie, Robert, but I have a feeling the two of you have already met." Poppy grabbed a folded up chair and set it up for Robert. She hoped he'd take a seat and not rush off. From the anger clouding his face, though, it was a good bet that he'd be dashing off shortly. What had her youngest done this time?

"Bobby and I were staying at the same hotel in New York. We ran into each other my last night there." Amy dunked her head back under the water, came up grinning. "It was fate, I guess. Kismet."

"You don't believe in kismet," Rose pointed out drolly.

"Shut up, Rosey-posey."

"No, you shut up, Lissie."

"Why don't both of you shut up?" Lily shouted to be heard over her bickering siblings. What was it about a warm morning by the water that turned her sisters into screaming five-year-olds?

Rose arched an eyebrow at Amy. Amy nodded, smothering a grin. Before Lily could react, Rose leapt off her chair and shoved Lily forwards. Amy grabbed Lily's hands and yanked her sister into the water. Lily's outraged shrieks echoed off the stone cliff on the other side of the river.

"Good job, sis." Amy held a hand out so Rose could help her out of the river.

"Thank you, sis. You did your part beautifully." Rose handed Amy a folded beach towel. Once Amy had the towel wrapped around her shoulders, they stood side-by-side to face Lily. Teaming up on the oldest was still one of their favorite pastimes.

"I hate you both. A lot."

“Was that you in the picture from last night?” Robert blurted. Now that he was over his shock, he could see the similarities between the blonde woman in the newspaper picture and his brown-haired Amy. He could also see why she’d been mistaken for Lily Vaughn. The sisters had their mother’s nose and their father’s chin. He should have seen it before.

Amy’s eyes went wide. Rose shook her head furiously. Lily made shushing noises. Poppy quelled them all with a single glare that was a blend of disappointment and resignation. Her only consolation was knowing that Rose had been wearing pants and her girls hadn’t come home in the back of a police cruiser. Once was enough for any mother.

“Mom, it wasn’t that bad. I promise. It was only one photo. We behaved ourselves,” Amy did her best to reassure her mother. Turning her head, she smiled softly at Robert. “That was me. When I go out as Lissie Vaughn, I wear the blonde wig. Helps with the whole Vaughn Sisters celebutant thing. It also keeps people from hounding me when I want to stay under the radar. Most people don’t look at me twice when I’m just Amy.”

Ignoring the half-curious, half-chastising scowl her mother was giving her, Amy stood beside Robert. She reached for his hand but stopped before making contact. She didn't want to be rejected outright. "We should talk."

Robert nodded sharply. He followed Amy along the bank of the river. He waited until they were far enough from her family to speak. "You lied to me."

"I lied to you?" Of all the things Amy expected to hear from him, that wasn't one of them. So what if she hadn't explained the whole bit about his BFF marrying her sister? She'd been honest about everything else. He'd been the one to keep her completely in the dark about everything.

"Yes."

"When? When I was telling you all about the job I love? When I was telling you about my childhood and about my family?" Amy clenched her fists until her nails drew blood in her palms. "Tell me just when I lied to you, Bobby."

"You knew who I was."

"Well, yeah. I did." Amy shrugged, fought to control her anger. Yelling at Robert would just send him packing. "I didn't know you were staying there. I didn't follow you. Hell, when I first saw you in the bar, I didn't recognize you."

"But you did the second time around." Regret left a bitter taste in Robert's mouth. All his plans for a life with ordinary, normal Amy Lampis dissipated before his eyes. She hadn't been ignorant about his identity, she'd just been good at hiding it.

Amy rolled her eyes. He really was as moody as the papers made him out to be. "Yes. I figured you were incognito and thought it best keep my mouth shut." When all Robert did was grunt, she lost her grip on her patience. "Let's be honest, Bobby."

"Are you sure we should even bother at this point?"

Amy's lip curled back in a sneer. She pictured herself shoving Robert into the water. Hopefully it would cool him down. "If I'd given you any indication that I knew who you were, how fast would you have been out of there?"

That gave Robert pause. He had to admit that if Amy had shown any signs of recognizing him, he would have spent the rest of the night holed up in his room. "You never told me you were Lissie Vaughn. You introduced yourself as Amy Lampis."

"And you told me your name was Bobby." Amy squatted down to pick up a flat rock. With a deft flick of the wrist, she sent it skipping along the surface of the water. "Did you ever think that maybe I like my privacy, too? Before Rose and Lily made it big, we’d been famous because of Dad and Mom and then Dahlia’s accident. My sisters and I spent most of our childhood under the microscope. I changed my name when I graduated from high school. I wanted out of the spotlight. Amy Lampis could be anonymous. Lissie Vaughn could not."

