Serena's Song

by Raina James

  This morning, he'd been a little stir-crazy when he'd decided to risk a drive-through for breakfast. The press hadn't tracked him here yet, and he wanted to keep it that way. Checking out the little convenience store attached to the lobby was another risk. But as soon as he'd seen it, he'd felt compelled to go in.

  Aside from the usual assortment of necessities aimed at the harried hotel guest—toiletries, over-the-counter medication, potato chips, candies, cellophaned pastries, all mini-sized and maxi-priced—the shop carried an impressive array of magazines, books and newspapers.

  His attention zeroed in on the cover of Celebrity. Grabbing the magazine, the last copy of the issue in the rack, Riff stared at the blown-up photo of him and Serena. He saw it repeated to varying degrees on the front pages of the rest of the tabloids and newspapers lined up in the racks with regimental precision. Some had opted to play the Celebrity cover big, while others had gone for various publicity and paparazzi shots of Riff and inset the cover. Almost every publication in the tiny shop featured at least some mention of the revelation of the woman behind Beautiful Girl. That realization spurred him to load up on one copy of everything.

  The clerk gave him a strange look when the haphazard stack of magazines and newspapers landed on the counter. Maybe it was Riff's baseball hat, dark glasses and unshaven beard that made the man hesitate. Regardless, he had quickly rung up the sale without comment. Equally silent, Riff waited while his purchases were bagged, then took his haul up to his room and started reading.

  "Prominent citizen," that small-town scribbler had called Serena. Hell, try Woman of the Year. Relish evident in every printed word, the media had latched onto the good girl-bad boy romance, with glowing background pieces about Serena Jeffries matched with his own less-than-stellar moments. He wasn't a dog, but he sure read like one next to Serena!

  Serena had joined the parental advisory committee at the school board as soon as her kids were old enough to go to school. For the past five years, she'd chaired some swanky charity auction and dinner at the local country club. And since Simple Pleasures had opened for business, she'd been active in the Chamber of Commerce, first as secretary, this past year as president.

  That didn't mean the press had left it at that. The innuendos were subtle, but unmistakable. Yet it wasn’t the gleeful way they were poking at Serena's pristine reputation that had his gut clenching. It was that damn picture. The one on the cover of Celebrity. He didn't know who'd taken it, but the scene it had captured was one he'd never forget. He'd often thought of it as the start of the best—and the worst—summer of his life.

  The love glowing in Serena's eyes in that photo made what happened a few weeks later all the more terrible. Then, instead of love, Serena's eyes had been filled with as much hurt and bewilderment as if he'd slapped her. He felt like he had. Even worse was the almost instantaneous certainty that he'd done the absolute wrong thing. Over the years, that suspicion had only grown.

  Riff tipped back his bottle again, realized it was empty and stood to get another beer from the fridge under the bar. It wasn't a cold brew on the dock, but it was something.

  Fidgety, he used the remote to click on the TV while he leaned over the fridge's open door, trying to decide what he wanted. He should probably order some food from room service. He wasn't quite so pathetic as to huddle in his room and get drunk by himself.

  "Max Gravin caught up with Serena at her in-laws' home earlier today. Can you give us a recap, Max?"

  Riff straightened and stared at the television in disbelief. It showed a crowd of microphone-toting men and women gathered on the sidewalk in front of an impressive home with a three-car garage and an immaculate lawn. A late-model brown Tempo was parked to one side of the wide driveway. One of the garage doors rolled up and a sober-blue Mercedes pulled out.

  Distantly, Riff heard the on-air talent describing the scene like a sports announcer calling a play by play. Blocked by the crowd, the Merc slowed at the end of the driveway. The cameraman had captured great footage of a tight-lipped older couple, the man in front with a driver, and two wide-eyed teens. Then the view swung back to the garage.

  Serena had just walked out, ducking beneath the lowering door. She stalked across the lawn towards the sidewalk with long, angry strides. Immediately, the cameraman joined the human tide racing to meet her at the edge of the property, freeing the Mercedes to leave the laneway and drive away—after all, its occupants weren't as newsworthy as Beautiful Girl. Serena was quickly surrounded.

