Previously...

Natalie left Steve after his infidelity and returned to Minnesota, while Riley was unexpectedly left caring for his newborn daughter left to him by a former Noir Companions client. Stormy avoided prison, but Carlo warned that he would soon collect a favor. After Brett and Sharon admitted they loved each other, Brett suggested they leave town, unaware Carlo had proof of their affair. Jealous of James and Suzanne, Lara attacked Suzanne and was accidentally shot. Mickey disposed of the body and secretly kept video proving Suzanne’s innocence. As wildfires tore through Los Angeles, Miranda and Tiger were revealed to be captives of Destiny Bravetti, who wanted revenge for Nico’s imprisonment. Miranda finally admitted she had knowingly testified falsely against Nico. Nico entered the burning winery to save them and never came out. Later, during a hospital evacuation, Riley’s baby and the newborn daughter of Stormy and Jane were accidentally switched with neither family aware.

_______________________

The morning sun spilled across the turquoise waters of the Caribbean, illuminating a magnificent villa nestled among swaying palms and lush tropical gardens. Beyond the sprawling terrace, gentle waves rolled onto a secluded stretch of white sand, while a warm breeze drifted through the open French doors.

Upstairs, Miranda Blackthorne stirred beneath the crisp white sheets of a king-sized bed. She stretched lazily, then reached for the silk robe draped over a nearby chair. Slipping it on, she crossed the enormous bedroom and paused at the balcony doors, taking in the spectacular view.

A comfortable smile spread across her face.

A few moments later, she made her way down the sweeping staircase, following the enticing aroma of fresh coffee and breakfast coming from the kitchen.

She entered the bright, spacious room and found a handsome, dark-haired man standing at the stove, dressed in a pair of linen trousers and an open-collared shirt. He was concentrating on a skillet, seemingly oblivious to her arrival.

Miranda leaned against the doorway, folding her arms as she watched him. “Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise.”

The man turned, his face lighting up when he saw her. “Good morning, beautiful.”

“Good morning yourself.”

He set down the spatula and crossed the kitchen toward her. Miranda grinned as he slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. “Sleep well?” he asked.

“Like a baby.”

“Good. I was hoping you’d sleep in.”

“And miss my handsome husband making me breakfast?” Miranda teased. “Not a chance.”

He laughed and leaned down to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, returning the kiss warmly before pulling away just enough to look into his eyes.

“You’re spoiling me, Christian.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied.

Miranda smiled. “Well, I could certainly get used to this.”

“You’d better,” he said, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “We have another six days of this place to enjoy.”

“Six whole days,” Miranda repeated dreamily. “No family, no emails, no interruptions.”

“Just you and me.”

“That’s all I need.”

Christian looked at her seductively with dark, brooding eyes. “Didn’t I tell you we were going to have the best honeymoon you ever imaged?”

Miranda gazed at him for a moment, then smiled and kissed him again. “Yes, and you were absolutely right. I love it here.”

Christian slipped his arm around her waist and led her toward the terrace, where a beautifully set breakfast table overlooked the sparkling Caribbean.

Miranda rested her head against his shoulder as they stepped outside. For a moment, everything seemed perfect.

“Mrs. Hargrove,” Christian said affectionately.

Miranda looked up at him, her smile widening. “I love the sound of that.”

He kissed her forehead. “So do I.”

As Christian pulled out a chair for her, Miranda glanced down at the enormous diamond sparkling on her left hand and smiled to herself.

_______________________

Ten Months Earlier

The aging shuttle bus rattled along the winding canyon road, its diesel engine straining as it climbed through the smoke-choked hills. Towering trees burned like torches along the ridgeline, while fierce winds hurled branches and debris across the pavement. The sky had turned an eerie, unnatural shade of orange, and the distant roar of the advancing inferno was punctuated by the sharp cracks of trees splitting apart in the intense heat. At one point, the driver had to swerve around a fallen telephone pole, its severed wires dangling dangerously close to the roadway. Ash coated the windshield faster than the wipers could clear it, forcing the elderly man who had stopped to pick them up to lean forward over the steering wheel, struggling to see through the murky haze. Inside, the air had grown hot and suffocating, making it difficult to breathe.

Miranda sat with Tiger asleep against her shoulder, shielding her daughter’s face with her jacket. Eddie sat beside them, while Stormy and Keaton occupied the seat across the aisle. All five were covered in soot, their clothes filthy and their faces streaked with dirt. Every so often, a violent gust rocked the aging vehicle, sending its loose windows rattling in their frames.

Nobody had said much since escaping the winery. With the road ahead barely visible and the surrounding hills being consumed by the blaze, everyone was painfully aware that they were far from safe.

Suddenly, sirens pierced the dark sky. The driver pulled onto the shoulder as three fire engines roared past, their flashing lights illuminating the smoky interior.

Miranda watched them disappear up the canyon. “They’re going to the winery,” she whispered.

“Probably,” Eddie replied.

“Maybe they’ll find Nico.”

Stormy exchanged a glance with Eddie. Neither knew what to say.

Miranda looked down at Tiger, sleeping peacefully against her. Nico had saved her daughter’s life. After everything she’d done to him, he’d risked his own life to save them both.

The thought made her sick.

For twenty-six years, she’d lived with the knowledge that she had lied about Patty Ruiz’s death. At fourteen, she’d been so consumed with anger and jealousy that she’d convinced herself Nico deserved whatever happened to him.

But twenty-five years in prison?

She’d taken nearly half his life away from him. And now, just when he’d finally gotten it back, he might have lost what little remained trying to save hers.

A sob escaped her throat.

Eddie looked at her. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

Miranda shook her head. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“We don’t know for sure what happened to him,” Eddie said gently.

“He went back inside, Eddie. He knew how bad it was, and he went back anyway.”

Stormy leaned forward. “Miranda, there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“I know.” She wiped her eyes, then looked down at Tiger again. “I just wish…” Her voice trailed off.

