You pigs!

I shoved the flowers at the nearest a.s.sistant and got down from the stage. Sig was at my side in an instant. "Please get me out of here." He and Deeps flanked me, and we exited the gallery. They shielded me from the press and walked me across the plaza to the sculpture garden.

Deeps patrolled inside the green steel columns that fenced it off from the street, then said, "All clear." He guarded the entrance while Sig and I ducked between the Rodin sculptures and took refuge on a bench among the rows of palms wrapped in twinkle lights.

The crowd was still on the street. I could hear the protesters cheer a speaker. "Until women are free to choose their futures, no one is free!"

"Amen," Sig said. Safe in the semidark, his inner Helen peeked out. "You want to tell me what happened back there?"

"I know some of those girls. Zara, the one in the tiger print, she was in my cla.s.s in school. She shouldn't even be here. She doesn't like guys."

Sig's expertly groomed eyebrow went up. "You mean she prefers chicken over beef."

"Yes, she's got to be dying inside."

The palms overhead clattered in the cold breeze. I shivered and Sig wrapped his jacket around my shoulders.

"Yates was right. I'm helping sell girls into marital slavery. No wonder he hates me."

"He does not hate you."

"You heard him."

"Stop. That young man is not fool enough to think you returned to Jessop Hawkins because you wanted to. I saw the video of your triumphant return, and you're no actress, honey!"

I smiled despite myself.

"Avie, I know men, and if he's angry, it's because he still loves you."

You think so? "I shouldn't care how he feels; we're never going to be together again."

"Never? If I allowed never-" Sig took in my frown. "Don't let today stop you from believing in tomorrow, Avie. I am the poster girl for 'anything is possible.'" Sig waited for me to say something.

"All right," I said finally, just to be polite. Sig might believe that anything is possible, but I'd already learned that losing someone you love happens all the time.

We sat there listening to the speeches until Deeps waved us to go back inside. The catwalk was over and Hawkins was shaking hands with some man who'd practically fallen all over him earlier.

Hawkins signaled to me to come stand next to him. When I did, he took my hand, and I could tell he was unhappy from the way he squeezed it.

The girls who'd been auctioned were out on the floor with the winning bidders. Zara stood between her dad and the man who won her, staring straight ahead as if they didn't exist.

I wanted to go over and say something to her, but what? I'm so sorry your life was destroyed?

"Ready to go?" Hawkins said.

About two hours ago. "Sure."

Somehow, I walked to the car. Cameras flashed in my face. How could I live with myself, aiding the Paternalists? A few weeks ago, I might have been able to stop Jouvert with that tape, to force him out in the open, but I threw that chance away to save myself.

What happened here tonight is partly my fault.

Hawkins helped me into the car, then got in beside me. "You shouldn't have left the stage like that." He twisted the cap off a water bottle like he was wringing its neck.

"I wasn't feeling well."

"I know what Yates Sandell said upset you, but we made a deal. You promised you'd be at my side."

I promised I'd be his faithful campaign companion, but there were limits to what I could take. My heart sped up as I said, "I tried. I did, but please don't make me come to one of these again."

"You can't avoid auctions because Yates Sandell will be there."

"I knew some of those girls, and at least one of them would rather die than get Signed." I mustered all my courage. "I just helped sell one of my friends into slavery."

Hawkins shoved the cap back on the bottle. "Are you enslaved?" he snapped. "Are you being abused?"

I was steaming under my foil dress. You don't get it, I wanted to scream. It's like you want to be blind to what you're doing. "I bet Marielle would have gone for over twenty-five mil given how wealthy and connected your family is."

Hawkins glared at me. "I would never have let my sister be auctioned."

"Exactly."

We faced off in silence before finally turning away from each other. We were near UCLA when Hawkins said, "Adam, are there any more debutante auctions in the campaign schedule?"

"Let me check," Ho answered. "None on the West Coast."

"Does that meet with your approval?" Hawkins asked.

"Yes, thank you," I answered. Great. So, I'd gotten myself out of going to any more auctions, but ...

I toyed with the pleated folds on my skirt. How could I strut around in this dress declaring I wasn't a slave when I acted like one, doing exactly what Hawkins wanted, supporting a cause I despised?

And the searing look in Zara's eyes when she saw me? My stomach tightened, remembering.

Yates was cruel, saying what he did, but he wasn't wrong. I was just as guilty as Hawkins.

If I didn't want to be Hawkins' lapdog, I had to do more about auctions than just not show up. I had to act.

40.

Hawkins knocked on my door the next morning, the first time he'd ever done that. Even more bizarre, he was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, and he'd traded his ta.s.seled Italian loafers for walking shoes. "Get dressed. We're going for a drive."

I leaned against the doorway, curious. "Now? It's not even eight."

"Best time to go. No traffic."

"Fine." I went to close the door.

"Downstairs in fifteen."

"Jeez. I'll be there, okay!"

I pulled on some jeans, and the closest thing I could find in my closet to hiking boots. The only clue I had to where we were going was that it wasn't like anywhere we'd been before. When I came down to the kitchen, Hawkins handed me a to-go cup and a slice of toast. "Let's go."