  Her blond, shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a clip at the nape of her neck, though some tendrils had escaped the restraint to bob around her face in loose curls. She looked fresh and young in comfortable jeans and a pastel-pink shirt edged with lace. Tiny gold hearts dangled from her ears.

  Riff drank in her angry features. She was pale, except for the spots of angry color high on her cheekbones.

  "Yes, I knew Riff Logan," she was saying. "We dated years ago, end of story. I don't know him now, I don't see him, I don't talk to him."

  "What do you think of Beautiful Girl?" someone called out. "He wrote it for you, didn't he?"

  "I really have no idea," she said, her words clipped. "You'll have to ask Mr. Logan about that."

  Though he understood why she said that, it still irked. She knew damn well he'd written it for her.

  After that, Serena apparently refused to say anything more. She waved off further questions like a veteran of the paparazzi wars, got in her car and pulled out. She slowed, barely, to give the media time to scatter.

  The TV newsmagazine's anchor picked the narration back up, recapping the events of the past few days.

  Beer and food forgotten, Riff used his cell to dial Serena's home number. No answer. He disconnected and redialed, in case he'd punched it in wrong. Still no answer. Maybe she was out. Or, more likely, just not answering the phone. He imagined he wasn't the only one trying to reach her.

  He thought for a moment then called information to get the number for Simple Pleasures. This time, he got an answering machine. Frustrated, he left a curt message, telling Serena to call him. Just in case she'd ditched his number, he left it again as well. On the TV, the broadcast had moved on to a different segment, but he didn't care enough to focus on whatever it was. Without realizing it, he was pacing the suite like a restless predator forced into inaction. He didn't like it.

  Fortunately, he didn't have long to wait. Within minutes, the cell phone rang. Recognizing Simple Pleasures' number in the display, he answered it, "Serena?"

  "Uh, no," a woman's voice said. "This is her assistant, Maddie. We met—"

  "Yeah, Maddie. Of course. Serena told me about you. I didn't get a chance to say it yesterday, but thanks for bailing me out with that guy in the store."

  Her laugh sounded a bit giddy. "No problem. I've always wanted to play Jane Bond."

  Jane Bond? Riff shook his head, but strove to keep the impatience out of his tone. "Listen, I really need to speak to Serena, but she's not answering her phone. Do you have another number for her?"

  "I've got her cell number, but that won't do you any good. Someone gave it out to a reporter and now they've all got it, so she's not answering that right now, either."

  "Jesus. This is nuts."

  "No kidding. I used to tease her that she needed more excitement in her life, but this wasn't quite what I had in mind."

  Riff winced. "I hear you. How's she doing?"

  "Furious, but okay. Definitely better now that the kids aren't around for this."

  "I saw her on TV. She looked like she was ready to nail someone to the wall if one more person shoved a microphone in her face."

  "That's Mama Bear, all right. Don't mess with her kids or she'll have you for breakfast."

  Maddie's words might have been a joke, but Riff heard the warning in them all the same. That was the Serena he knew—as fierce as she was sweet.

  He asked Maddie to let Serena know he wanted to talk to her if she called in. Now wh
at? He couldn't exactly go knocking on her door again. If he did, he could pretty much forget about the press losing interest and backing off.

  He leaned against the bar's counter, accidentally cracking his elbow into a small arrangement of flowers. His heart gave an automatic lurch and he grabbed for the teetering vase, steadying it before it could crash to the floor. Disaster averted. Irritated, he moved the squat little vase out of the danger zone. Stupid flowers.

  His mind stilled on the thought. Flowers. Riff picked up the vase and eyed the arrangement. Then he smiled slowly. The line he wanted was programmed into a single button on the hotel phone. It only rang once before he heard a pleasant voice say, "Hello, Front Desk. How may I help you?"