Eddie waited, but she didn’t finish.

Another fire engine roared past in the opposite direction. Miranda watched its flashing lights disappear into the smoke.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please let them find him.”

Eddie put his arm around her, pulling her close. Across the aisle, Stormy and Keaton sat silently, each lost in his own thoughts.

Miranda rested her cheek against Tiger’s hair and closed her eyes. She thought about Nico, about the years he’d lost, and about the terrible injustice she’d helped bring upon him.

For the first time, she wondered whether she would ever be able to live with herself.

Outside, the bus continued its slow descent toward Los Angeles, leaving the burning hills behind them.

_______________________

Five days later, the breakfast room at the Blackthorne mansion was unusually crowded. Ruthie moved between the table and the sideboard, replenishing coffee cups and setting out platters of scrambled eggs, bacon, and fresh fruit. Beyond the French doors, the gardens were covered in a thin layer of ash, and although the worst of the wildfires had finally subsided, a smoky haze still hung over Los Angeles.

James Blackthorne, the distinguished sixty-three-year-old movie producer, sat at the head of the table, scanning the morning newspaper. Despite his silver streaked hair and the lines that had deepened around his eyes, he retained the commanding presence that had made him one of Hollywood’s most sexy and influential men.

Across from him sat his ex-wife, Alex Reynolds, the glamorous sixty-two-year-old actress whose beauty had survived decades in the public eye. Her husband, Jordan Rydell, also sixty-three, sat beside her, looking unusually worn down by the events of the past few days.

Ethan Blackthorne sat near the window, dressed casually in a polo shirt and trousers. Tall and handsome at forty-eight, with dark hair beginning to gray at the temples, he’d recently returned to Los Angeles to help with the closing of the Miranda Blackthorne Agency. Beside him sat Eddie Distefano, six years his junior, looking tired and unshaven after another restless night.

“More coffee, Mr. Rydell?” Ruthie asked.

“Please,” Jordan replied, holding out his cup. “And thank you, Ruthie. You’ve been wonderful these past few days.”

“It’s no trouble at all, sir.”

“Speak for yourself,” James said, lowering his newspaper. “I haven’t had this many people under my roof since Stormy and Miranda were teenagers.”

Alex smiled faintly. “Well, believe me, James, we’d much rather be in our own home.”

“I know. I was only kidding.”

Jordan shook his head. “I still can’t believe it. Over thirty years in that house, and now there’s practically nothing left.”

“Did the insurance adjuster get back to you?” James asked.

“Not yet. They’re so overwhelmed, god knows when they’ll get around to it.”

Alex sighed. “The entire upstairs is gone. All my clothes, my photographs, everything. I don’t even want to think about it.”

James reached over and patted her hand. “The important thing is that you’re both all right. You can stay here as long as you need to.”

“At least you’ve got plenty of company,” Ethan remarked. “I came back to Los Angeles thinking I’d have the place practically to myself.”

James smiled. “Well, you know what they say about family.”

“That there’s no escaping them?” Ethan quipped.

Despite everything, Alex managed a laugh.

“And you’re not the only ones,” James continued, glancing toward Eddie. “I understand your place is going to need some work too.”

Eddie nodded. “Smoke damage, mostly. Some water damage where the firefighters came through. The restoration people say it could be a few weeks before we can move back in.”

“Well, you know there’s plenty of room here,” James said. “You and Miranda and Tiger are welcome to stay as long as it takes.”

“Thanks.”

Ruthie approached with another platter. “Anyone care for more bacon?”

“No, thank you, Ruthie,” Alex replied. “But would you mind putting together a tray for Miranda?”

“Of course, Mrs. Rydell.”

“She barely touched her dinner last night,” Eddie remarked.

Alex looked at him with concern. “She’s still not coming downstairs?”

Eddie shook his head. “No. She’s been holed up in her bedroom ever since we got back from the hospital. About the only time she comes out is to check on Tiger.”

“Poor darling,” Alex said softly. “She’s been through an awful lot.”

“Has anybody been able to get through to her?” Ethan asked.

James folded his newspaper and set it aside.

“Not much,” Eddie replied. “Every time I try to talk to her about what happened, she gets upset.”

Alex sighed. “I can’t even imagine what she must be going through. First that horrible woman nearly kills her and Tiger, and now this business with Nico.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the table.

“Has she opened up to you at all?” Alex asked James.

“A little,” he replied. “I went upstairs yesterday afternoon and sat with her for a while.”

“What did she say?”

“Mostly that she can’t stop thinking about Nico. She keeps going over everything that happened at the winery. And what happened at the trial.”

Jordan lowered his coffee cup. “I still can’t believe she lied.”

“She was fourteen years old,” Alex said defensively.

“That doesn’t change what she did,” Jordan replied.

Alex turned toward him. “I’m not saying it does. But she was a child, Jordan. A confused, angry child.”

“Who sent a man to prison for twenty-five years,” James said quietly.

The remark silenced her, but only for a moment. “Because she’d found out about Nico and me,” Alex said, her eyes lowering to the table.

James glanced at her.

Alex sighed heavily. “She never even told me that she found out about us. She just… held on to the anger until it exploded.”

Ethan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I remember how she was back then,” he said. “She was crazy about Nico. I tried talking to her about him more than once, but she wouldn’t listen to a word I said.”

Alex looked at him. “You knew?”

“I knew she had a crush on him. I knew he was encouraging it, too. But I had no idea about the rest of it.” He shook his head. “I keep thinking maybe I should’ve said something. Maybe somebody could’ve put a stop to the whole thing before it got out of hand.”

“You couldn’t have known what was going to happen,” James told him.

“No,” Ethan admitted. “But looking back, there were a lot of warning signs.”

“And now he’s dead,” Eddie said grimly. “After saving Miranda and Tiger.”

Alex looked away, visibly troubled. “I just wish she’d come downstairs and be with the family,” she finally said. “Sitting up there punishing herself isn’t going to change anything.”

