Avery picked up the expensive watch again. “I’m going to look this up and call a locksmith. I’d feel a lot better if all the six-figure stuff was somewhere safe. Just talking about Ruslan makes me feel like he’s outside, listening and ready to try his hand at burglary.”

“He would never dirty his own hands.”

“Still.” Avery tossed the watch in the air, caught it. “Hiding stuff in plain sight only works for so long. Once we get appraisers and movers in here, nothing will be hidden.”

“Let’s figure out what we’re looking at before we hire anyone. Then maybe we should consider a guard.”

“Sounds good.” Avery started to leave the room.

“Oh, one more thing.”

Avery turned.

“Five percent, or whatever the going rate is.”

“Five percent of what going rate?”

“You need a job, and I need someone to manage all of this and sell it for as much money as we can get. It will be like reverse shopping. Considering you’re the knower of all things high end, I think you’re perfect.”

Avery used the watch as a pointing stick. “You want me to work for you?”

“Why hire a stranger when you’re right here and already doing the job?”

“I don’t know anything about estate sales.”

“Me either. But I need to learn. When we’re done here, there is Alice’s house in Germany I haven’t even been to.”

“You’re not going to keep it?”

Trina shrugged. “I don’t speak German.”

Avery grinned.

“It gives us something to do,” Trina said.

The air in the room felt lighter. “There is a lot here. More than just a closet to go through.”

Trina agreed. They thought they’d only be there for a long weekend, but when you found a watch worth a hundred thousand dollars sitting in a drawer with a dozen of its brothers, the job became bigger.

“Five percent?”

“Or whatever the going rate is.”

Avery smiled. “You’re on. But if I screw up, or don’t know something . . .”

“I would have guessed that watch to be a few hundred bucks. Probably sold it for thirty.”

“Got it. The bar is set low for messing up.”

“Go, find a locksmith. One that isn’t named Guido.”

Avery turned and left the room. “On it.”

Chapter Eleven

The ranch had a state-of-the-art recording studio that sat separate from the main house. It made life easier when Wade wanted to work. No need to head into Austin, or even Houston, where he’d have to deal with hotels and fans. Right now was time for rest, reflection, and living. Although he wasn’t sure what rest looked like.

He turned on the lights and walked past all the expensive recording equipment and into the studio he would eventually sit in completely alone to record.

Half a dozen guitars lined the wall.

A smile crept onto his lips. He remembered his first six string and sitting in the senior quad at his high school, writing his first song. The instrument was an extension of his fingertips. Or so he’d been told the first time he’d shared his music. It was like he was born to it. Considering he’d never taken lessons to play the thing, he couldn’t argue.

Wade removed one of the guitars from its stand and walked over to a stool to perch his butt. He strummed a few chords and tightened a string to bring the instrument into tune.

He started the opening riff of a melody that had been drifting in and out of his head for over a month. Even though he’d been on tour and busy with sold-out arenas for the better part of eight months, he still found himself writing new music. He didn’t think touring and creating were exclusive to themselves, so he always had new stuff in the works.

He hummed a note, changed the rhythm, and then repeated it again. “I’m gonna make you smile . . .” He changed a chord, sang the verse again. He did it half a dozen times more before he grabbed a piece of staff paper and wrote the music down.

Time slipped away, and in what felt like minutes, the door to the studio opened, and Ike sauntered in.

“Do you ever stop?”

Wade glanced up. “I’ll stop when I’m dead.”

“Not if Vicki has anything to say about it.”

“What is my mother up to now?”

Ike leaned against the wall. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”

Wade dropped his smile. “I pay you.”

“Right. So . . . there may or may not be a Texas-size barbeque planned for this Saturday to welcome you home from your tour. A band—that doesn’t include you in the headline—lights, dance floor, a side of beef, several chickens, and at least one pig is on the menu. Anyone you’ve ever met in your life that hasn’t asked you for money was invited.” He paused. “And some that have asked.”

Wade put his guitar aside and narrowed his eyes.

“By anyone I’ve ever met, would that include a certain ex–female friend that Vicki still has lunch with whenever she’s in town?”

Ike looked away without comment.

“C’mon, Ike . . . you’re supposed to have my back.”

“I told her it was a bad idea.”

He and Jordyn had broken it off before he started his tour. Not that it had been that long, or deep, of a relationship. This was why he didn’t date close to home. Too damn complicated when it ended.

“I need to shut this down,” Wade said as he stood.

“That might be a little hard.”

“Why?”

“Jordyn’s band is the entertainment, and the invitations have already gone out. Caterers are set and paid for.”

Irritation scratched his skull. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“I didn’t hear of it until I came home.”

“Then you should have called me.”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

That’s where Ike was wrong. “I would have flown to Barcelona and drank sangria for a couple of weeks. Found a dark haired, Spanish speaking, salsa dancing cutie to spend my time with.”

“Well, unless you can bring said cutie to the barbeque, I’d plan on a romantic intervention between your mother and your girlfriend.”

“Ex-girlfriend.”

Ike shook his head. “She doesn’t seem to know just how ex that is. You might have to remind her.”

Reminding women it was over had been the theme of his dating life since he signed with his first record label. Before fame, if he wasn’t feeling it, he simply said so. Now, there was begging and pleading, which were sometimes followed up by screaming and yelling. Jordyn had begged and pleaded. She also kept in close contact with his mother. He couldn’t take any blame for introducing them. No, Jordyn and her band were on a local circuit that played at Jo’s tavern and dance hall. A place he often went to blow off steam and have a good time. It was local enough to have neighbors that saw him often enough not to act starstruck when he walked in the room. Most of the time he felt like just another cowboy, tilting back a beer with his friends. He’d had hopes that he could return and find Jordyn hooked up with someone else.

Guess that wasn’t going to happen.

“Saturday, you said?” An idea started to form.

“Yup.”

Three days.

“You’re chasing me,” Trina said as she answered the phone. The thing rang at nearly the same time it had the night before. Wade’s name popped up and made her smile. She’d thought about calling him twice during the day, and then life distracted her to another closet, and in this case, another safe for the locksmith to crack open.

“Guilty.” His voice was pure southern charm.

“Why?”

He paused. “That’s a complicated answer.”

“Try.” She sat looking out the second story window at the rain falling in steady sheets.

“Do you want the short answer or the long one?”

She wasn’t looking for a compliment, and a long answer would seem as if she were. “The short one.”

“Okay, then. You’re not chasing me.”

Not the answer she had expected.

“Oh.”

“I have more reasons.”

“No, no . . . I asked for the short version. I bet a lot of women chase you.” As in hundreds.

“They do.” That might have sounded cocky, but Wade said it with an exhausted sigh.

“That must make it hard on your girlfriends.”

He chuckled. “Funny you should say that.”

“Why is that amusing?”

“What are you doing this weekend?”

Trina stopped watching the rain and moved to the edge of her bed. “I’m still in New York, working my way through this massive house room by room, why?”

“Can I tear you away?”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Are you ready for that?” He sounded hopeful.

Maybe when she wasn’t standing a room away from Fedor’s bedroom. “I’m not sure.”

“Then I’m not asking you out . . . I’m asking for a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“I need a decoy date.”

“A decoy what?”