Graceless (Grace Notes #2)

Prologue

Cassidy felt sick. Behind her lay everything she knew. Ahead of her lay an unknown world. She hunched her shoulders, feeling the backpack shift against her hot, damp dress: everything she now owned she carried on her back. The sun beat down as she blindly navigated the back roads, her hair sticking to her neck, her shoes already rubbing. Her feet moved by instinct. Her stomach ached. She did not know where she was going.

Her mind raced with furious words: the things she’d said, the things she should have said. The rage had sideswiped her with its suddenness. One minute she was quietly washing the breakfast dishes; the next, she was blowing up her entire life. She hadn’t even been aware of the fury building within her, but now, as she marched grimly along the road, sweat beading on her brow, she could see the way its roots had spread throughout her life, angry tentacles that strangled everything in its path.

The counter-reaction had been swift and merciless.

Panting, she struggled up the incline and found herself at the edge of the highway. In one direction lay the Appalachian foothills; in the other…well, there was only one way to go. She dropped her backpack onto the path beside her and stared into the distance, where the asphalt seemed to wave and shimmer in the heat.

She took a swig of her water bottle and cursed herself as only a couple of drops fell into her dry mouth. Her arm dropped, the useless bottle mocking her thirst. The air around her was like breathing in hot soup. A truck appeared on the horizon and her decision was made. As if she’d done it a thousand times before, instead of never once having crossed the border of her tiny hometown, Cassidy extended her arm, her thumb raised.

The truck screeched to a halt ten feet past her, its engine idling, the window rolling down. A shot of fear ran through her, chased equally by a blaze of incandescent rage. This was what she’d been reduced to: a frightened girl, with no one left to turn to for help but a total stranger on a deserted strip of highway. If her body were to end up tossed on the side of the road, there was only one person to blame: Savannah Grace.

Chapter One

Savannah moaned as her body slipped into the cool blue water of her swimming pool. Her skin practically sizzled as the water ran off her arms and the feeling of her body being supported by the water felt like heaven. She allowed herself to float on her back; the sudden silence as her ears were submerged in the pool was immensely peaceful. She closed her eyes behind her sunglasses and a small smile spread across her lips.

She’d only been back in the country for less than a week and she found she both grieved the loss of the vacation and craved the new beginning being home represented. The vacation had, after all, been her honeymoon: three glorious weeks tucked away on an island paradise, with no one but her love; her sweet son stashed with his nanny in the next door villa.

There’d been time, finally, for true relaxation after a truly overwhelming couple of years of incessant touring, wedding planning, and what felt like several huge life events. They’d drank endless mocktails, lazed under palm trees, splashed beneath pristine waterfalls, gazed at every sunset, made love until Savannah had felt drunk with it. She had never been happier.

Except, perhaps now, back in their home, rested, and ready to start the rest of their lives. Ready once more, to work. Despite the water muffling her ears, Savannah heard quiet laughter above her and she let her feet drop down to tread water.

“Yes?” she enquired, turning to face the tall brunette standing poolside. Brynn Marshall – her wife, Savannah would never tire of that word – was trying and failing to bite back a grin as she surveyed her.

“Nothing,” Brynn denied. “Just enjoying the view.” She sat down on the edge of the pool. She wore a pair of distractingly small shorts and her long tanned legs dangled in the cold water. Savannah’s eyes narrowed as she swam slowly toward her.

“Are you laughing because I look like an escaped blimp from that angle?” she demanded. Brynn shook her head, amusement sparkling off her.

“Never.” She wriggled her toes in the water. “Maybe like a series of mountain ranges,” she admitted, then gasped as Savannah splashed her in retaliation.

Savannah grabbed her legs, wondering if she could pull her into the pool, but Brynn was immoveable. She leaned down as far as she could to kiss Savannah, her mouth warm, her hands firm as they slipped into her hair. A bolt of heat raced through her, remembering the delicious indulgence of their honeymoon, and she bit down demandingly on Brynn’s plump lower lip.

“Mmm.” Brynn smirked down at her, seeing exactly what was going through her mind. “Are all pregnant women this wildly horny all the time?” she mused. “Because if so, I really erred not dating more of them in my life.”

Savannah flicked more water at her.

“Shut up and come meet me in the bedroom,” she murmured, and Brynn bit her own lip.

“Oh, you’re on,” she said softly. Savannah was making her way toward the pool steps when Annabelle, their housekeeper, appeared. She gave Savannah a quick, unreadable glance and approached Brynn instead, speaking in a low tone. Brynn also glanced at Savannah and then replied to Annabelle, all just out of earshot.

“Give me five minutes?” she told Savannah, who’d only just struggled to the top step. She frowned, disapproving of anything that was going to distract her wife right when she’d been imagining her soft lips on her skin and her strong fingers…hmm, Savannah caught herself. Pregnancy really was a whole thing.

Brynn reluctantly followed Annabelle across the courtyard and into the house. She’d left Savannah glowing in the afternoon sun, water dripping off her skin, her new insane curves spilling out of her bikini and that look on her face that spelled serious needs for Brynn to meet. To say she wasn’t in the mood for dealing with a silly attempt at a security breach was to understate things dramatically.

Their home was a sweeping estate within a secure compound well outside of Nashville. They got very few uninvited visitors. Savannah was, however, a huge star, and this attracted its own risks: overzealous paparazzi, sightseers with a lack of boundaries, and the occasional over-obsessed fan. They didn’t have on-site security personnel, but they did have an external company ready to dispatch that monitored their boundary and entry gate. For Annabelle to be consulting her on an arrival, something was either more gray-area or more serious.

“What’s going on?” she asked the housekeeper. Annabelle was a no-nonsense white woman in her fifties, her hair a stylish pure gray, her figure solid and her manner like that of an old school nurse: calm, unflappable and unlikely to take your shit. She’d been with Savannah for seven years and in the time Brynn had known her, she’d never once looked ruffled, let alone perturbed the way she did now.

“There’s a young woman at the front gate,” she said. “Asking for Savannah. She says she’s her sister.”

“Sure.” Brynn shrugged. It wasn’t remotely the first time someone had tried pretending they were family to gain access to the singer. “But she won’t leave?”

“I…asked her to wait,” said Annabelle, slowly. “I asked her for ID and she said she didn’t have any. But…well, perhaps you should look for yourself.”

Brynn followed her to the alcove by the front door that housed the video monitor from the gate. She could see a girl’s figure, hands on hips, long blonde hair, her back to the camera, impatience on every line of her body.

“Ma’am?” Annabelle spoke through the intercom. The girl turned around and Brynn’s jaw dropped, shock slicing through her. Seconds passed. Then, without a word, as if on autopilot, she reached out and pressed the gate release.