“She knows that,” James replied. “But I don’t think she knows how to live with what she’s done.”

For a moment, nobody spoke.

“What happens now?” Alex asked. “I mean, legally? If Miranda really did lie under oath, couldn’t she get into serious trouble?”

“Possibly,” Jordan replied. “I imagine there are going to be a lot of questions once this gets out.”

“Well, it hasn’t gotten out yet,” Eddie said firmly. “And I’d like to keep it that way until Miranda’s had a chance to get herself together.”

James nodded. “Agreed. Right now, the last thing she needs is the press descending on her.”

Ethan leaned forward. “But what happens if somebody decides to reopen the case? Miranda isn’t the only one who testified.”

“That’s something we’ll have to deal with if it happens,” James replied.

“I just don’t think we can pretend this is going to go away,” Ethan said. 

Alex stared down at her untouched breakfast. “All I know is that my daughter is alive, and I thank god for that. Whatever happened twenty-six years ago, I refuse to believe she deserves to spend the rest of her life suffering for it.”

James regarded her thoughtfully. “Maybe not,” he said. “But Nico already spent twenty-five years suffering for something he didn’t do.”

Alex looked up at him, but had no reply.

_______________________

The atmosphere inside the Bravetti estate was unusually somber. Carlo Bravetti, the formidable mob patriarch in his mid-seventies, sat alone in his study, staring out the tall windows overlooking the manicured grounds. Despite his advancing years, he remained an imposing figure, with thick silver hair, a weathered olive-skinned face, and piercing dark eyes that had intimidated men half his age. A cup of espresso sat untouched on his desk, along with a morning newspaper carrying photographs of the devastation left behind by the wildfires.

The door opened and Bruno and Dennis entered, their expressions telling Carlo everything he needed to know. Both men were around forty, burly and ruggedly handsome, with muscular builds and the rough-hewn good looks of men who spent more time using their fists than worrying about their appearance. Bruno was a dark-haired Latino man and broad-shouldered, while Dennis was slightly taller, with a closely trimmed blond beard and an equally imposing physique.

“Well?” Carlo demanded, turning toward them.

Bruno shook his head. “Still no sign of Nico, boss.”

Carlo’s jaw tightened. “Nothing?”

“We’ve checked the hospitals, the shelters, everywhere,” Dennis replied. “Nobody’s seen or heard from him.”

Carlo rose slowly from his chair. “What about the winery?”

Bruno exchanged a glance with Dennis. “It’s gone, boss. Burned right down to the ground. The fire department says nobody could’ve survived that.”

Carlo looked away, refusing to accept what he was hearing. “And the body they found?”

“Still hasn’t been identified,” Dennis replied. “Burned too badly. Even dental records won’t help identify it.”

Carlo considered this for a moment. “What about the caretaker? The fellow who looked after the place?”

“No one’s heard from him either,” Bruno said.

Carlo’s expression changed slightly. “Well, there you are.”

Dennis frowned. “Boss?”

“The body. It could belong to the caretaker.”

Bruno hesitated. “I suppose it could.”

“Of course it could!” Carlo exclaimed. “Nico might’ve gotten out. He could be lying in some hospital somewhere, unconscious, unable to tell anyone who he is.”

“We’ve checked every hospital in the area,” Dennis reminded him.

“Then check them again!”

Bruno nodded. “Sure thing, boss.”

Carlo returned to his desk, suddenly encouraged by the possibility. “Until somebody proves otherwise, my son is alive. Is that understood?”

“Yes, boss,” Bruno replied, although the doubtful look he exchanged with Dennis suggested neither man shared Carlo’s optimism.

Just then, the study door opened and Sharon appeared. At forty-two, Sharon Dyer was a strikingly attractive woman with a curvaceous figure, lustrous hair, and an elegant sense of style befitting her career as an interior decorator. Dressed in tailored slacks and a silk blouse, she looked impeccably put together despite the tension that had settled over the household.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, glancing at Bruno and Dennis. “I didn’t realize you were in a meeting.”

“We were just leaving, Mrs. Bravetti,” Bruno replied.

Carlo waved them toward the door. “Keep looking. I want to know the minute you find anything.”

The two men nodded and departed, leaving Sharon alone with her husband.

“Any news?” she asked cautiously.

“Nothing yet.”

Sharon approached the desk. “Carlo, I’ve been thinking. With everything that’s happened, perhaps I should start making arrangements for Nico’s service. I know how difficult this must be for you, and I thought I could at least take some of the burden off your shoulders.”

Carlo’s head snapped toward her. “Service?”

Sharon hesitated. “Well, yes. I thought—”

“Are you out of your goddamned mind?”

She recoiled. “Carlo—”

“My son hasn’t even been declared dead, and you’re already planning his funeral?”

“I’m only trying to help.”

“Then help by keeping your mouth shut!” Carlo thundered, slamming his hand against the desk. “Nico is still out there somewhere, and until they find him, I don’t want to hear another word about funerals, memorials, or anything of the sort!”

Sharon stared at him, stunned by the outburst. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Carlo turned away from her, breathing heavily.

After a moment, Sharon glanced toward the door. “I have an appointment with a client this morning. A decorating job in Beverly Hills. I should probably get going.”

Carlo looked back at her. “Of course.”

Sharon picked up her handbag from a nearby chair. “I’ll be home later,” she said, then lingered for a moment, perhaps hoping he might apologize, but when he made no effort to speak, she quietly left the room.

Carlo watched her go, his expression gradually changing. He knew perfectly well where his wife was going, and it had nothing to do with selecting fabrics or rearranging furniture.

Brett Armstrong.

Carlo’s eyes drifted toward the photographs Bruno and Dennis had brought him five days earlier. Sharon in Brett’s arms. The two of them kissing on the terrace of his Venice home. There had been no mistaking what was going on between them.

He’d said nothing to Sharon about the photographs. Not yet. But the thought of her sneaking off to see Brett while his own son was presumed dead made his blood boil.

