“I also know Georgie went to Mexico because she thought she was getting too attached to you.” Paul pulled a bright orange mug from the cupboard.

“Believe me,” Bram said bitterly, “that’s not a problem now. What else did she tell you?”

“I know about the audition tape, and I know she turned the part down.”

“It’s crazy, Paul. She was amazing.” He rubbed his eyes. “We’ve all underestimated her. We fell into the same trap as the public, only wanting her to play variations of Scooter. I’ll send you a copy of the tape so you can see for yourself.”

“If Georgie wants me to see it, she’ll let me know.”

“It must be nice to have the luxury of being noble.”

“You should try it sometime.” Paul filled the mug and passed it over. “Tell me the rest.”

Bram described his visit from Rory and everyone’s reaction to Georgie’s withdrawal. “They know I’m responsible, they want her in the film, and they expect me to fix this.”

“Not a good position for a new producer to be in.”

He couldn’t contain himself. He began pacing the kitchen, making awkward ovals as he told Paul the rest-his trip to Mexico, the lie about Jade, and then the worst, what he’d said to her today. He let it spill out, omitting only the detail about the baby, not because he was trying to protect himself-he was long past that-but because Georgie’s desire for a child was her own secret to reveal.

“So let me get this straight,” Paul said, an ominous note in his voice. “You lied to my daughter about Jade. Then you tried to manipulate her by pretending you were in love with her. After she threw you out, you magically realized you really do love her, and now you want me to help you convince her of that.”

Bram slumped onto a bar stool at the counter. “I’m so fucked.”

“I’d say.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“Yes, and I’m not telling you.”

He hadn’t really expected it. “Will you at least tell her…? Shit. Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her…Ask her to talk to me.”

“I’m not asking her for a damn thing. You created this mess. You can damn well fix it.”

But how? This wasn’t a misunderstanding that could be patched up with roses, mangoes, or a diamond bracelet. It wasn’t a simple lovers’ quarrel that a few words of apology could repair. If he wanted his wife back, he’d have to do something much more convincing, and he didn’t have a clue what that could be.

Georgie came downstairs as he drove away. She hadn’t been able to stay in Malibu with Bram pounding at the door, so she’d driven here. “I heard every word.” Her voice sounded strange even to herself, so cold, so detached.

“I’m sorry, kitten.”

He hadn’t called her that since she was a child, and as he put his arm around her, she buried her face in his chest. But her fury burned so strong she was afraid she’d scorch him, and she drew away.

“I think Bram just might be telling the truth,” he said.

“He’s not. Tree House means everything to him, and I’m making him look bad. He’ll do anything to get my name on that contract.”

“Not long ago, that was exactly what you wanted.”

“Not now.”

Her father looked so troubled, she squeezed his hand-only for a moment, long enough to reassure him but not to blister his skin. “I love you,” she said. “I’m going to turn in now.” She temporarily pushed aside her rage. “Go see Laura. I know you want to.”

He’d called Georgie in Mexico to tell her he’d fallen for her old agent. She’d been stunned until she’d considered all the women he hadn’t fallen in love with.

“Are you getting used to the idea of Laura and me?” he asked.

“I am, but how about her?”

“It’s only been four days since I told her how I felt, and I’m making headway.”

“I’m glad for you. Glad for Laura, too.”

She waited until after he’d driven off before she called Mel Duffy. Jackals were nocturnal creatures, and Mel answered right away. “Duffy.”

He sounded sleepy, but she’d wake him up fast. “Mel, it’s Georgie York. I have a story for you.”

“Georgie?”

“A big story. About Bram and me. If you’re interested, meet me in Santa Monica in an hour. The Fourteenth Street entrance to the Woodland Cemetery.”

“God, Georgie, don’t do this to me! I’m in Italy! Positano. Diddy’s got this big fuckin’ party on his yacht.” He started to cough, a cigarette hack. “I’ll fly back. Christ, it’s not even eight a.m. here, and there’s another goddamn labor strike. Give me time to fly back to L.A. Promise me you won’t talk to anybody else till I get there.”

She could call a member of the legitimate press, but she wanted a jackal to have the story. She wanted to give it to Mel, who was gluttonous enough to exploit every bloody angle. “All right. Monday night. Midnight. If you’re not there, I won’t wait.”

She hung up, her heart racing, her fury seething. Bram had taken away what she most wanted. Now she’d do the same to him. Her only regret was having to wait forty-eight hours to exact her revenge.

Bram couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t eat, and he was seriously going to kill Chaz if she didn’t stop hovering. At the age of thirty-three, he’d acquired a twenty-year-old mother, and he didn’t like it. But then he didn’t like much of anything or anyone these days, especially himself. At the same time, a steady sense of resolve had taken hold of him.

“Georgie’s not doing Helene,” he told Hank Peters on Monday afternoon, two days after that ugly scene at Malibu. “I can’t talk her into changing her mind. Make whatever you want of it.”

He wasn’t surprised when, less than half an hour later, he received a summons to meet with Rory Keene. He stalked past her fleet of alarmed assistants and entered her office without waiting to be announced. She sat behind her burled wood desk, beneath her Diebenkorn painting, and ruled the world.

He kicked aside a wire chair shaped like a backward S. “Georgie’s not taking Helene. And you’re right. I’ve screwed up my marriage. But I love my wife more than I’ve loved anyone, and even though she currently hates my guts, I’d like you to stay the hell out of this while I try to get her back. Got it?”

Several long seconds passed before Rory put down her pen. “I guess our meeting’s over then.”

“I’d say so.” As Bram strode from her office, he knew some of what he had to do. He only wished he could figure out the rest.

