"My guess?" Jack said. "Next month."
My jaw almost hit the floor.Next month?
I shook my head.No, that couldn’t be right.I'd literallyjusttalked to Anna. She'd said nothing about Flynn being gone, much less for a whole month.And she'd surely know, right?
I'd need to call her again.
But in the meantime, I had to face facts. Whatever the situation, Flynn definitely wasn't here at the moment.
This posed a disturbing new question.
Now what?
Chapter 4
Jack
In the end, Anna's little sister wouldn't tell me dick. Instead, she'd turned and stomped out of the house, leaving the door wide open behind her, like she was looking to make a point.
What the point was, I could only guess.
I watched through the open front doorway as she stalked to a small beat-up car parked haphazardly in the driveway. She got inside and fired up the engine. The car lurched forward, circled the turnaround, and then sped out through the open front gate before disappearing in a cloud of dust and disappointment.
Notherdisappointment.
Mine.
This trip had been a giant cluster, and it wasn't getting any better. I'd been planning to stay at Flynn's for two solitary days until starting the upcoming book tour –andthe secret side missions I'd been planning for longer than I cared to consider.
But Imogen had surprised me an hour ago, showing up outside Flynn's gate as if I'd be happy to see her.
I wasn't.Hell, if I'd known she was coming, I'd have gone somewhere else to finalize my plans.
Six weeks earlier, Imogen and I had ended our relationship. We'd been together for several months, but it seemed like longer, and not in a good way. To me, the split was permanent. But Imogen wasn't seeing it the same.
She'd spent the last hour trying to get me into bed. No surprise there.It was her answer to everything – distract me with sex and gloss over the rest of it.
As for myself, I'd spent the last hour wondering how the hell she'd learned where I was.
There was a reason I'd come out to Flynn's place, and it wasn't to be hounded by a girl who refused to take no for an answer.
But I wasn't thinking of Imogennow. I was thinking of Anna's little sister. She was in some kind of trouble, even if she'd refused to admit it.
When the dust in the road finally cleared, I shut the door and turned away. As I did, Imogen sidled closer to say, "I thought she'dneverleave."
With a flirtatious smile, she reached up and laced her icy fingers around the back of my neck. She leaned into me, and her voice grew husky. "So, what shall we do now?"
Shall?
Oh, for fuck's sake.
Imogen had more than her share of secrets. And guess what? I knew them all. Her accent was faker than her eyelashes, not to mention any of those other attributes that had made her famous.
During our time together, I'd never called her on any of it – including the fake accentorthe fake history.And why?It was because she didn't know that I knew. And I was fine with keeping it that way.
If I ever wanted to swap secrets, itwouldn’tbe with Imogen St. James – aka Rachel Krepke from Cincinnati.
I pulled out of her embrace and said, "You need to go."
