“Possession of pot and underage drinking.”

“Crap, I need to call Dad.”

“I already tried,” Brynn said. “I got his voice mail. I couldn’t get ahold of you either.”

“I’m so sorry.” Allie ran her hand down Brynn’s long hair. “I had it on vibrate and forgot to turn the ringer back on.”

“Where are Arnold and Frances?” Trevor asked.

Brynn shrugged. “They were busy, and I didn’t want to bother them with this.”

“No reason to worry your father right now, Allison. I’ll call my attorney and take care of it.” He reached out and patted Brynn’s head before walking past them toward his office. “It’ll be fine, I promise,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

Allie guided her sister up the stairs and into her room. Brynn pulled away and flopped down on the bed while Allie walked into the closet. “How did Monica sound?”

“She’s in a cell with a bunch of drunk people. She sounded scared.”

Allie shimmied out of the dress and threw on a pair of old jeans and a sweatshirt. Walking back into the bedroom, she stuck her hands in the shirt’s front pouch and settled herself next to Brynn.

“Is Monica going to be okay, Al?”

“Yeah, she will. But first we need to see if we can get her out of jail.”

“You’re not going to make me go back home, are you?”

She rubbed Brynn’s back. “No, but Dad has the final say.” Not that he seemed to care one way or another. And that’s what pissed Allie off the most. She was worried sick about her sisters while her dad was probably out having a great time with his new girlfriend. Resentment and frustration warred with the anger. She was tired of being the responsible one. She closed her eyes. But that’s why Brynn was here in Trevor’s home, and it was why she was going to bail Monica’s sorry ass out of jail. Her sisters needed her. Allie wasn’t going to abandon them.

“I don’t know why Dad gets to make the decision,” Brynn said. “You’re the one who does everything. And I like it here. Mags and Nigel are funny. Besides, I’m going to be in the wedding. Mags asked me to be…what did she call it? Not flower girl. Junior bridesmaid, that’s it.” She smiled. “I like them. Why doesn’t Trevor?”

Allie smoothed a strand of Brynn’s dark hair, flipping it behind her shoulder. “They weren’t always the best parents.”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” Allie said.

Trevor stepped into the room. He’d removed his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his white shirt. Her eyes drifted to his and this time, she didn’t look away.

“I found your sister. She’s in the North Las Vegas Detention Center. We can bail her out now.”

Allie stood. “Let’s go.”

“I want to go too,” Brynn said.

“No, you stay here.” She slipped her feet into a pair of tennis shoes. “We’ll be back soon.”

***

Trevor held open the sedan’s passenger door for Allie before walking around and climbing behind the wheel.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. I can handle it myself,” she said.

He started the engine and pulled through the gate. “You’ve been dealing with this by yourself for too long.” He twisted his head and glanced at her.

“I don’t need saving, Trevor.”

“Really? So you have the fifteen hundred dollars for bail money, do you?”

Gritting her teeth, she stared out the window. She owed him big time, and it was always there between them, like an invisible wall. She was tired of being indebted to him, wished they were on equal footing. Then you never would have met him.

“We could, of course, allow her to rot for a few weeks until her trial. How does that sound? She is eighteen, after all,” he said.

“Fine. So what do you want in exchange for this loan?”

When he didn’t answer her, she unhooked her seat belt and moved closer to him, placing her hand on his leg, creeping it closer to the juncture of his legs. When she stroked his semi-hard dick through his fly, she whispered in his ear, “What’s fifteen hundred dollars worth, Trevor? How many handies will it take?”

He sharply pulled over to the side of the road and threw the car in park before turning on her. He grabbed the back of her head, drawing her face close to his. “Stop this at once. I want your forgiveness, you ungrateful brat.”

She did laugh then. How very Trevor-like. Demand forgiveness and insult her in the same breath. “Tough. I don’t want to forgive you. You don’t deserve it.”

He leaned down and kissed her hard—and all too briefly. “I know I don’t deserve it.” He let her go and gripped the steering wheel, rotating his shoulders. “Now, put your seat belt back on.”

She sighed and snapped her belt in place. Just when she thought she had a handle on him, he did something surprising and thoughtful. It was irritating.

“Besides, I’ve never bailed anyone out of jail before. I can cross it off my bucket list.”

She slanted him a look. “Glad you think this is funny.”

He reached out and picked up her hand, bringing it to his mouth. “My lawyer assures me he can get the charges dropped if she enters a drug rehab program.” He lightly kissed her fingers. “And I heard from the detective today.”

“What?” She jerked her hand from his grasp. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me? What’s Brad’s last name? Who is he?” She twisted in her seat and glared at him. The passing headlights cast shadows onto his profile.

“I didn’t tell you because I was angry. The longer you kept that hideous smile in place, the more I wanted to throttle you.”

He was unbelievable. Yeah, this was the Trevor she was used to dealing with, the selfish jerk who did whatever he wanted and couldn’t care less about anyone but himself. “What’s. His. Name.”

“Bradley. Thomas,” he said, mocking her cadence. “There, does that tell you everything you want to know?”

She took a deep, steady breath. “Here’s a wacky thought. Why don’t you just tell me what the detective said, so I won’t have to beat it out of you?”

“Well, we do have a safe word—Uruguay.”

“Trevor—”

He sighed. “Fine. He’s twenty-four, has three prior arrests, two for drugs, one for a DUI. He’s lives in a house in North Las Vegas, and he’s three months behind on rent.”

Sounded like even more of a loser than she thought. “What does he do for a living?”

“No job on the books. The detective thinks he sells drugs. Pot mostly. He’s living with four other people, two men, two women, not including your sister.”

“Perfect. How much are the detective and your lawyer going to cost me?”

There was a long pause. “You know, darling, you’re beginning to piss me off.” His pleasant voice belied his words.

She knew from experience, the more polite and cheerful he got, the angrier he was. Well too bad, she was angry as well—angry at him, Monica, her father, her dead mother. Oh God, no, that wasn’t true. She wasn’t mad at her mom. How the hell could she be mad at her mom for dying? Allie missed her every day.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. She was a bitch for even thinking such a thing. Her mother had been warm and big-hearted and cared about people. She’d depended on Allie, had asked her to do one thing—take care of her family.

It shouldn’t be so goddamned hard. Why couldn’t her dad and sisters just do what they were supposed to do? She had. She’d quit school and come home. Allie hadn’t complained, run off the rails, or started dating someone inappropriate.

She needed to fix this. And she’d start by accepting Trevor’s help. She couldn’t get Monica out of jail by herself, even though she’d argued otherwise. She’d get Monica home and talk some sense into her. True, that hadn’t worked the thousands of other times she’d done it, but she had to keep trying. It’s what her mom would want.

***

Trevor looked around the detention center with distaste. There was an odious mixture of alcohol and unwashed bodies—never a pleasant combination. The uniformed man behind the glass took their money, Allie signed a couple of forms, and then they waited for over an hour in uncomfortable molded-plastic chairs.