Georgie parked her rented Corolla in front of a two-story apartment building just north of the Woodland Cemetery entrance, close enough so she could see Mel arrive, but far enough away to keep him from spotting her until she wanted him to. It was almost midnight, and the traffic on Fourteenth had thinned to a trickle. As she sat in the dark, she found herself remembering it all-from the moment Bram had overheard her proposing to Trev to the stormy afternoon on that same beach when Bram had declared his undying love.

The pain wouldn’t relent. She was going to tell the jackal everything. The story of Bram’s phony declaration of love would take over the tabs, then make its way to the legitimate press. The reputation he’d been working so hard to polish would be tarnished all over again. Let Bram try to play the hero after she was done with him. She’d hurt herself in the process, but she no longer cared. She was angrier than she’d ever been, but she was freer, too. Her days of letting tabloid headlines rule her existence were over. No more smiling for photographers when she was falling apart. No more posturing for the press to preserve her pride. No more letting her public image steal her soul.

A black SUV pulled up just past the cemetery entrance. She sat lower in her seat and watched in the side-view mirror as the headlights went off. Duffy got out, lit a cigarette, and looked around, but he didn’t notice the Corolla. The lies were going to end now. She’d hurt Bram as badly as he’d hurt her. It was the perfect revenge.

The jackal lit a cigarette. She’d begun to perspire, and her stomach wasn’t right. He started to pace. It was time. After tonight, there’d be no more subterfuge. She could live honestly, with her head high, knowing she’d fought back, that she hadn’t let herself become another man’s emotional victim. This was the woman she’d grown into. A woman who took control of her life and her revenge.

The jackal pitched his cigarette into the gutter and headed toward the cemetery entrance. She hadn’t counted on that. She wanted to tell her story near the safety of streetlights. A jackal in a deserted cemetery was too dangerous, and she reached for the door handle before he could go any farther. But as her hand closed around the cold metal, something cracked open inside her. Right then, she saw that the jackal inside the car was more dangerous than the one approaching the cemetery gates.

The jackal inside the car was her. This vengeful, furious woman.

She clutched the handle. Bram had betrayed her, and he deserved to be punished. She needed to hurt him, to destroy him, to betray him as he’d betrayed her. But that kind of destruction wasn’t in her nature.

She sagged back in her seat and looked at who she was-at who she’d become. The air inside the car grew heavy and stale. One of her feet fell asleep. But she stayed where she was, and slowly, she began to understand her own nature. With a furious new clarity, she knew she’d rather live with the weight of her anger, the burden of her grief, than turn herself into a creature of vengeance.

The jackal finally emerged from the maw of the cemetery, cell phone to his ear. He smoked another cigarette, gave a final look around, then climbed into his car and peeled away.

She drove aimlessly, feeling empty, still angry, not at peace, but clear about who she was. Eventually, she ended up on a seedy section of Santa Monica’s Lincoln Boulevard populated by massage parlors and sex shops. She parked in front of a brake shop closed for the night, hoisted her camera bag from her trunk, and set off down the sidewalk. She’d never been alone in a dangerous neighborhood at night, but it didn’t occur to her to be frightened.

Before long, she found what she was looking for, a teenage girl with bleached hair and burned-out eyes. She approached her carefully.

“My name’s Georgie,” she said softly. “I’m a filmmaker. Can I talk to you?”

Chaz appeared at the beach house two days later. Georgie had been sitting in front of her computer, looking at film all morning, and she hadn’t even had a shower. As soon as Aaron answered the door, an argument broke out.

“You followed me!” she heard him exclaim. “You don’t even like to drive to the grocery, and you followed me all the way to Malibu?”

“Let me in.”

“No way,” he said. “Go home.”

“I’m not going anywhere till I talk to her.”

“You’ll have to get past me first.”

“Oh, puh-leeze, like you can stop me.” Chaz stormed past him and soon found the spare bedroom where Georgie had set up her equipment. She was dressed in avenger black right down to her flip-flops. “You know what your problem is?” she declared, advancing on Georgie without preamble. “You don’t care about people.”

Georgie had barely slept, and she was too drained to deal with this.

“Bram hasn’t come home from the studio for the past two nights.” Chaz continued her attack. “He’s miserable, and it’s all because of you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he started doing drugs again.” When Georgie didn’t respond, some of Chaz’s fire gave way to uncertainty. “I know you’re in love with him. Isn’t she, Aaron? Why don’t you just go back to him? Then everything will be fine.”

“Chaz, stop badgering her,” Aaron said quietly as he came up behind her.

Georgie had never imagined Aaron would turn into such a determined watchdog. His weight loss seemed to have given him a new confidence. One Tuesday, when Mel Duffy’s story about Georgie’s phone call had surfaced, Aaron had gone on the attack and issued a vigorous public denial without even consulting her. She’d told him that Mel’s account was true and she didn’t care anymore, but he refused to listen.

It was easier to attack Chaz’s weaknesses than think about her own. “Here’s the thing about people who are always sticking their noses into other people’s lives. It’s generally because they don’t want to deal with their own screwups.”

Chaz immediately went on the defensive. “Everything’s just fine in my life!”

“Then why aren’t you in culinary school right now? As far as I know, you haven’t even glanced at those GED workbooks.”

“Chaz is too busy to study,” Aaron said. “Just ask her.”

“I think you’re afraid if you step outside the security of what you have now, you’ll somehow end up back on the streets.” The words were no sooner out of Georgie’s mouth than she realized she’d betrayed Chaz’s confidence. She felt sick. “I’m sorry, I-”