  * * * *

  Serena had every intention of ignoring the knock but whoever was hammering on her back door was persistent. She marked her place in her book and got up from the bed, tightening the belt of her terrycloth robe. She'd been so worked up by that scene at Elizabeth and Arthur's house this morning that the lure of a hot bath was irresistible. As soon as she'd come home, she'd unplugged the phone, run the water as hot as she could stand it and tossed in the bath bombs with a generous hand. Then she'd given herself a facial and soaked the stress out.

  The back door rattled under the force of another pounding. Apparently, lurking around her front yard wasn't enough for them anymore. Her temper spiking, she stomped to the back door, ready to unleash the wrath of Serena—and a few threats about calling the cops to report trespassers.

  Caution didn't desert her, however, and she stopped just short of throwing the locks and yanking the door open. Peering through the lace curtain, she was surprised to see her neighbor standing on the back porch. Sheighlah kept glancing over her shoulder, like a paranoid shut-in expecting to be jumped at any moment.

  She grinned with relief when Serena opened the door.

  "Hey, neighbor! Long time no see!"

  Serena pulled the door wider and groaned. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you, Sheighlah. I'm surrounded! Want to come in?"

  "I'd love to, actually, but I've got something in the oven and I have to hotfoot it back home before it sets off the fire alarms. I just came over to give you this." She held out a small white envelope.

  "What is it?" Serena turned it over in her hands, looking for any clue that would tell her who it was from.

  "Funniest thing. Someone just had the most beautiful flower arrangement delivered to me. It came with a card from a friend of yours, asking me to drop that card," she pointed at the envelope in Serena's hand, "to you. So here I am. But I'm keeping the flowers." She grinned. "I don't remember the last time Darrell bought me flowers. Too bad for him, because the bar's been set pretty high now."

  Sheighlah's wristwatch began to beep. She glanced at it and thumbed off the alarm. "Oops. Gotta go. I don't think we need fire trucks on the street along with the news vans."

  "Sheighlah, I'm so sorry about this—" Serena began.

  Her friend silenced her with a wave over her shoulder. "Oh, don't worry about it," she called in a loud whisper. "It's been kind of fun, living next to the eye of the hurricane. Call me later!"

  Serena shook her head and bolted the door. She looked at the small white envelope. Suspecting she knew who it was from, she flipped it open anyway. She didn't need to read the signature to recognize the handwriting on the enclosed card. Signed "Finn," it simply said, "Call me," followed by the cell phone number he'd shoved at her the day before. No punctuation, just the short message printed in black block letters.

  So Finn shows back up in her life, press corps in tow, and she's supposed to jump when he snaps his fingers? She was tempted to just toss his card, like she'd meant to do with his stupid rental agreement. Then she thought of the sharks still circling outside, and the way her kids had been forced to run the gauntlet this morning. Maybe Finn could help. He certainly had a lot more experience handling this kind of thing than she did.

  She silenced the mental voice that whispered she was only looking for an excuse to contact Finn. She wasn't. Her conclusion was perfectly valid. Besides, she had to admire Finn's ingenuity in smuggling the note to her in a bouquet of flowers for Sheighlah. Talk about "say it with flowers!"

  Sitting on the edge of her bed, she stared at the phone on the end table. Before she could change her mind, she picked it up and dialed the number on the card. A tense voice answered mid-ring. "Serena?"

  Chapter 7

  When the soft knock came, Serena peered through the lace curtain draped over the window before unlocking and opening the back door. Without the porch light, it was hard to make out his features in the shadows. It didn't really matter. It could be a pitch-black, moonless night and she still would have recognized him.

  Finn wore a dark ball cap pulled low on his forehead and a black leather jacket with a dark T-shirt and pants. Dangling from his earlobe, a small hoop that she knew was gold glinted silver in the moonlight. She couldn't see his eyes, but felt them on her all the same.

  She hesitated for another moment, then threw the locks and opened the door, but didn't move to join Finn on the darkened porch.

  "Serena? Are you ready to go?"

  "I don't know."

