That my fate might be the same as Leighton's.

Aiden sneaks in my window sometime after curfew and pulls me into his arms.

I still don't sleep, but I do realize there's something important I need to do before I go back to face Vincent.

Just in case I don't come back.

I slip out of bed, grab my phone, sneak into the bathroom, and send Sam an email with a very specific set of instructions to be carried out in a very short amount of time.

I end the email with a directive to meet me on Thursday afternoon.

Then I use the notes function on my phone and start writing.

After practice the next day, Cooper meets me in the training room.

"So what were the calls about?"

"We're going back to Malibu on Thursday."

Cooper's face turns a shade of pissed-off red. "Are you fucking nuts?"

"Calm down!" I whisper softly, but firmly. "I have to do something. I can't let what happened stop my plan. I also need to go back to honor her."

"You're not going to the funeral."

"No, that wouldn't be right, since I didn't know her. We'll be honoring her at the club."

"No. No fucking way are you going back there. I'll quit before I'll allow that."

"Fine. Then I accept your resignation."

Cooper bangs his fist on the table. "Oh, you are so damn stubborn."

"I know. I'm sorry, Cooper. I have to do something. I can't let him get away with it."

"He might not get away with it. The police are going to question him."

"That's awesome news. He deserves to go to jail. But knowing him, he'll get off. And knowing him, he'll be back at the club on Thursday to see if I have the balls to show up."

"I want to know your entire plan now. We can't go out the back again. We have to have a different plan. Something . . ." Cooper says.

"More dramatic?" I laugh, knowing my plan is just that.

"No, I was thinking safe."

"We're going out the front door, Cooper. I just need you to make sure I get there and then to . . ."

I tell him my escape plan.

Cooper slaps his forehead. "You seriously have a flair for the dramatic."

"Think it will work?"

"It's not like he'll be able to follow us. But you told me that when you were in Miami he had a gun. The photos he's sent to your mom and Brooklyn involved shooting. What if he decides to start shooting? Creates a distraction to get you out. Or, worse, to clear a path to you."

"I think-well, hope-that he'll be too shocked to do anything. And by the time he realizes what's happening, we'll be gone."

"Let me think this through, okay."

I nod, shutting up.

"It sounds more like a movie than real life," he finally states.

"That's why it's perfect. He'll never expect it. And if you can get your friends to help, I'll stay safe."

Cooper shakes his head at me. "I'll see what I can do."

Cooper texts Keatyn as she's en route to the airport.

Cooper: I don't like this. I should be going with you.

Me: I'm meeting Sam. Just have to sign papers dealing with this takeover. He has power of attorney, but it's limited and doesn't cover this.

Okay, so I'm lying to him, but only about why I'm meeting Sam.

But why I'm meeting him is too personal to share with Cooper.

He'd say I'm admitting defeat.

But I want to be prepared.

Just in case.

Cooper: Still . . .

Me: Your flight lands in L.A. before mine does. I'm wearing the wig and the flight is booked under your name. I'll see you when I get there.

Cooper: You swear to me you're going to see Sam?

Me: I swear. Plus, I don't think it would be smart to both miss school on the same day.

Cooper: True. All right. See you tonight.

On the plane, I look at a magazine that Peyton gave me last night at dinner. On page eight is a spread about Damian, including two pictures of him and Peyton. In one they are coming out of a trendy restaurant and in the other coming out of a club. Obviously, he didn't keep her busy in the bedroom the whole time.

Shit.

But then I look at the caption and realize that you can't clearly see her face in either photo.

Damian Moran, lead singer of the hottest new band on the planet, Twisted Dreams, was seen this past weekend with another blonde on his arm. And this blonde apparently held his attention for the entire weekend. Who is this gorgeous mystery girl? Can she tie down the playboy? And, come on, Damian, how about some equal opportunity for us brunettes?

I'm really thankful they're spending the holiday in St. Croix, where there are no photographers.

And I pray Damian will keep their relationship a secret until March.

I roll the magazine up and carefully put it in my backpack next to the brunette wig.

I'm not wearing the wig for this part of the journey.

I'm just me.

I have to be.

I close my eyes and listen to music during the long flight, arrive on schedule, and hop in Sam's rental car.

We drive for about thirty minutes through what I think is one of the most beautiful parts of the country.

Hilly. Lush. Green. Blue sky.

Sam turns onto a dirt road, winds up a hill, and says, "This is the spot."

I nod, understanding and taking it in.

He stops the car on a large flat area. "Is this what you were envisioning?"

I get out of the car and walk toward the view of the ocean.

And smile.

"You did good, Sam. It's perfectly perfect."

"I got lucky," Sam chuckles.

"No," I say. "It was fate."

I spin around, taking in the beautiful view in every direction.

"You've done everything exactly the way I requested, right?"

"I followed your instructions to the letter."

"And you'll do whatever it takes from a price and timing standpoint? We don't have much time."

"The current owners are aware of your timeline and if the offer is what they expect, we'll have the deal closed on Monday." He looks at me closely. "Are you sure this is what you want? To be cremated? To have your ashes spread here?"

"Yes. I'm positive."

He shakes his head, but all he says is, "Then I just need your signature." He holds out a clipboard, hands me a pen, and points to the places I should sign.

"Thank you so much, Sam. I love it." I pull an envelope out of my purse and say, "And here's this."

He takes it from me and places it safely in his briefcase.

I look back at the ocean, smile again, and feel an overwhelming sense of peace.

I close my eyes.

Say a prayer.

Then get driven back to the airport.

On Thursday, Vincent is in his office when he gets a visit from the police.

"We'd like to ask where you were last week. Thursday night."

"May I ask what this is about?"

"Just answer the question."

"I had a business dinner with a colleague and then went to a club I frequent."

"What's the club's name?"

"It doesn't have a name."

"What do you mean?"

"It's in an industrial area, and it has no name."

The officer scrunches up his nose like something smells. Vincent knows they found the girl. He saw it on the news. Thought it was really sad. He can surmise that the authorities questioned those employed at the club and were given his name. Just as he planned they would. The cop pulls out a photo and shoves it across Vincent's desk. "You recognize her?"

Vincent studies the photo, recalling the girl's beauty. Shame what he was forced to do to her.

"I think so. She looks different in this picture, but I think she works at the club I just mentioned."

"She does. Why do you thinks she looks different?"

"Well, in this photo she looks sweet and innocent. If it is the girl I'm thinking of, she was a new employee and danced in one of the cages."

"Cages?"

"I assume you went to the club and questioned their employees, had a look around. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here. And that means you know exactly the cages I'm referring to." The officer starts to speak, but Vincent continues. "I can also assume that the bouncer told you that I gave the new cage dancer one of my business cards. Is that a problem?"

"Normally, no," he replies in a smart-ass tone. "Except that she's dead."

Vincent studies the photos again, shaking his head. "Tragic. Such a pretty girl. Drugs?"

"Murder."