Page 1 of One Mistake

PROLOGUE

I kidnapped Ryder Kennedy.

Kidnapped.

Ryder.

Kennedy.

On a whim. Because I was drunk. And he’d walked out of the bar’s backdoor, right next to my car. Opportunity. And stupidity. Drunkenness. The availability of a taser. History. All of these factors added up to one stupid move. But a move I’d dreamed of since…a decade ago.

It was chance really. Not my fault. I’d been back in Glouster less than a week. Cleaning out my mom’s apartment. Hadn’t had a drink in ten years. Not a single sip of anything alcoholic. But then I’d seen him. Walking into the backdoor of a bar. Oblivious. Head high. Like he ruled the world. And tequila came calling.

Had I gone blind, I would’ve known those striking features—eyes so blue the oceans had to be weeping with jealousy, long legs, Brad Pitt hair. And it wasn’t really his fault he hadn’t recognized me. I’d traded my mousy blonde hair for locks I refused to cut but braided and colored this week to Marilyn Monroe platinum. I’d exchanged all my calf-length skirts and sensible shoes for heels and mini-skirts that didn’t leave much to the imagination. And I’d gone from fresh-faced to full model makeup with tattooed arms and black fishnet stockings. No one did undercover hooker better than me.

But in one split-second bad decision, I threw all my years of hard work, all my training, straight down the toilet, gave it a good a righteous flush then swayed drunkenly as it circled the drain.

Thank God, I wasn’t too drunk to recognize I needed help. I called in the troops then stood beside the car until they arrived. Together. Good thing because I needed one of them to take my keys and drive my precious cargo to…somewhere…since I could safely say, I wasn’t making the best decisions right then.

Felicity Fields-Makenzie and Avery Shaw stepped from opposite sides of Felicity’s Prius then came around to stand in front of me. “He’s in the trunk?” She tapped a few times on the hatch while I nodded. “Why? What the fuck were you thinking, Reese?”

“I don’t know. I just…did it.” A tequila-fueled, spur-of-the-moment kidnapping. A prosecutor would have a field day with that one.

“So, undo it. Open the damned thing. Let him out. We’ll set him on the sidewalk and you can go home and pretend you’ve never been here.” Felicity shook her head and caught her long brown hair in her hand, laid it neatly over her shoulder then stroked it. Nervous habit. It had always annoyed me when I was sober, but drunk I thought it looked kind of elegant. Drunk me was obviously not so bitter about life. “You can’t keep him. You have to let him go.”

Probably a valid suggestion. One I should’ve agreed to so as not to make a bad situation worse. And for her information, it wasn’t about keeping him. Although…“Counter offer. We take him back to Mom’s place”—calling it my place just didn’t feel right—“and we could…” That was where the plan went awry.

* * *

I was in a trunk. I knew it was a trunk by the close confines, and the fact it smelled like gasoline, and I had a tire iron jammed into my back. What I didn’t know was how and or why I’d gotten there. Last thing I remembered, I’d locked up the bar, carried the trash to the dumpster, and…nope. That was it.

There wasn’t much room to move in this thing, but I tried. Valiantly tried. Cramped for the effort.

And when I settled down and the pain subsided, I could hear voices.

He’s not a puppy you can just keep, Reese. Reese? Couldn’t be. Not after all these years. But one fuck of a coincidence to be in a trunk possibly belonging to another woman named Reese who might or might not have had a reason to stuff me into said trunk.

Who said anything about keeping him? Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good.

Then what? What’s your plan? Kill him?

Objection.

I can’t be part of a killing. I have a nervous stomach. A new fresh voice. Scared. I could use that. Maybe.

Dump him in the ocean?

What the fuck? Whoever that one was, she had an evil streak.

No. I think it’s time Captain Video learned his lesson.

“Captain Video.” For hell’s sake. It’d been ten years. I’d lost my inheritance. My car. My family. I worked in a bar where I served drinks to rich assholes who treated me like the help. Lesson learned already.

* * *

Avery drove like an old woman. Or a teenager just learning to control a car. Hands at ten and two. Seatbelt snug over her shoulder. Blinker on half a block before a turn. Exact speed limit. Dear God. She was a walking advertisement for safety. “You could speed this up.”

“Yeah because when we get pulled over, we’ll just explain our hurry with ‘Sorry, officer, we had to get the guy in the trunk home.’” She shook her head. “I don’t know how I let you talk me into this.”