Carlo slowly settled back into his chair, his expression hardening. Let her go to him, he thought. Let them enjoy whatever time they had left together.

He would deal with both of them soon enough.

_______________________

Across town, Mickey Donovan stood near the bedroom window, staring out at the hazy Los Angeles skyline. At fifty-three, he was still a strikingly handsome man, with blond hair and a muscular physique that he maintained through years of disciplined workouts. Dressed only in a pair of trousers, his broad, bare shoulders were tense as he gazed silently at the city below.

Suzanne Rogers entered the bedroom a few moments later. At sixty, she remained a beautiful, elegant woman, with dark chestnut locks of hair and a figure that belied her age. She paused in the doorway when she saw him, immediately recognizing the forlorn expression on his face.

She crossed the room and gently placed a hand against his bare back. “Are you okay?”

Mickey nodded glumly, without turning around.

Suzanne studied him for a moment. “Have you talked to your father?”

“Yeah. This morning.”

“What did he say?”

Mickey sighed. “Same thing he’s been saying for the last few days. He thinks Nico’s still alive.”

Suzanne moved closer. “Well, maybe there’s still a chance.”

Mickey shook his head. “Come on, Suzanne. You saw the news footage. That whole place went up like a tinderbox. There’s no way Nico could’ve gotten out in time.”

“You don’t know that for certain.”

He stopped and shook his head. “I know my brother. If he’d made it out of there, he would’ve contacted somebody by now.”

Suzanne slipped her arms around his waist from behind. “I’m so sorry, Mickey.”

He stared out the window for another moment. “Twenty-five years in prison, and he was barely out six months. What kind of life is that?”

Suzanne rested her cheek against his back, unsure what to say.

“I used to think we’d have all this time to catch up,” Mickey continued quietly. “We’d go out, have a few drinks, talk about the old days. Stupid stuff, you know?” He laughed bitterly. “Now I guess we never will.”

Suzanne tightened her arms around him. “I’m sorry.”

Mickey finally turned to face her. For several seconds, he simply looked into her eyes, his expression filled with a mixture of grief and frustration. Then he pulled her against him and kissed her.

Suzanne was startled by the sudden urgency, but she returned his kiss, placing her hands against his smooth chest. He held her tightly, as though desperate to shut out everything that had happened over the past few days.

He kissed her again, more passionately this time, his hands moving around her waist as he drew her closer. Suzanne responded willingly, sensing that he needed something to take his mind off his grief, even if only for a little while.

Without another word, Mickey led her toward the bed. Suzanne slipped off her robe and allowed him to pull her down beside him, where they continued kissing hungrily.

For Mickey, it was less about passion than the desperate need to feel something other than the terrible emptiness left by his brother’s death.

And Suzanne, who understood all too well what it meant to be haunted by something she couldn’t change, was only too willing to give him that escape.

_______________________

At Stormy and Jane’s home, the mood was considerably brighter. Forty-two-year-old Stormy Blackthorne sat on the living room sofa beside his wife, Jane, a beautiful thirty-nine-year-old blonde who was still recovering from giving birth just a week earlier. In her arms was their newborn daughter, Caroline Elizabeth Blackthorne, who slept peacefully beneath a soft pink blanket.

R.J., Stormy’s fifteen-year-old son, leaned over the back of the sofa, studying his new baby sister with considerable curiosity.

“She’s kind of funny looking,” he announced.

Jane burst out laughing. “R.J.!”

“What?” he asked innocently. “I’m just saying. She’s all wrinkly and her head’s shaped funny.”

Stormy laughed. “You weren’t exactly a looker when you were born either, pal.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“She’s beautiful,” Jane insisted, gazing lovingly at the baby. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Of course she is,” Stormy agreed, leaning over to kiss his daughter’s forehead.

R.J. grinned. “Well, I guess she’ll grow into it.”

“Go find something useful to do,” Stormy told him, laughing.

“Fine. But don’t come crying to me when she starts dating.”

“She’s seven days old!” Jane exclaimed.

“Just planning ahead.”

They all laughed as R.J. headed out of the room, leaving Stormy and Jane alone with their daughter.

Jane looked down at Caroline, gently brushing a finger along her tiny cheek. “Who do you think she looks like?”

Stormy leaned closer and studied the baby’s face. “Beats me.”

“Come on. Your eyes? My nose?”

“Jane, she’s a week old. They all look pretty much the same at that age.”

She gave him an amused look. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hey, I said she’s beautiful. What more do you want?”

Jane smiled and leaned over to kiss him. For a moment, they simply sat together admiring their daughter.

Then Jane’s expression grew thoughtful. “Have you talked to Miranda?”

Stormy’s smile faded. “No. I tried calling her yesterday, but I get the feeling she doesn’t want to see me.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because of what happened with Nico. She’s feeling guilty enough about lying on the witness stand, and I think she’s even more upset because she talked the rest of us into changing our stories.”

Jane looked at him. “But you were all just kids.”

“Doesn’t matter. We all got up there and swore we saw Nico push Patty. And now Miranda’s admitted she knew he didn’t.”

Jane was quiet for a moment. “Do you think she deliberately manipulated all of you?”

Stormy shrugged. “I don’t know. We were fourteen, fifteen years old. Miranda was so certain about what she’d seen that eventually the rest of us started believing it too.”

“And now Nico’s dead.”

“Looks that way.” Stormy shook his head. “Twenty-five years in prison for something he didn’t do. I can’t even imagine what that’s like.”

Jane glanced down at Caroline, who stirred briefly before settling back to sleep.

“Well, I hope Miranda doesn’t shut everybody out forever. She needs her family right now.”

“I know,” Stormy replied. “But I think she’s afraid of what I’m going to say to her.”

“What would you say?”

He considered the question for a moment. “That’s just it. I don’t know.”

Jane rested her head against his shoulder as Stormy slipped an arm around her. “At least we’ve got something good to be thankful for.”

