by Irene Hannon
She unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Why are you here?”
“Hello to you too.” He pressed the lock on the key fob for his rental car and brushed past her into the house, irritation buzzing in his wake.
Crud.
This was not going to be jolly.
Katherine didn’t hurry as she closed the door, locked it, followed him into the great room—and repeated her question. “Why are you here?”
“So this is where you’ve holed up.” He surveyed the surroundings with disdain, stopping short of a snooty sniff—and ignored her query.
“I don’t think you came up here to evaluate my accommodations.” She wadded the dish towel into a ball.
“No. I didn’t. You have anything to drink?”
“If you mean alcohol, no. I can offer you soda, water, orange juice, or milk.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Is the water bottled?”
“If that’s what you want—but the tap water is fine.”
“I’ll take the bottled.”
He followed her to the kitchen like a cougar stalking its victim.
“I asked for space, Simon.” She pulled a bottle out of the fridge and set it on the island between them with more force than necessary. “For the third time—why are you here?”
He uncapped the water and inspected the tray of candy. “Is that how you’ve been spending your days?”
“Making candy relaxes me.”
“So you’ve told me.” He took a swig of water and sniffed. “Do you have the air-conditioning on?”
“No. The sliding door to the great room is open to catch the breeze off the ocean.”
“My allergies are kicking in.”
Good. Maybe he’d leave fast.
She squared her shoulders and held her ground. “I don’t expect you’ll be here long enough for that to matter.”
“Boy, are you in a bad mood.”
“I was in a fine mood until you showed up.”
“You’re my client. We’re supposed to stay in touch—and you don’t return my calls.”
“I asked you to respect my request for a break. Instead, you phone constantly. Now you show up at my door.”
“We have a major deal on the table we didn’t have when you left. That changes the rules.”
“You said you bought me a month to think about it.”
“I did.” He flicked a glance at the truffles. “But instead of focusing on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, you’re playing with chocolate.”
“My brain can think while my hands work—and barging in here to remind me how important this decision is wasn’t necessary.”
“I disagree. This is an isolated spot, removed from the reality—and urgency—of LA. I didn’t want you to let this chance slip through your fingers without having a face-to-face discussion. Can we sit somewhere?”
In other words, he wasn’t leaving until he said his piece.
Fine.
She’d listen to his spiel. Let him rant and rave. Promise to take everything he said under advisement.
But she wasn’t committing to anything today, if that’s what he was after.
And if he’d left his glitzy world behind to brave a trip into the hinterland, that had to be his goal.
He was right about one thing, though. Being away from LA for two-plus weeks had diminished her sense of urgency—along with the pressure and stress that had been part of her life for the past several years—and the break was giving her a fresh perspective. Talking to Charley again, her interactions with Zach and the background he’d shared yesterday in the coffee shop, the peaceful ambiance of Hope Harbor—all of that was helping her grapple with the choices confronting her.
Truth be told, this tiny town on the Oregon coast was beginning to feel more grounded in reality than the world she’d left behind. And one of these days, all of her conflicting thoughts would coalesce. The road ahead would be clear.
Today, however, wasn’t that day.
She followed Simon into the great room, claimed a seat near the sliding door—leaving him no choice but to do the same, despite his theatrical sniffling—and braced for one of his rants.
But no matter how hard he pushed, she wasn’t going back with him to LA.
Who was talking to Kat?
Truffle plate in one hand, Charley’s packet of change in the other, Zach halted a few yards from her deck as voices drifted out the open sliding door. One was Kat’s. The man’s was unfamiliar.
“Having a part like this under your belt will give you leverage, Katherine.”
“Spoken like the agent you are.”
“I’m speaking for both of us. This is what you’ve been working toward. You’ve told me yourself you’ve always wanted to be a star. You’re solid with the TV series, but the leap from small screen to big is huge.”
“I’ve already made the leap.”
“Not in a leading role. There’s nothing wrong with the supporting parts I’ve lined up for you, but this could help you get past the scandal and make Katherine Parker a household name.”
Brain firing on all cylinders, Zach backed away. Listening to a private conversation was wrong.
But in that handful of sentences he’d learned more about his neighbor than he had since the day he’d spotted her in the coffee shop.
Her name, her profession, the decision she was wrestling with—and hints at a skeleton in her closet.
Now the rationale behind the dark glasses and her preference for solitude became obvious.
He retreated to the woods separating their properties, running her name through his mind.
Nothing clicked.
No surprise, given how little TV he watched. And his movie viewings were few and far between. Other than the megastars, he couldn’t tell one actress from another.
Yet it seemed as if Kat—Katherine—had achieved a fair amount of success and was on the pinnacle of fame.
So why would she be hiding away here, if that was her dream?
Did it have anything to do with the scandal her agent had mentioned?
Zach stepped up onto his deck and headed straight for his laptop, depositing the plate and change on the edge of his desk as he sat.