  Finn seemed to tense, then relaxed when she picked up the backpack at her feet and stepped outside. Even the low visibility couldn't conceal the relief in his smile. Without comment, he took the bag and slung it over his own shoulder. Serena settled the strap of the padded case for her laptop across her chest bandolier-style.

  "This is ridiculous," she whispered as she secured the door. "Sneaking out of my own house at two a.m. like some high school kid hoping her parents won't bust her."

  "What, haven't you always wanted to be the bad girl, Serena?" His grin was wide and white in the darkness.

  She shot him a narrow look. "Being bad never did me much good before, did it?"

  That made the grin disappear. A bit sorry for the jab, she commented, "It looks like the guard's easing out there." She gestured to the front yard.

  Earlier, she'd watched from an upstairs window as some of the news crews packed up and left. A few of the more tenacious ones had stuck it out, though, and were still parked at the curb on the other side of the street. Using the house for cover, she and Finn scoped out the front yard to make sure no one was watching. Serena suppressed a chuckle as she thought about what they must look like—Spies R'nt Us.

  "All it takes is one," Finn said. "Then they'll be back here like crash dieters at a buffet."

  What am I doing, Serena thought as she followed Finn to the fence separating her yard from her neighbor to the rear.

  "Anything breakable in here," he asked, hefting her knapsack.

  "No."

  "Good." He tossed it over the fence, where it landed with a soft thud in the thick grass. At least, she hoped it was the grass. The Hendersons were fanatical about their gardens. It didn't bear thinking about what would happen if the spring buds were squashed in their beds. Finn bent down and offered his cupped hands for her foot. Skeptically, she let him boost her to the top of the fence.

  "This is crazy," she murmured, grabbing the wooden slats to help her balance on the wobbly perch.

  "So you keep saying." Finn lithely swung up and over, narrowly missing the edge of the flowerbed with his booted feet.

  "Careful!" Her neighbors had enough to deal with right now thanks to her without including the willful destruction of dahlias in the mix.

  "Yeah, yeah. Quit your whining." Finn held his arms up to help her down. "You gotta admit, it's kinda fun, too."

  The strangled noise she made was part hysterical giggle cut with mortified moan. Finn picked up her knapsack and took her hand. They'd only taken a few steps when an explosion of yaps went off beside them. She clapped her hand to her chest, barely managing to stifle a girly scream. A fuzzy white ball bobbed frantically at ankle level the next yard over, at Mrs. Gzowski's house. The back door opened, and the elderly lady leaned out.

  "F
elicia!" she called in a quavery stage whisper. The poodle ignored her, its yaps taking on a frantic note.

  God, Serena thought. She'd just die if Mrs. Gzowski spotted her. What would she say? Hey, Mrs. Gzowski! How are you? Don't mind me, I'm just skulking around the neighborhood with my ex-boyfriend, who happens to be a rock star who's made People's list of Most Beautiful People—twice. No big deal. Nothing to see here. Please move along.

  Ignoring the dog, Finn pulled Serena away from the fence and around the Hendersons' house to the gate separating the backyard from the walkway leading to the driveway. The hinges squeaked slightly when he unlatched the gate and eased it open. How does he know where to go? Another mental image rose up in Serena's mind, this one of Finn ghosting through the neighborhood to the theme from Mission Impossible. Yup, she was definitely losing it.

  Oblivious to Serena's musings, he whispered, "The car's just out front."

  She nodded, following him down the Hendersons' driveway. He held open the passenger-side door of his Crossfire for her, and then tossed her knapsack in the trunk before getting behind the wheel. He started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

  Serena waited, but he didn't say anything. "So what's the big secret?" she asked. "Where are we going?"

  She thought his knuckles whitened on the wheel before he answered.

  "My grandparents' place."

  Now it was her turn to tense. She hesitated, then said, lamely, "I see." She cleared her throat. "How's your grandfather?"

  "He died about five years ago."

  "Oh, Finn." Without thought, she put her hand on his thigh. She'd known about his grandmother, who had died fourteen years ago, but hadn't heard about his grandfather. The loss must have devastated him. "I'm so sorry."