Jane kissed Caroline’s forehead. “We certainly do.”

_______________________

At the courtyard apartment complex in West Hollywood, little had changed since it was built in the 1990s. The two-story stucco buildings, with their faded pastel paint, wrought-iron railings, and weathered balconies, surrounded a sparkling swimming pool that remained the property’s main attraction. The landscaping was slightly overgrown, and the cracked walkways and aging patio furniture had seen better days, but the place still had a certain charm. A handful of bikini-clad young women lounged on deck chairs or splashed around in the pool, laughing and flirting with a couple of shirtless guys. Despite its somewhat shabby appearance, the complex remained a lively gathering place for young singles.

Inside one of the apartments, the sound of a crying baby echoed through Riley Weir’s cluttered living room.

Twenty-six-year-old Riley, ridiculously good-looking and of medium height, paced back and forth across the room with the week-old infant cradled awkwardly in his arms. Shirtless and wearing only a pair of athletic shorts, his muscular, sculpted physique was on full display, although his usual confident demeanor had given way to the frazzled expression of a man who hadn’t slept in days.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he pleaded, gently bouncing her. “What’s the matter now?”

The baby responded with another ear-piercing wail.

Riley sighed and looked helplessly around the apartment. A half-empty bottle sat on the coffee table beside a package of diapers, a burp cloth, and an assortment of baby supplies he’d hurriedly purchased over the past several days.

“You’re fed. You’re changed. I burped you. What else do you want from me?”

He tried rocking her, then walking faster, then gently patting her back. Nothing worked.

“Okay, okay. Maybe you just don’t like me. I get it.”

Just then, a knock came at the door.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Riley said, still holding the baby as he crossed the room and awkwardly opened the door. When he did, a gasp escaped his throat. “Oh my god.”

“Well, hello to you too,” a woman announced brightly.

Riley stared at her. “Mom?”

“Surprise!”

At forty-four, Jodi Fletcher was an attractive blonde who dressed considerably younger than her years. Her tight jeans, low-cut top, and oversized sunglasses made her look more like someone arriving for a weekend in Vegas than a grandmother coming to visit her son. She’d been a party girl since her teens, having given birth to Riley at eighteen, and judging by her appearance, she had little intention of slowing down.

Jodi looked her son up and down. “Well, aren’t you a sight,” she said and grabbed a swollen bicep. “Where’d all these muscles come from?”

“Mom, what are you doing here?”

She pushed past him into the apartment, carrying an enormous handbag and a small rolling suitcase. “What else was I supposed to do?” she asked. “You call me up, tell me Natalie dumped you, and then casually mention that some strange girl you screwed got pregnant and left you with a baby!”

“Mom, lower your voice.”

She turned and got her first good look at the infant in his arms. “Oh, my god. Is that her?”

“No, Mom. I picked up somebody else’s baby on the way home.”

She ignored the sarcasm and stepped closer. “Well, look at her!”

The baby continued screaming.

“Good lord,” his mother remarked. “She’s got a set of lungs on her, doesn’t she?”

“She’s been doing this for the last three hours.”

“Give her here.”

Riley hesitated before handing the infant over. His mother settled the baby against her shoulder and began gently swaying from side to side. “There, there, Madison Rose. Grandma’s here.”

Riley folded his arms across his bare chest. “I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

“To see my son and my new granddaughter, obviously.”

“Uh-huh.”

Jodi looked at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighed. “Come on, Mom. We barely see each other. You haven’t visited me once since I moved to L.A. nearly two years ago.”

“Well, I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, I have a pretty good idea what you’ve been busy with.”

She gave him a pointed look. “Don’t start.”

Riley shook his head. Their relationship had never been particularly close, especially after his parents divorced. In the years that followed, his mother had gone through a seemingly endless succession of boyfriends, husbands, and live-in lovers, many of whom Riley could barely remember.

“So,” he said finally, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Who are you fucking now?”

His mother gasped theatrically. “Riley Dean!”

“What? It’s a legitimate question.”

“For your information, I’m seeing someone and he happens to be a very nice man.”

“They always are. At first.”

She rolled her eyes. “I met him online and he happens to live right here in Los Angeles.”

Riley stared at her for a moment, then let out a knowing laugh. “Oh, so that’s the real reason you came.”

Jodi frowned. “What?”

“You didn’t fly all the way out here because you were worried about me and Madison. You came to see some guy you met on the internet.”

“That is not true!”

“Really?”

“Well…” She hesitated. “I might have planned on seeing him while I’m here. Besides, I’ve always loved L.A. Such great energy.” 

Riley threw up his hands. “Unbelievable.”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic. I can do two things at once.”

“Yeah, you’ve always been pretty good at juggling men.”

Jodi glared at him, then turned her attention back to the baby, who had finally begun to quiet down. “Well, at least somebody around here appreciates me.”

Riley watched in amazement as the infant settled against his mother’s shoulder, her cries fading into an occasional whimper. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered.

His mother smiled triumphantly. “See? Grandma still knows a thing or two.”

“Apparently.”

She glanced around the cluttered apartment. “Now, first things first. We’re going to get this place cleaned up, get you some decent food, and figure out what you’re going to do with this child.”

Riley eyed her suspiciously. “How long are you planning to stay?”

His mother smiled sweetly. “Oh, I haven’t decided yet.”

Riley closed his eyes and groaned.

Somehow, he had a feeling that a screaming newborn was about to become the least of his problems.

_______________________

Upstairs at the Blackthorne mansion, Miranda sat on the edge of her bed, still wearing the pajamas she’d put on the night before. Her hair was unkempt, and dark circles had formed beneath her eyes. She hadn’t bothered with makeup in days, and the tear stains on her cheeks were evidence of another sleepless night.

A soft knock came at the door.

“Mom?”

Miranda looked up as Tiger entered the room. The fourteen-year-old crossed to the bed and, without saying a word, climbed up beside her mother and wrapped both arms around her.