Listening in on a private conversation wasn’t ethical, but there was nothing wrong with researching a Hollywood celebrity who lived in the public eye. Whatever was out there about Katherine Parker on the net was fair game.
He booted up his laptop, typed in her name . . . and noticed two things immediately.
First, the photos of her bore no resemblance to the fresh-faced brunette woman with the low-key persona who was his temporary neighbor. The Hollywood version of Katherine Parker was a stunner with long, wavy blonde hair, dramatic makeup that enhanced her eyes and lush lips, and a figure shown to perfection by the body-hugging gowns she appeared to favor.
The second startling piece of information was the huge number of hits that popped up—and the subject matter dominating all the recent ones, captured by the very first headline.
Hollywood Star Questioned by Police in Death of Fellow Actor
Zach scanned the Associated Press story that had appeared six weeks ago.
Katherine Parker, one of the stars of the hit TV series Masterminds, has been named a person of interest in the death of actor Jason Grey, with whom she was linked romantically.
Grey was pronounced dead at the scene after a wrap party at the home of producer Louis London to celebrate the completion of his latest movie, in which Parker and Grey appear in supporting roles.
Toxicity results aren’t yet available, but according to police reports, fentanyl was found at the scene. Friends of Grey have also reported he was a fentanyl user.
The rest of the article went on to discuss the propensity of illicit fentanyl to cause pulmonary distress and death, and the rumors Grey was addicted to narcotic painkillers.
There was no further mention of Katherine.
But another story, dated four weeks ago in a Hollywood tabl
oid, said the pills in Grey’s possession had been identified as a counterfeit version of Vicodin laced with fentanyl. Katherine remained a person of interest, and the publication threw out the possibility that she was also a user—and could have supplied the drugs that killed him. If so, she could face a mandatory prison sentence under federal law, along with state murder charges . . . even though it was expected the death would be ruled an accidental opioid overdose.
The final hit he opened from just ten days ago absolved her of culpability, indicating that while the source of the pills hadn’t been discovered, no one would be held criminally liable for Grey’s death.
Exhaling, Zach leaned back.
No wonder Katherine was skittish.
And no wonder she’d fled Hollywood to regroup in a quiet place like Hope Harbor.
But once the scandal blew over and she regained her equilibrium, it was doubtful she’d ditch that life long term.
For as he scrolled past the most recent hits and began to find articles and reviews of her work, it was evident she was a talented actress. She’d won several awards, and the conversation she was having with her agent suggested her star was about to soar.
Yet in the few short encounters they’d shared, she hadn’t seemed all that excited about taking her career to the next level.
Zach stood and began to pace.
From everything he’d heard and observed, she was in a tough position—standing on the cusp of a dream, being prodded by her agent . . . yet suddenly unsure what her future should be.
Been there, done that—in a different context.
And if she’d been in love with the man who’d died, that would only exacerbate her dilemma. Losing a significant other could tear you apart.
His stomach clenched as an image of Lissa strobed through his mind.
Been there, done that too—minus the physical death.
It wasn’t the best situation in which to make rational choices.
He paused beside the truffle plate and change. He still had to return both.
But how was he supposed to handle the next encounter with his neighbor, now that he knew at least a few of her secrets? It would be disingenuous to pretend he was in the dark about her identity. Yet he didn’t want her to think he’d been eavesdropping.
Talk about a conundrum.
And he wasn’t going to solve it by pacing back and forth in his home office.
Why not catch up on email, get dinner in the oven, and take a walk on Blackberry Beach, where the bracing breeze and salt-laced air usually greased the gears in his brain?
If that didn’t work?
He’d have to wing it during their next encounter—and hope for the best.
13
Zach was on her beach.
Katherine halted as the path from the bluff merged onto the broad expanse of sand.
Of course Blackberry Beach wasn’t her beach—even if she’d come to think of it in those terms after her many walks on the deserted stretch. Only once had she run into someone down here—the very man following the surf line today, his back to her, head bowed as if he was deep in thought.
Also the man she’d taken pains to avoid by confining her beach excursions to the hours he was at The Perfect Blend.
But after fending off Simon’s attempts to wrangle a commitment out of her for the past two hours, she’d lost track of time.
It was also hard to think while your head was pounding and your stomach was churning.
A walk on the beach had seemed like the perfect stress reliever after he stalked out of the house in a huff and sped away, spewing gravel in his wake.
Katherine drew in a lungful of air . . . exhaled . . . and tried to psyche herself up for the trek back to the top of the bluff. Much as she’d come to enjoy Zach’s company, playing dodgeball if he asked any questions about her past or her career would be too exhausting.
Before she could turn away, however, he paused. As if sensing her presence, he swung around and lifted a hand in greeting.
Well, shoot. Now she was stuck.
Without budging from her spot at the end of the path, she returned his wave. Maybe he’d get the message that she wasn’t in the mood for conversation and continue his walk.
No such luck.
After a brief hesitation, he struck off toward her across the sand.