When they reached the edge of the Vaughn property, Bobby dropped down to sit on the concrete ledge. He stretched out his long legs so that his feet hovered over the water. The hot sun felt good on his bare legs. Amy'd made several good points, and they'd stung. He can't say that he would have done much different if their situations had been reversed.

"I liked that you didn't know who I was. I liked thinking that we could just be a guy and a girl out on the town."

"Then quit acting and move to a remote village somewhere in the rain forest. Stop whining about it. Stop bitching. Just learn to deal!" Amy threw her hands up in disgust. “Do what the rest of us have learned to do: pretend it’s just another role you’re playing. Give the media something to print, and keep the parts you want private. Why do you think the three of us paint LA red sometimes? We’re just as happy having a quiet movie night, but if every now and then we let them publish a few photos of Rose dancing on a bar or Lily buzzed or me punching grabby Dahl Rosini in the face, we get left alone for the other nights.”

“And that works?”

“Has for us. You just have to separate it in your head. Kinda like Lily and Nick having the small family-only wedding here at the house this afternoon. That’s personal. That's the real wedding. Thursday’s church wedding with the four-hundred person guest list and dozens of photographers and expensive finger foods is the show for the public.”

“I just… want my life back.” Robert tugged at his earlobe. What Amy was saying made sense, but he didn’t know if he could do that. Should he have to hide who he was or live a double life? Why couldn’t people just leave him alone? Things were so much easier when he was making low-budget movies and only guest-starring on sitcoms.


"I've read a few of the interviews you've given. You make it sound like being famous is such a burden. You hate it. Listen up, you skinny, freckled, floppy-haired prima donna, there are plenty of people who have been more famous than you and lived somewhat well adjusted lives. Get over it or get out of the business."

"You don't understand."

This time Amy acted on her impulse to shove him into the water. One good push to the middle of his back sent him face-first into the river. "Oh yeah, I wouldn't know the first thing about fame."

Robert wiped the cold water out of his eyes. He stared up an indignant Amy in disbelief. "You shoved me in the water!"

"Damn skippy. Come on out of there and I'll do it again, you big whiny baby."

"No one's done that to me in years."

"Yeah. I can tell. You were overdue." Amy draped her towel across a tree limb before lowering herself into the river. She hissed out a sharp breath. No matter how many years she'd had to get used to it, that first icy touch of water always shocked her.

Robert studied the woman in front of him. Yes, she'd deliberately deceived him, but he was also guilty of lying by omission. She'd known his real identity but hadn't treated him any differently. In fact, she'd behaved around him the same way she behaved around her family. His 'star status' didn't impress her in the least, and she wasn't going to fawn all over him. Even knowing who he was, she'd shared large chunks of her life and her past with him. Did he really want to let her slip through his fingers just because he'd had his pride stung?

Making the decision only took a couple of seconds. He stuck out a hand. "Hi, my name is Robert Addison. You may have seen me in movies like Daughter of Deception and The Chaos Child. Perhaps you caught last summer's box office flop Just the Atmosphere. I'm an actor with privacy issues and an over inflated sense of paranoia. I've been called mercurial, diva-ish, and bland. Apparently I need help dealing with a sudden burst of unexpected fame. Would you like to have dinner with me one night?"

Amy shook his hand, a smile curving her lips. "Hello, Robert. I'm Amaryllis Vaughn, but I prefer Amy. My Dad owns most of Central Texas and has his eye on the governorship. My mom was a model when she was a teen but now it’s her designs that can be seen in magazines. I have a sister who is considered America’s latest sweetheart and another who sings bubblegum pop music so sugary it makes my teeth hurt. I spend my time investigating car accidents and am more familiar with the laws of physics than I am with fashion of any sort, but sometimes I have to play dress up and act like the stereotypical carefree rich girl for the tabloids."

"And?" Robert prompted.

Amy's brow furrowed. Was there something she'd forgotten? When Robert's hand started to go limp, she squeezed it tightly. Oh! "And, I'd love to have dinner with you."

Robert tugged her into his arms, swooped down for a celebratory kiss. There were no blueberries or syrup, but he could still taste forever on her tongue. Once the need for oxygen had him pulling back, he cocked his head at her. "What do you mean 'skinny, freckled, floppy-haired prima donna'?"