Miranda smiled faintly and held her close. Ever since their ordeal at the winery, Tiger had been unusually affectionate, a far cry from the rebellious teenager who’d barely tolerated her mother’s company only days earlier.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Tiger buried her face against her mother’s shoulder. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

Tiger nodded, then tightened her embrace. “I love you, Mommy.”

Miranda’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “I love you too, honey.”

For a while, they simply held one another.

“I keep thinking about that lady,” Tiger finally whispered.

Miranda stiffened slightly. 

“I keep seeing her standing there in that black dress. And the way she looked at us.” Her voice trembled. “She really wanted us to die, didn’t she?”

Miranda swallowed hard. “I don’t want you worrying about her anymore.”

“But what if she comes back?”

“Listen to me.” Miranda gently took her daughter’s face in her hands. “I will never let anything happen to you. Do you understand? I’ll protect you no matter what.”

Tiger studied her for a moment before nodding. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Tiger hugged her again, and Miranda closed her eyes, grateful for the warmth of her daughter’s embrace.

Another knock sounded at the door.

“Miranda? It’s Heather.”

Miranda looked toward the doorway. “Come in.”

Heather Rydell entered the room, looking concerned when she saw her stepsister sitting on the bed with Tiger. At forty-two, Heather was a striking blonde with an elegance and composure that belied the troubled years of her youth. The emotional turmoil that had once dominated her life was long behind her, replaced by a quiet confidence and warmth.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Heather said warmly. “How are you doing?”

“Okay,” Tiger replied, climbing down from the bed.

“Why don’t you go downstairs and see if Ruthie has lunch ready?” Miranda suggested.

Tiger brightened slightly. “Okay.” She leaned over and kissed her mother’s cheek before heading toward the door. “Love you, Mommy.”

“Love you too, baby.”

Heather watched the girl leave, then turned back toward Miranda. “Well, that’s certainly a change.”

Miranda managed a weak smile. “You have no idea. She hasn’t let me out of her sight since we got back.”

“After what you two went through, I can’t say I blame her.” Heather crossed the room and sat beside her on the bed. Up close, she could see just how exhausted Miranda looked. “How are you holding up?”

Miranda shrugged. “I’ve been better.”

“So I’ve heard. Eddie says you haven’t been eating, and your mom and dad are worried sick.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Miranda…”

“What do you want me to say, Heather?” she asked, her voice cracking. “That I’m okay? That everything’s fine?”

Heather studied her carefully. “No. I just want you to talk to me.”

Miranda looked away, tears filling her eyes. “I can’t believe what I did.”

Heather said nothing.

“All these years, I told myself Nico deserved what happened to him. That he was a murderer, and that we did the right thing putting him away.” She shook her head. “But I knew, Heather. Deep down, I knew he didn’t push Patty.”

“I know.”

“And it wasn’t enough that I lied. I made the rest of you lie too.”

“Miranda—”

“No, it’s true. I remember how it happened. I kept insisting he pushed her until everyone started questioning what they’d seen. And then we all got up on that witness stand and swore to it.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “What kind of person does something like that?”

Heather reached for her hand. “You were fourteen years old.”

“Stop saying that!” Miranda snapped, then immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry. It’s just that everyone keeps telling me I was a child, as though that makes it all right.”

“It doesn’t make it all right,” Heather replied gently. “But it does matter.”

Miranda shook her head miserably. “He spent half his life in prison because I wanted to get back at him for sleeping with my mother. And now he’s probably dead.”

Heather slipped an arm around her shoulders.

“And the worst part is that he saved us,” Miranda continued through her tears. “After everything I did to him, he saved Tiger and me. He didn’t have to. He could’ve left us there.”

“But he didn’t.”

“No.” Miranda wiped at her eyes. “And now I’ll never get the chance to tell him how sorry I am.”

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Miranda turned toward Heather.

“And you. God, Heather, the way I’ve treated you the last few months.” She shook her head. “I was so horrible to you when I found out that you had doubts about our testimony. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all of it.”

Heather was quiet for a moment before squeezing her hand. “Miranda, we were all there. We all made our own decisions. You may have pushed us, but nobody forced me to get on that stand.”

“But—”

“We’ve been through too much together for me to hold this against you now.”

Miranda looked at her gratefully. “I don’t deserve you,” she said.

Heather smiled faintly. “Well, you’re stuck with me anyway.”

Miranda let out a small, tearful laugh. For several moments, they sat in silence. Then Miranda slowly straightened, an expression of determination replacing the despair on her face.

“I have to do something.”

Heather frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t just sit here and pretend nothing happened. I can’t go on living with this.”

“Nobody expects you to.”

“No. You don’t understand.” Miranda stood and crossed toward the window. “I have to make this right somehow.”

Heather watched her. “How?”

Miranda turned back toward her. “I’m going to see the Bravettis.”

Heather stared at her. “What?”

“I’m going to see Carlo Bravetti. I’m going to tell them everything.”

“Miranda, are you out of your mind?”

“They deserve to know the truth.”

“Those people tried to destroy your family! Destiny kidnapped you and Tiger and nearly burned you alive!”

“I know what Destiny did.”

“And Carlo Bravetti is a mobster, Miranda! You can’t just walk into his house and announce that you lied about something like that!”

“Why not?”

Heather rose from the bed. “Because he’ll kill you, that’s why!”

Miranda looked away.

“Or he’ll find some other way to make you pay,” Heather continued. “Think about Eddie. Think about Tiger. You’ve already put them through enough.”

Miranda turned back toward her, her expression anguished. “What am I supposed to do? Spend the rest of my life pretending I didn’t ruin an innocent man’s life?”

“No. But there are other ways to deal with this. Talk to a lawyer. Talk to your father. Just don’t go marching into the Bravetti estate.”

Miranda shook her head. “I have to.”

“Miranda—”

“It’s the only way I can begin to atone for what I’ve done.”

