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Bailey smiled from where she had sprawled in the oversized armchair in the corner of A.J.’s bedroom. Less than an hour ago, freshly showered and wearing clean khakis and a fitted mint green oxford shirt, she had walked into the newsroom of
The Kendall Falls Sun
. Cole had been at her side, the stone set of his jaw screaming his disapproval of her plan to work. A.J. had rushed over to greet them, took one look at Bailey’s pale face and shakiness and granted herself power of attorney.
 

 
Now, Bailey let herself relax into denim-covered cushions, content to be where she could just … be. “Have I told you how much I love this chair?”

“Every time you’re in it.” A.J. shot her a grin over her shoulder. In olive green slacks and a white cotton top, she looked much younger than her thirty-two years. Her dark brown hair fell in loose curls to her chin, framing her round face. Her eyes were the same shade as her hair, flecked with gold. To her horror, men called her “cute,” so she did her damnedest to counter that with a sarcastic wit.
 

A.J. huffed at the hair falling into her eyes. “I need a haircut.”

“You’ve been saying that for six weeks.”

“Has it been that long?”

“Longer probably.”

A.J. tossed the top sheet into the air so that it unfolded and floated down onto the bed. “You look like hell, by the way.”

Bailey sighed, letting her head fall back against the chair cushion. The comment didn’t bother her, not from A.J. They’d been friends since college, and A.J. had always said what was on her mind without hesitation. “I have the next few days off, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Want to tell me what happened? The truth this time.”

“I told you the truth yesterday,” Bailey said.

“I distinctly remember no mention of stitches or fainting.”

“I only fainted because I saw blood. You know how I am.”

“Cole seemed to think differently.”

“He was being melodramatic.”

Laughing, A.J. glanced at her. “You’re calling
him
melodramatic? I seem to recall a splinter that almost sent you to the ER.”

“It hurt! And it was big. Not to mention it must have been hitting a nerve—”

“My point is that your credibility is shaky when it comes to how big or small a deal it is when you get hurt. I should know by now that the bigger it is, the smaller you make it seem.”

Bailey heard the between-the-lines scolding for the last time she’d landed in the hospital, when she hadn’t called her friend at all. She quickly slammed the door on that memory. “Well, you can see now that I survived.”

A.J. sat on the edge of the newly made bed, dark eyes narrow and scrutinizing. “Physically. I’m not so sure about emotionally. What’s up?”

Bailey waved a dismissive hand. “I’m tired. You are, too. That wreck was a doozy, huh?”

A.J. nodded, frowning. “The worst part was the smell. Some of the cars caught fire.”

“Oh, God.” Bailey had already read A.J.’s story about the pileup, but hearing the catch in her friend’s voice made her ache all over again. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
 

“Nature of the beast, isn’t it? You can’t expect to be a journalist and not run across something gruesome at some point in your career.” She got up and began stuffing a pillow into a pillowcase. “Speaking of gruesome ... you spent the night with Cole Goodman.”

Bailey groaned. “Could we please just not talk about that? He was there when no one else was. End of story.”
 

“Yet you two seemed awfully cozy when you walked into work together.” A.J. started on the second pillow. “And he was reluctant to let me take you away from him.”

“He’s a sucker for a damsel in distress, apparently.”

“That man doesn’t strike me as a sucker for a damsel in anything. You know Rachel in graphics? She’s thrown herself at him more than once and says he barely even glanced at her cleavage.”

Bailey pursed her lips. “Her cleavage is mighty impressive.”

“I know, right? My eyes go right to it every time I see her. I think she might think I’m interested.”

Bailey laughed. “Well, you
were
complaining about not having a date last weekend.”

“Well, you can bet your ass that if Cole Goodman were on the dating menu, I’d be placing a to-go order.”

Bailey picked at an imaginary thread on the arm of the chair. “He’s not that hot.”

A.J.’s jaw dropped. “Have you looked at him?”

“Yeah, he’s ripped.” Bailey tried for a casual shrug even as she remembered him standing shirtless in his dining room. And if that weren’t sexy enough, there was the diagonally cut grilled cheese he’d made for her. “So what?”

A.J. put her hands on her hips. “You’re blushing.”

“Am not.”

A.J. peered closer. “Yes. You are. What happened between you two?”

Bailey abandoned the comfy chair, managing to suppress her wince, and walked into the living room. She had to fight the urge to flatten her damp palms against her flaming cheeks. “Nothing. Geez.”

A.J. followed close behind. “I know you, woman, and something happened.”

Bailey’s resolve crumbled, and she faced her friend. “You’re obviously forgetting that he’s a friend of Daniel’s. And not just casual, work friends. I saw a picture of them. They were college roommates and obviously the best of buds.”

A.J.’s shoulders sagged. “Oh. Crap. Guess that explains the attitude.”

“Yeah.” Bailey rubbed at the tense knot at the nape of her neck.
 

A.J. gestured at the denim sofa that matched the chair in her bedroom. Big red pillows were cocked just so at each end. “Want to sit and talk about it?”

“I’m tired. I’d rather—”

“You won’t be able to relax. Not unless you unload.”

A.J. knew her too well. Bailey sank down onto the sofa and stared at the catalogs—Pottery Barn, Williams-Sonoma, Crate & Barrel—scattered across the white, wooden coffee table that had probably come from one of them. While many women bought shoes and clothes, A.J. invested in furniture and kitchen gadgets.
 

“Let’s start with the mugging and break-in,” A.J. said, deadly serious now. “The mugger took your camera bag, and whoever broke in – maybe the same guy – took your Mac and backup hard drive. It seems obvious that someone is after some pictures.”

