The dull ache of hope and mistakes knotted in her throat. “I was supposed to be done doing this alone.”
He tensed. “You’ve never been alone.”
“Here you go.” Aaliyah interrupted with an overflowing bowl of ice cream, hand extended. “What are you going to do about the honeymoon?”
Yasmin and Abigail clattered their spoons, shushing Aaliyah. Everyone except Rhys bugged out their eyes as though mentioning the honeymoon might remind Jules of the last hour of her life. He transformed into the stoic bodyguard but didn’t head for the door again.
Jules took the ice cream from Aaliyah. It needed doctoring—more toffee chips and hot fudge and maybe another cherry on top. Anything to forget the honeymoon that waited for her the next day.
The nonrefundable airline tickets didn’t care if Jules had walked out on her groom.
The luxury bungalow with a seaside infinity pool would sit empty and alone.
Rhys had expected to travel to St. Barts with them. But he wouldn’t care if it were Jules and Abigail instead of Jules andMason. She dug her spoon into the toffee and fudge. “I’m still going.”
“Oh, honey. You don’t have to do that.” Abigail side-hugged her like Rhys had. The sisterly affection didn’t help as much as her bodyguard’s. “I’ll handle it.”
Jules spooned another mouthful of ice cream. “Go with me.”
Abigail blanched. “I can’t.”
“Sure you can. We’ll just, I don’t know, pay a fee and have the tickets put in your name.”
“I don’t have enough vacation time to cavort off to the Caribbean.”
“Don’t make me beg, Abs.” Abigail wasn’t part of the family business. Mom, the lauded screenwriter. Dad, the world-renowned director. Jules topped the A-list. Abigail was an accountant for a small business that specialized in boat sales. No awards, no status chasing, no drama. She loved numbers and spreadsheets and staying out of the limelight that had been pinpointed on them since they were conceived.
“I can’t. It’s simple. I don’t have the time off scheduled.”
“Please?” Jules pressed her palms up like she was praying around the bowl. “Please.”
The hotel room door swung open. Sloane, Tabitha, and her parents waltzed in.
“Guess who’s going on the honeymoon with Jules!” Yasmin announced.
Tabitha’s mouth slackened. “Who?”
Yasmin smirked and winked at Jules. “Your favorite cousin.”
Well, that was one way to convince Abigail to agree to the trip. Jealousy slapped Tabitha’s mouth shut. Dad chortled like a sister-moon was a much better idea than a honeymoon then slapped Rhys on the back. “Guess you’re not going home anytime soon.”
Jules and Abigail were headed to St. Barts with Rhys. Just one more reason he would think she was a celebrity twit who fixed heartache with superficial stunts.
“Oh, wow.” Sloane chewed her bottom lip, sizing Rhys up like it was the first time she’d seen him. “I could doa lotwith this.”
Chapter Three
Fifteen Years Ago
Rhys Callaghan stepped from the back of the blacked-out Suburban to bitter cold and blinding light and adjusted his aviator sunglasses. His boots crunched on the frozen road as he ducked in with the FBI hostage rescue team. Their convoy, hidden behind the overgrowth that had eaten its way over a long-forgotten fence, angled against the tree break that separated house from field.
Nineteen-year-old Jules Lowry was out there, survival unlikely. Though unlikely wasn’t a sure thing, and Rhys had worked nonstop to give her a fighting chance.
Their team split, surrounding the old clapboard house, which hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint in fifty years. Breachers positioned at the front and back. His pulse pounded as he waited, hoping, believing without a shadow of a doubt thatthey’d found the guy who’d abducted the up-and-coming actress two weeks ago.
“Go,” the on-scene commander ordered through their earpieces.
The door crumbled. Dry-rotted wood gave way and crushed under their boots as they moved in.