"Wait. Just the two of us?"

"Yes."

I followed him to the garage, surprised we were leaving the compound without Deeps and Ho tagging along after what happened driving into town last night.

Hawkins opened the pa.s.senger door of a red Ferrari convertible and held my cup while I got in.

I had just buckled my seat belt when Deeps charged out of the house. "Wait, Mr. Hawkins, you aren't planning on going out without security?"

"That's absolutely what I'm planning." Hawkins pushed a b.u.t.ton, and he and Deeps watched the top lift up and fold into the trunk with an elegant, silent motion.

"Sir, at least put the top back up."

"You really think there's an a.s.sailant waiting outside that gate at eight in the morning on the off chance I'll suddenly appear?" Hawkins slid into his seat. "We'll be back in a couple hours."

The engine's rumble echoed in the subterranean garage. Hawkins guided the car up the drive. The gate opened as we neared, and he eased the Ferrari onto Pacific Coast Highway. We left the compound behind, and the ocean spread blue and wide on the right, while the Santa Monica mountains loomed on the left.

Wind whipped my hair as Hawkins accelerated, and I closed my eyes, and almost felt free. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd ridden in a car with the top down. The closest I'd come to this was riding on the back of Yates' motorcycle.

I leaped off that thought and let it disappear. Yates and me-that was the past. I had to live in the now.

Pacific Coast Highway was mostly empty, and the Ferrari sailed past every car we met. After a few miles, Hawkins turned off the highway into the mountains.

The road climbed, cut out of the rocky hills with miles of switchbacks and short, sharp turns. Hawkins pushed the accelerator and the engine roared. I gripped the door handle until I caught the rhythm of the car and the road.

We flew past low brush and red-barked manzanita. Summer dust still coated the leaves on the sycamores, and caked on the roadside boulders. We charged past two life-sized bronzes of rearing stallions decked out in Santa hats at the gate of a private road.

Across the canyon, acres of black earth surrounded the sh.e.l.ls of a dozen burned-out mansions where a wildfire had come through. The fire line stopped suddenly, and then the houses ended, and it was just us out here.

The car felt so connected with the road that it antic.i.p.ated every turn. I began to love the roar of the engine, and the wind whipping my sleeve.

I looked over, and Hawkins was smiling. Not the tight, fake smile he'd had when he'd shaken all those hands at the auction, but a relaxed, genuine smile.

When he saw me looking at him, he said, "I needed this. What about you? You enjoying it?"

It was the first time he'd ever asked me that. "Yeah, I am."

We zigzagged up the jagged ribbon of road into the hills for miles until we reached the crest. On the left stood a huge sign saying COMING SOON! with a painting of a Tuscan-style mansion and a red Ferrari parked out front.

Hawkins turned onto a dirt road and slowed to a crawl over the rutted track. A steel cattle gate appeared after about a mile and we drove through, closing the gate behind us.

The mountains spread out below and the ocean was a blue border alongside, until the road dipped and we lost sight of the water. A half mile later, we drove up to a house that looked like it was wired together with parts salvaged from old barns and farmhouses. The wood was unpainted and not one window matched another. Copper bells hung from the porch and beehives studded the ground beneath the fruit trees out back.

A man loading wood into his pickup watched us pa.s.s. He and Hawkins exchanged glances, but not friendly ones.

"Who's that?"

"That's Roy."

"He doesn't look thrilled to see you."

"He's not. But I don't give a flying f.u.c.k how he feels." Hawkins guided the car into an open area past the orchard, then got out and tossed his jacket on the seat. "Let's take a walk," he said, handing me a bottle of water.

We started down a path through the waist-high scrub, and I still had no clue what we were doing here. Maybe Hawkins thought I'd be easier to deal with if he let me walk around in the open-like letting a dog run off leash.

Dust powdered my boots and the sun was hot enough that I peeled off my shirt and walked in my tank. A red-tailed hawk circled silently above us. The hills on either side were empty of houses and fences, and the only sounds were birds rustling in the brush. The air carried a faint scent of sage.

"Does Roy own this land or is it part of the state park?" I said.

"Neither. I own it."

No wonder Roy wasn't friendly. His wild backyard carved up into mansions. "So when are you going to start building homes up here?"

Jessop gave a laugh. "You noticed the sign."

"It's six feet tall. It's a little hard to miss."

"I don't intend to build anything up here, but I'll never let Roy forget I can."

"Whoa. You guys really don't get along."

"I didn't buy this land to irk Roy. The acreage will go to a conservancy group after I die. My sister fought for years to preserve cougar habitat in these mountains."

That's just like you to do a good thing, and add your own vengeful twist.

We continued down the trail until we got to a lookout. "I haven't been up here in a while. Not since Livia-" Jessop paused to gaze out over the hills. "She used to love it up here."

With that one little sentence I knew: he'd loved her. He'd actually loved someone outside of himself. And she'd loved him back. How was that even possible?

"What do you think?" He tipped his head at the view.

"About this? It's beautiful."

He took off his baseball cap and a breeze ruffled his hair. "Yeah, it's a good place to clear your head."

"Is that why we're here?"

"No. We need to work things out between us, preferably in private."