“But of what? I don’t have anything that—”

“Someone thinks you do.” A.J. settled onto the white wicker chair adjacent to the couch. “Who could that be?”

“I don’t even know where to start. Cole said we should go over my assignments for the past couple of weeks.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

“My schedule is on my phone. I won’t be able to remember everything.”

“When did you back it up last?”

“Last night on my Mac.”

“Damn. What about online backup?”

Bailey massaged her eyes. God, she was an idiot. “I didn’t think I needed that with the external hard drive. I usually keep that at work, but I took it home a few weeks ago to update the files. I just hadn’t taken it back to work yet.”

“That bites.”

Bailey’s laugh was abrupt. “Yeah.” An incredible understatement for twenty-five years’ worth of photos. And it hit her that they were gone. Pictures of her family, before it had been torn apart. Pictures of her father, so alive and full of fun. Pictures of James, before his life had gotten so complicated. Pictures of Austin growing up. Oh, God, so many pictures of Austin when he had been all hers, before she’d had to give him back to his father and everything inside her had begun to splinter.

A.J. knelt before her and grasped her hand. “Bailey.”

She forced a smile. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay.”

A hitch of emotion caught in her chest. “Everything I had was on that Mac and hard drive.”

“They’re pictures, honey. Photocopies of memories. No one can take those.”

Bailey knew she was right. But sometimes it seemed that all she had were those damn photos. And now they were gone, like so many other things. Like her mother. And her father. And the baby …

Oh, God, the pressure inside her was building.

A.J.’s fingers tightened on hers. “Hey.”

Bailey had to force herself to focus on her friend.

A.J. gave her a sympathetic smile. “This is important. I want to know the real reason you blushed when we were talking about how ripped Cole is.”

Bailey laughed softly and swiped at her eyes, grateful that A.J. always knew when to back off. “I saw him without his shirt.”

A.J.’s eyes went wide. “No kidding?”

“You know how good he looks in those crisp white shirts he wears?”

“Uh huh.”

“Without the shirt is way better.”

A.J. started shaking her head. “You are one cruel bitch.”

Chapter 16

Standing before the door of Daniel’s apartment, Cole took several deep breaths. It had been a long day. He’d barely made the deadline for his piece on the senator, by far not his best work. The truth was, he hadn’t been able to concentrate. He kept seeing the scar marring Bailey’s smooth skin, kept hearing the crack in her voice.
 

See that scar? You don’t get one of those from an abortion. Ask your buddy about it.
 

Scrubbing his hands over his face, he told himself he’d let himself get sucked in. Hadn’t he sworn he would never let that happen again?

But Bailey was different. He was sure of it.

No, he thought, pressing his fingers against his eyes. He wasn’t sure at all. He simply
wanted
her to be different, and wanting something didn’t make it so. He’d
wanted
his mother to stick around. He’d
wanted
his sister to realize what she’d left behind and return to her three children. He’d
wanted
to have kids with his wife and live happily ever after. He’d
wanted
Sally McCoy to stay on the turnaround track and not mess up her life again. None of those things had happened. He was an idiot to expect Bailey to be different.

But he kept seeing her with Austin, and there was no doubt in his mind that she loved that kid with every cell. And how could she love a child like that yet do what Daniel had said she’d done because of her career?
 

He acknowledged that there were all kinds of arguments. The timing might have been off. Maybe she hadn’t been ready to be a mother or there had been other extenuating circumstances. He could accept that, legally, abortion was a woman’s choice. But the father should at least be involved in the decision. And that was really what was at issue here: Daniel had said that Bailey hadn’t even told him they’d made a life together before she’d ended it.
 

He took a breath and knocked.
 

Daniel opened the door and broke into a grin. “Cole! What the hell?”
 

Cole tried to grin back, but his facial muscles felt stiff. “Hope it’s cool I didn’t call first. My cell battery’s down to one bar.”

“No prob.” Daniel stepped back to open the door wider. “Come on in.”

In gray sweat shorts and a teal-and-white Miami Dolphins T-shirt, Daniel looked as though he’d just had a shower after a workout, his blond hair damp and his face red and splotchy. The TV blared a football game, probably a replay of a Gators game. Daniel loved reliving the glory of past wins by their alma mater.
 

“I was just getting ready to pop open a beer,” Daniel said. “Want one?”

“Sure.” Cole followed him into the kitchen, noting that Daniel was a better housekeeper by only a hair than Bailey’s brother. The place smelled faintly like dirty socks, and clutter consisting of newspapers, sports magazines and unopened mail was piled on every available surface. Crusty dishes filled both sides of the stainless steel sink. More dirty dishes were stacked on a countertop that looked like it hadn’t seen the soapy side of a sponge in weeks.
 

“Don’t mind the mess. Maid comes tomorrow.”

Lucky her, Cole thought, accepting the bottle that Daniel handed him. The first crisp swallow of beer went down like cool water on a flaming hot day. He hoped the alcohol calmed the nerves in his gut.

“Sit.” Daniel gestured at a couple of tall directors chairs at the breakfast bar.
 

Cole settled onto the black canvas seat and took another healthy swig of beer.

Daniel did the same. “So what’s up?”

“Bailey Chase.”

Daniel, about to drink again, stopped with the bottle poised before his lips. His features went hard and dark. “What is she saying about me?”

“Nothing. I spent some time with her recently, and—”

Daniel set his beer on the counter with a thunk. “Man, that’s not cool. That bitch is bad news.”

Cole stiffened. “Don’t call her that.”

Daniel got up and began to pace. “Fuck. She’s gotten to you. She’s all vulnerable and sweet and funny and, well, Christ, her ass alone is enough to make you forget—”