The Closer You Come

And there would be a sister-versus-sister fight. Jessie Kay always resisted her own rescue.

Brook Lynn reached up and switched her inner ear implants to silent. The devices were a couple of years old but still deemed experimental, used to treat cases of hyperacusis as severe as hers—hearing everyday noises at such a blaring volume, it sometimes felt as if acid had been poured inside her ears. They allowed her to experience a sublime state of deafness whenever she desired. Which she did. Often.

Without bothering to knock, she stepped inside the house. Through a thick haze of cigar smoke, she saw the home’s interior hadn’t had any work done, either, and was in even more desperate need of refurbishment. Wallpaper had yellowed with age and peeled at the corners. The white shag carpet was stained and threadbare in places. In complete contrast, the furniture scattered throughout looked brand-new, flawless.

Finding no sign of Jessie Kay, she moved deeper into the house, reading lips along the way. A skill she’d honed over the years.

“—would never have guessed he was such a citidiot,” the recently divorced Charlene Burns was saying. “But after tonight’s antics?”

Citidiot. She had to be talking about West or one of his friends. They were the only city boys to move here in forever.

“I know!” Tawny Ferguson replied with a nod. “It’s so, so sad.”

“Can we really blame him, though? Smog probably putrefied already damaged brain cells. But Jessie Kay? That girl has no excuse. Trying to steal my Beck before throwing herself at Jase was such a slutty— Oh, hey, Brook Lynn.” Charlene flashed a faux-bright smile and even managed an enthusiastic wave.

Brook Lynn held up her index finger and said, “One.”

Both girls darted away as fast as their feet would carry them.

Over the years, Brook Lynn’s count of three had served her very well. The only warning anyone received before her “viper’s tongue” was unleashed. It was known for drawing blood and leaving internal injuries few could survive, all because she’d flayed Jessie Kay’s ex-boyfriend with a verbal tongue-lashing. Once! But that’s all it had taken. A legend had been born, and that legend had only grown—without any real help from her. Nowadays most folks would rather have their nose and mouth stapled shut—after being waterboarded—than clash with her.

A tap on her shoulder sent her wheeling around. “Kenna,” she exclaimed, happy to see her friend.

The lovely redhead greeted her with a much-needed hug. “I lost track of Jessie Kay, but I guarantee West knows where she is. That boy has his head on a swivel. Come on.”

Brook Lynn followed close behind and wished, not for the first time, that they could just pack up and run away together, leaving the rest of the world behind. But Kenna had a six-year-old daughter to think about. Not to mention a smoking-hot fiancé. And Brook Lynn, well, she had Jessie Kay, who would self-destruct without her.

Well, self-destruct faster.

Kenna led her through an overcrowded game room, where people hovered around a massive, elaborately carved pool table set in the frame of an old car, but no one actually played the game. Probably because a plastic sign hung from an aged chandelier, right over the center of the felt. Touch And Regret.

Another door led to a spacious kitchen. Though the walls were atrocious with an even uglier, darker yellow paper, the appliances were stainless steel and clearly fresh from the factory, the counters a lovely cream-and-rose marble. Someone had done some work in here, and her heart pinged with envy. My dream kitchen in progress.

Kenna stopped and waved her arm toward the sink...where Brook Lynn spotted West. He was in the middle of a conversation with a man she’d never met.

“I’ve got this,” she told her friend.

Kenna cupped her cheeks in an effort to gain her full attention. “You sure?”

“Very. Go back to Dane before he starts hunting for you.” Dane Michaelson, once the most sought-after bachelor in town, was now the reason Kenna breathed.

“I happen to like when he hunts me,” Kenna said, wiggling her brows. “Think Animal Planet goes wild.”

“You make me sick. You know that, right?”

“Don’t be jelly. Your time is coming.” Kenna kissed her forehead before taking off.

Brook Lynn’s time wasn’t even close to coming. She had zero prospects. And with that depressing thought, she focused on her quarry. As usual, the sight of West arrested her, even in profile. Not because she was attracted to him—she wasn’t—but because, on top of that ultrafine body he liked to boast about, he had a face worthy of decorating the most beloved romance-novel cover. With his shaggy dark hair and piercing, soulful eyes, every unattached female in town was ready to throw herself at him—and many already had. But though he was nice, even charming and supersmart, he could have been standing in a full swatch of sunlight, and darkness still would have clung to him.

She did not need another fixer-upper in her life, and there was no question the guy would require work.

According to Kenna, whose fiancé had the inside tract, West allowed himself to date one woman per year, for two months. No more, no less. When the clock zeroed out, he dumped the poor, dear thing for some reason or other that sounded purely made up and never spoke to her again.

How crazy was that?

The guy with West was just as spectacular in appearance, maybe more so. Masculine and muscular, yet almost pretty. His eyes were a perfect honey gold, though his hair couldn’t decide between blond and brown. Not that it mattered. The different colors blended together in beautiful harmony. Even his eyelashes started out black before curling into golden tips.