Heather stared at her in disbelief. “You’re making a terrible mistake.”

“Maybe,” Miranda replied quietly. “But I’ve already made one terrible mistake that cost a man his life. I can’t make another one by keeping silent.”

Heather opened her mouth to argue, but Miranda had already turned toward her closet.

For the first time in days, she had made up her mind about something. And Heather knew from experience that once Miranda Blackthorne made up her mind, there was very little anyone could do to change it.

_______________________

James stepped off the elevator and made his way toward Suzanne’s condo. He’d tried calling her several times over the past few days, but every attempt ended with her voicemail picking up.  He rang the doorbell. A moment later, Mickey Donovan opened the door.

James stopped short. “What are you doing here?”

Mickey folded his arms. “What do you want, Blackthorne?”

“I’m here to see Suzanne.”

“She’s not here.”

James frowned. The last he knew, Suzanne had broken things off with Mickey. She’d been terrified of him, so finding him in her home was the last thing he’d expected.

“Where is she?” James asked.

“She went to see Heather.”

“Heather was at my house when I left there.”

Mickey shrugged. “Maybe she made another stop. I don’t keep tabs on her every move.”

He started closing the door, but James put his hand against it.

“Not so fast. I want to speak to Suzanne.”

“And I told you she’s not here.”

“Then I’ll wait.”

Mickey stepped closer, his expression darkening. “I’ll let her know that you stopped by.”

James stared at him. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“Look, I know you’re dealing with everything that happened to your brother, and I’m sorry about that, but—”

Mickey’s eyes narrowed. “Just get the hell out of here,” he said, then slammed the door in his face.

James stood in the hallway, stunned. He took out his phone and dialed Suzanne again. When it went straight to voicemail, he glanced uneasily toward the door before heading back to the elevator.

Inside, Mickey walked into the living room where Suzanne stood with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, staring at the expensive new rug covering the spot where Lara had died a week earlier.

“He’s gone,” Mickey announced.

Suzanne looked up. “I can’t keep doing this, Mickey. James has no idea his wife is dead. He’s out there wondering where she went, and I’m standing here knowing exactly what happened to her.”

Mickey approached and slipped his arms around her. “Listen to me. Lara came here looking for trouble. You defended yourself. End of story.”

“No one would ever believe that,” she said with a shake of her head. “They’d say I wanted her dead. I’d go to prison for the rest of my life.” 

“No one will ever know,” he reassured her.

Suzanne looked down at the rug again. “Every time somebody knocks on that door, I think it’s the police.”

Mickey tightened his embrace. “Nobody’s going to find out, Suzanne. I took care of everything.”

She leaned against him, closing her eyes, but couldn’t escape the memory of Lara Devon bleeding to death on her living room floor.

Mickey’s focus drifted as he thought about the video he’d discovered on Lara’s phone, accidentally recorded during her fatal confrontation with Suzanne. The footage clearly showed that it was an accident, but rather than tell her, he’d locked the phone away in his safe at the Bravetti estate.

As long as Suzanne believed she could be charged with murder, she needed him. He’d disposed of Lara’s body, covered her tracks, and become the one person she could depend on to keep her secret. If she knew the recording existed, she might no longer feel compelled to stay with him.

And Mickey wasn’t about to let that happen.

He kissed the top of her head and held her closer, knowing that the secret he’d promised to protect was also the very thing keeping Suzanne in his arms.

_______________________

Brett Armstrong couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this deeply in love. Not with Devon, his high school sweetheart, whom he’d run off with to start over in Las Vegas at just eighteen. Not with Miranda, whom he’d met in a casino and impulsively married to provide himself with an alibi. Not even Heather, the mother of his daughter and the woman he’d married twice before finally accepting that monogamy wasn’t exactly his strong suit. Each of those women had left an indelible mark on his life, and in some ways, his heart. But none had stirred the kind of passion he felt for Sharon Dyer. For the first time in years, Brett found himself wanting a future with just one woman. There was only one problem.

She was married to a very, very dangerous man.

Inside the master bedroom of his sprawling house in Venice, Brett lay on his back with Sharon straddling him. Her hips moved up and down, sliding her welcoming pussy over his girthy seven and a half inch cock as she threw her head back in ecstasy. Brett gazed up at her, his hands cupping her massive breasts as he willed himself to go the distance. With Sharon, however, he could barely contain himself. Just a touch from her gave him earth shattering convulsions of excitement and pleasure. When he felt her contract tightly around his shaft, and felt her warm juices flooding over him, he finally let go and erupted into an explosive orgasm unlike any he’d ever felt before. It was minutes before the sensation subsided.

Afterwards, Sharon collapsed onto the bed beside him where they lay together beneath the tangled sheets, enjoying the aftermath of making love. 

At forty-four, Brett was an exceptionally handsome man, with tousled blond hair, a trace of stubble along his strong jaw, and a muscular body with well-defined shoulders and a toned chest. The sheet rested loosely across his hips as he lay on his side, one arm draped around Sharon’s waist.

Sharon smiled as she traced her fingers along his chest, admiring the rugged good looks and physical confidence that had attracted her to him in the first place.

Finally, Brett leaned forward and kissed her. “I love you,” he whispered.

Sharon touched his face. “I love you too.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

She sighed. “Brett…”

“I’m serious. We talked about this before. There’s nothing keeping us in Los Angeles. We could go anywhere. New York, Europe, wherever you want.”

Sharon looked away. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Why can’t it be?”

“Because of Carlo. You know what he’s like. If I leave him, he’ll never stop looking for me. He’ll spend every dime he’s got and call in every favor until he finds us.”

Brett brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “We could disappear. Start over somewhere nobody knows us.”

“You don’t understand. Carlo has people everywhere. He wouldn’t stop until he found us, and when he did…” Her voice trailed off.

Brett sighed and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “There’s gotta be a way.”

Sharon was quiet for a moment, then slowly sat up, pulling the sheet around herself. “Maybe there is.”