Sighing, she started forward. If she met him halfway, she could discreetly suggest they go their separate ways on the beach.
Fifteen seconds later, as the distance between them shrank, she forced up the corners of her lips. “This is a surprise. I’m used to having the beach to myself. It’s spoiled me.”
Not supertactful—but her message ought to be plain.
“Sorry to intrude. I didn’t expect to see you down here at this hour.” For once, Zach was the one wearing emotion-camouflaging sunglasses.
“I’m a bit out of pattern today . . . but I wanted a quiet place to think.”
“You couldn’t find a more perfect spot for that than here.”
Yet he made no move to leave her to her musings—or continue his solitary walk.
If he was going to ignore her less-than-subtle hints, she’d have to be more blunt.
“That’s true.” She felt around for her own sunglasses, but they were MIA. Drat. In her haste to get down to the beach, she must have left them on the counter in the kitchen. “I don’t want to interrupt your stroll. I’ll leave you to it.” She swung around and took a step in the opposite direction he’d been walking.
“Katherine.”
She froze.
He’d used her full name. Not Kat.
Had he recognized her? Could Charley have revealed her identity to him? Had someone in Hope Harbor spotted her, realized who she was, shared the news with Zach . . . and perhaps the rest of the town?
Stomach sinking, she slowly pivoted back.
Zach removed his sunglasses. Tucked them in his pocket. Raked his fingers through his hair.
He appeared to be as uncomfortable—and distressed—as she was.
But rather than jump to conclusions about what he knew, she ought to let him speak. As Simon had always told her, the less you say, the less likely you are to put your foot in your mouth—or supply the tabloids with fodder.
Not that Zach was one of those obnoxious tattle-sheet reporters, but following Simon’s advice couldn’t hurt.
He didn’t leave her guessing long.
“I know who you are.”
Suspicion confirmed.
Shoulders slumping, she massaged her temple. “Who else knows?”
“No one that I’m aware of.”
“Did Charley tell you?”
He frowned. “Charley knows your real identity?”
That answered one question—but raised another.
“He saw through my disguise. How did you find out?”
She listened to his brief explanation.
“I didn’t hang around to hear details, Katherine. As soon as I realized it was a personal conversation, I left—but there are stories about you all over the net.”
A wave of nausea rolled through her. “And you read them.”
“Not every one. That would have taken hours. But I skimmed a few. Enough to fill in the big picture of your career and get the gist of what happened a few weeks ago.”
Meaning he knew not only who she was, but also the particulars about her so-called romance with Jason and the questions surrounding his death.
At least he didn’t make any snide comments or bombard her with questions, which was kind.
Far kinder than anyone other than Charley had been who knew her identity. To a person, the Hollywood crowd had pressed for details.
And despite Simon’s attempts to deflect as much of the prying as possible, the paparazzi had been everywhere, all hungry for the latest update and every intimate detail.
“I’m sorry for all you’ve been through.”
At Zach’s quiet expression of empathy, her vision misted. No one ha
d spoken to her with such concern, such caring, in longer than she could remember.
“And if you ever want a sounding board, I’m available.”
No demands. No browbeating. No hint of judgment as he added that offer.
Just compassion.
Moisture brimmed on her lower eyelids. Spilled over her lashes. Tracked down her cheeks.
Not good.
She had to get a grip. Temper emotions that could cloud her judgment. Zach had been through enough trauma with his own family. Dumping her woes on him would be selfish—even if she was desperate to talk with someone who would listen without criticizing or dictating.
Fisting her hands at her sides, she gritted her teeth and fought the impulse to cave.
“Hey.” He closed the distance between them. Touched her arm. “I meant what I said. I’m here if you need a friend.” He motioned to the sun-bleached log where he’d been sitting on her first visit to the beach. “You want to join me there for a few minutes? You don’t have to talk if you’d rather not, but sometimes just being around a person who cares can help.”
“I don’t want to ruin your day. I’ll be f-fine.” But the catch in her voice belied her assurance.
“You won’t ruin my day. I like being with you, no matter the circumstances. And I know all about facing trauma and life-changing decisions alone. It’s not fun.”
No, it wasn’t.
Katherine caught her lower lip between her teeth and eyed the log on the isolated stretch of beach, a wave of longing sweeping over her.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to sit there in the sunshine with Zach, pour out her doubts and fears and questions? Talk through options? Find answers?
The latter was a tall order.
Too tall.
Resolution was far too much to expect from an unplanned encounter on the beach.
But as long as he knew who she was . . . had boned up on her history . . . was willing to talk . . . what could be the harm in taking him up on his offer? She could fill in the gaps in her story, bounce a few thoughts off him, get his take.
The answers to her dilemma would have to come from within, but as Zach had said, he’d faced a similar quandary—minus the scandal. It was possible he could offer a helpful insight or two.
Go for it, Katherine. You’ve been craving a confidant. This may be the answer to a prayer.