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And now he was gone.
For the millionth time, Brea wondered how he was faring and if he’d made any progress in ending Montilla’s threats. But as the days dragged into weeks, which had now become a month, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering if he was even alive.
Since it hurt too much to believe he wasn’t, she bowed her head and prayed to God for mercy, for some sign that Pierce was well.
As she lifted her head and swiped at the tears slowly rolling down her face, a light knock rapped on the front door. She glanced at the clock and froze. Past ten thirty. If Cutter had returned from Callie Mackenzie’s Christmas party, he would have simply let himself in. So who was dropping in to visit unexpectedly at this late hour?
In Pierce’s absence, Cutter had drilled situational awareness into her head. She’d learned a lot from her gun safety and self-defense classes, which made her feel more prepared to handle a potential threat. But Pierce’s friend Matt had been a blunt-force eye-opener. After spending an incredibly patient nine hours with her, installing her new home security system and showing her how to use it, he’d stuck around to ensure she understood the skills everyone else had taught her. At the end of the day, he’d given her his number, said he had a few weeks of free time coming, and that he’d be staying in Louisiana both to keep an eye on her and to avoid returning to Wyoming, where he’d freeze his balls off.
Since then, he’d checked in regularly. He’d promised he could come running if she ever needed him. And he’d be beyond infuriated now if she didn’t raise a red flag, especially when Cutter was probably on the freeway, potentially hours away.
She shot off a quick text to Matt. I’m alone at Cutter’s. Someone’s knocking on the door. I’m going to peek through the peephole.
Instantly, he replied. Gun handy?
Yes.
Let me know who’s there. I can be at your location in ten.
Thanks.
He was a very good friend to Pierce.
She darkened her phone and shoved it in the hidden pocket of her yoga pants. Then she made her way to the door and set the Beretta on the hall table, just beyond her fingertips, accessible if necessary, before she peered out the peephole.
A woman stood under the circle of the porch light, wearing a blue peacoat, head-to-toe black, and high-heeled boots. She looked familiar but… No. It couldn’t be. Yet the longer Brea looked, the more she was convinced that she was right.
Gaping, she pulled open the door and stared.
“Brea?” the stunning blonde asked.
“Mercy me. Shealyn West?”
The woman nodded sheepishly. “Hi. Is, um…Cutter here?”
Wow, the famous actress was really standing on his porch. But this wasn’t the time to be star struck. The woman had broken his heart. True…but she had also traveled here from Los Angeles, found Cutter’s apartment, and knocked on his door late on a Saturday night for a reason. Brea intended to find out why. If the blonde had ventured here simply to stamp all over his heart again, she’d stop Shealyn cold.
“No. I expect him soon, though. Come on in.” She stepped back, inviting the woman inside.
“That’s all right. I can come back when he’s available.”
“No, really. Come in. I think you and I should talk first. He hasn’t said a lot about what happened in California.” Just enough to make me madder than a wet hen at you. “I know what the press said, of course.”
“Half of that isn’t true.” Shealyn took a tentative step inside and looked around.
It probably wasn’t anything like her fancy digs in California, but it was homey and comfortable, and the woman better not have come here to judge. Thankfully, nothing on her face indicated she was.
Brea shut and locked the door. “I figured the rumor that you and Tower Trent had never had a relationship was hogwash.”
Shealyn clutched her purse nervously. “Actually, that’s true. It was good PR for the show, and we were friends. I meant the bit about the secret lesbian fling Jessica and I supposedly had that led to her jealous rage.”
“I didn’t even give that tripe the time of day. But I know whatever happened between you and Cutter changed him.” Let her stew on that… “Coffee? Iced tea?”
“Tea, please. Sweet?”
“Is there any other kind?”
“Not in my book.”
Darn it all, despite Shealyn being a star and a heartbreaker, there was something down-to-earth about her. She was likable. Seemingly sweet. Girl-next-door, like her image. Could she really be the sort of woman who took pleasure in ripping out a good man’s heart?
“So you really are a Southern girl… Please, sit.” Brea waved her to a little round table adjacent to the kitchen as she headed for the refrigerator. “Since I just made a pitcher for Cutter before lunch, the tea is fresh.”