Brett turned toward her. “How?”

She looked at him, her expression suddenly serious. “What if you killed him?”

Brett stared at her. “What?”

“I’m serious.”

The smile disappeared from his face. He gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “Sharon, come on.”

She moved closer, resting a hand against his chest. “Think about it, Brett. He’s an old man. He’s already lived his life. And as long as he’s alive, we’re never going to have one of our own.”

“You’re talking about murdering your husband.”

“I’m talking about us being free.”

Brett sat up against the pillows. “Jesus christ, Sharon.”

“What other choice do we have? You said yourself there’s got to be a way.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t suggesting we kill him. I may be a lot of things, but I’m no murderer.”

Sharon held his gaze. “If Carlo were gone, there’d be nothing stopping us. We could be together without looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives.”

Brett studied her, unsettled by how calmly she was discussing it. “You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?”

Sharon hesitated, then looked down at the sheets. “More than you know.”

Brett stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head. “That’s a hell of a thing to ask somebody.”

She reached for his hand. “I know. But I love you, Brett. And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life sneaking around, terrified of what Carlo might do if he finds out about us.”

Brett looked toward the windows, where the sunlight had finally begun breaking through the lingering haze.

For the first time since they’d begun their affair, he wondered just how far Sharon was willing to go to be with him.

And, more troubling still, how far he might be willing to go for her.

_______________________

James returned to the mansion a short while later, still troubled by his encounter with Mickey. He made his way into the parlor room where he poured himself a cup of coffee, his thoughts returning to Lara.

It had been almost a week since she’d stormed out of the house following their argument at dinner, and nobody had heard from her since. At first, James had assumed she’d checked into a hotel somewhere, perhaps hoping to make him worry. After all, he’d made it perfectly clear that their marriage was over, and Lara had never been one to accept rejection gracefully.

But six days without so much as a phone call?

James took a sip of coffee and glanced at his phone. He’d tried calling her several times, but each attempt had gone straight to voicemail. With the wildfires having thrown the entire city into chaos, he was beginning to wonder whether something might actually have happened to her.

Finally, he picked up his phone and searched for the number of Detective Carver. He was just about to place the call when the doorbell rang.

Ruthie emerged from the hallway. “I’ll get that, Mr. Blackthorne.”

“No, that’s all right, Ruthie. I’ll get it.”

James set down his cup and crossed the foyer. When he opened the front door, he was surprised to find David Jennings standing on the other side.

“David,” James exclaimed, extending his hand. “Well, this is a surprise.”

David shook his hand firmly. “Good to see you, James.”

At fifty-five, David was a handsome, successful hotel magnate with thick dark hair, a slightly disheveled beard, and a rugged charm that contrasted with his expensive, tailored clothes.

“Come in, come in. What brings you to town?”

David stepped inside, glancing around the familiar foyer. “Well, after everything that happened, I wanted to make sure Miranda and Tiger were all right. I’ve talked to them on the phone, but I needed to see them for myself.”

“Of course.”

“And I had to check on Moonshadows while I was here.”

James frowned. “How did it make out?”

David shook his head grimly. “Not good. The fires tore through the property. The main building, the restaurants, most of the guest cabanas. Almost everything’s gone.”

“My god.”

“Total loss. There’s barely anything left to salvage.”

James placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, David. I know how much that place meant to you.”

David nodded. “I’ve spent years building it up. But what can you do? At least no one was hurt.”

“Thank god for that.”

Just then, a voice echoed from down the hallway.

“Daddy!”

Both men turned as Tiger came running toward them.

David’s face immediately brightened. “There’s my girl!”

Tiger threw herself into his arms, wrapping them tightly around his neck. David hugged her fiercely, lifting her slightly off the floor before setting her down again.

He kissed the top of her head. “You have no idea how worried I’ve been about you.”

“I’m okay, Daddy.”

He pulled back and studied her face. “Are you sure? You’re not hurt?”

Tiger shook her head. “No. Just a little scared.”

David hugged her again. “Well, you’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”

James watched the reunion with a faint smile.

David finally released his daughter and looked toward James. “Where’s Miranda?”

Before he could answer, hurried footsteps sounded on the staircase and Heather appeared at the top of the stairs, looking visibly shaken.

“She’s gone.”

James frowned. “Gone? Gone where?”

Heather reached the bottom of the stairs and looked anxiously between the two men. “She told me she was going to the Bravetti estate.”

James stared at her. “What?”

“I tried to talk her out of it. I thought I’d finally gotten through to her, but the minute I turned my back, she slipped out through the tunnels.”

“Damnit,” James muttered, reaching for his phone.

David looked between them. “Wait a minute. Confess what?”

James ignored him, frantically dialing Miranda’s number. After several rings, the call went to voicemail. “Miranda, it’s Dad. Call me immediately. And whatever you do, stay away from that house.”

He hung up and turned to Heather. “Does Eddie know?”

“Not yet.”

“Then call him.”

David stepped forward. “Would somebody please tell me what’s going on?”

James grabbed his car keys from the foyer table. “Miranda’s about to tell Carlo Bravetti that she deliberately lied on the witness stand and sent his son to prison.”

David stared at him. “Jesus christ.”

“Daddy?” Tiger asked anxiously. “Is Mommy in trouble?”

David glanced down at his daughter, then back at James. “I’m coming with you.”

“David, I don’t think—”

“She’s the mother of my daughter, James. I’m not sitting here doing nothing while she walks into a lion’s den.”

James hesitated, then nodded. “All right. Let’s go.”

David turned to Tiger and kissed her forehead. “Stay here with Heather, sweetheart. We’ll be back soon.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

With that, the two men hurried out of the mansion, leaving Heather to comfort a frightened Tiger.

_______________________

Next…

James, David and Eddie race to stop Miranda from making a dangerous mistake. Ethan continues having nightmares. Brett tries to comprehend what Sharon asks of him. Carlo begins to realize Nico isn’t coming back.