her, reminded her of what she was there for and of how far she’d come. All the way from her screwed-up childhood in Laguna Beach, California, where she wasn’t allowed to take a towel to the beach because her mom didn’t want to risk tracking any bit of grit or grime into their blindingly white, paid-for-with-other-people’s-money beachfront condo.
All of that hadn’t mattered then, and it didn’t matter now. Laci had grabbed Millie’s hand and marched the two of them jauntily through the glitz-and-marble lobby. They’d crossed the walking path to the dunes and plunked themselves down on the sand, Laci’s six years on this earth qualifying her for elder-statesman status over her four-year-old sister. The California beaches weren’t warm like the ones in Hawaii, but to this day she could remember the smell of the surf, and she could still feel the suction beneath her toes as she wiggled them in the warm, wet sand.
They’d stay outside as long as they could, cooking under a layer of sunscreen, and cooling off with quick dips in the surf and slushies from Joe who worked the concession shack. Then they’d traipse back to the condo, only to be waylaid by Manuel, the doorman, who’d invariably tell her that her mom had a “special guest,” and suggest that Laci and Millie get cleaned up in the poolside shower and maybe take a quick swim for, oh, another thirty-five minutes.
Millie was too young to understand, but even at six, Laci got it: stay out of their mom’s way for a while longer, and by the next day, they’d have a few new clothes, food in the fridge and a mother who wasn’t in a perpetually pissy mood. Usually, Laci scored a new toy—which she immediately dropped in the charity box at the grocery store, though she’d never, ever tell her mother for fear of one of Alysha’s famous spankings. Their mom had a temper, no doubt about that. And woe be to any adult or child who looked askance at the way she provided for her kids.
It had been a surreal kind of life, all the more so during the school year when the other moms would pull their daughters away from Laci and Millie, whispering to their girls about associating with the “wrong sort.” Laci didn’t want to be wrong, and she hated the fact that her mother took and took and took, getting by on looking pretty and having the men fawn all over her. She hadn’t known it at the time, of course, but Alysha Montgomery had been the worst kind of whore, trading on her looks, doling out sex and not doing one damned thing to earn herself a place in the world.
Alysha had never crossed the line into out-and-out prostitution, but she’d certainly been “kept.” And when Child Protective Services started poking around to investigate how well she was looking after her two young daughters, Alysha had decided that her girls weren’t worth fighting for and had insisted their father come from Australia to pick them up.
Laci had been terrified at first by the prospect of going off to live with a man she didn’t remember. Then the reality sank in: she was getting to leave her leech of a mother. And no matter what else happened, that had to be a good thing.
Fortunately, she’d been right. Moving from her mom’s dolled-up condo to her father’s ramshackle shack had constituted serious culture shock, but Duncan had made them feel more welcome in two days than their mom had in their entire lives. Without breaking stride, he’d brought his daughters into his life, and he’d never once complained, even though two little girls had taken up more than their fair share of his four-hundred-square-foot shack.
They’d arrived during the summer, and while Duncan had sat at the lifeguard stand, his daughters played in the surf and got to know the vendors who hawked food, air rafts and surfboards to the locals and tourists.
By the end of that first summer, Laci had learned to surf, and three months later—during their first Christmas/summer break Down Under—she’d competed in her first surfing competition, coming out of nowhere to take second in the junior division.
After that, she knew what she’d wanted to do for the rest of her life, and she’d gone after her goal with single-minded obsessiveness. Her first surfboard had been a present from her father, but after that, she’d eschewed trading product for favors. No way—no freaking way—was she turning into her mom.
She intended to climb to the top of the surf world, win trophies and world championships and get her face on cereal boxes. And she was getting there on her own merits—her own wins. Or, dammit, she wasn’t getting there at all.
“Thinking serious thoughts?” That comment came from JC, now standing over Laci and blocking the sun, so that the backlight through her damp hair made her appear like some sort of Amazon surf goddess.
“Always,” Laci said, pushing up on her elbows and conjuring a smile.
Beside her, Drea rolled over, joining the conversation. “You looked good out there,” she said, and Laci nodded agreement.
“Thanks,” JC said, plunking down on the sand beside them. “Hard to believe the first heat’s in just two weeks. I’m totally digging this relaxation time.”
Laci laughed. “Some relaxation! We’re working our tails off.”
“Okay, you have a point.”
“Should we say it now,” Drea asked. “Just to get it out of the way?”
They looked at each other, then each grinned as they stuck out their hands, putting one on top of the other. “Good luck,” they said in unison. “But I’m gonna kick your ass.” They tossed their hands in the air and fell back, laughing.
Nice to laugh about it, Laci thought. She wondered if the others meant it even half as much as she did.
JC climbed to her feet. “I’m going to go grab a shower and some lunch. You guys?”
“Sure,” Drea said, shaking out her towel and securing it back around her hips. “Laci?”
Laci shook her head, the thought of spending some alone time on the beach too enticing to pass up. “I’m going to hang here for a while, but I might swing by Da Kine later for a snack. You want me to call you?”
“Sure,” Drea said, and although JC nodded, there was a shadow in her eyes.
“What?” Laci demanded.
“It’s probably nothing,” JC said.
“Then spit it out.”
“It’s just that when I was in there last night, I thought I saw someone. I’m not even sure. It’s probably nothing.”
Laci was bolt upright now, her back straight, senses tingling. “Who did you see?”
“Thought I saw,” JC clarified.
Laci crossed her arms and stared down her friend.
“Fine. I thought I saw Taylor Dutton.”
Drea let out a low whistle even as Laci’s insides went cold. “Here? Working the competition? That doesn’t make any sense. He doesn’t even work for Xtreme.”
Drea and JC exchanged looks. “Yeah, he does,” JC said. “Has been for a while, actually. But,” she hurried to add, possibly because she saw panic on Laci’s face, “there’s no way I could have seen him. I mean, he doesn’t have any reason to be here,” JC said. “Morgan Castle’s here for Xtreme. I talked to him yesterday.” She waved a hand, as if dismissing the whole conversation. “It was probably someone who looked like Taylor. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No,”
