* * *

Ginger munched on a slice of pizza as she looked around the penthouse. Everything was immaculate; it hadn’t changed at all since the day she’d come over to return the engagement ring. The housekeeping had kept the place in tiptop shape, and all the photos and albums on the mantle over the fireplace were dust-free.

Shane pulled three of the albums and brought them to the low table where their pizza was spread out. “So. Are the pictures inside all mine?” he asked.

“No. Some of them are mine and some are your family photographer’s.” She flipped opened the black one. Shane had never let her peek inside it before, calling it “a bunch of old family photos and stupid stuff”.

Inside were pictures of Shane as a baby, then his transformation into a toddler…a boy…then a man. He hadn’t been the happiest child. Kids generally weren’t shy and awkward in front of cameras, especially when they were handsome and generally outgoing. But Shane’s smiles were either stoic or obviously staged at the photographer’s direction. And he wasn’t the only one. His siblings also posed like store mannequins, and his parents were just as stiff, even in the shots where they had their arms around each other.

“Do you remember any of it?” she asked, looking at him.

“No. I just know we weren’t all that happy.”

“Things could change, you know,” she said. “Ceinlys was so…relaxed at the dinner. I’ve never seen her like that before.”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

“What about your dad? Has he called you yet?”

“Nah. And I don’t really expect him to. He never wanted me anyway.” He gave her a rueful smile that made her chest tight. “Yeah, I remember that much. Anyway, let’s not talk about that boring stuff. If you want to look through the photos, feel free. I’m going to nap now that I’m full.” He patted his stomach. “Join me?”

“If I nap now I’m not going to be able to fall asleep tonight.” She wanted to look at the rest of the albums, especially the ones he’d never let her see.

He nodded and closed his eyes. Soon he was snoring softly, his face slack and relaxed. She pulled an afghan over him and turned back to the albums.

Finally she reached a red one. She hadn’t seen that one either. She’d never understood why he’d kept so many if he didn’t want to show them to anybody. He certainly hadn’t looked at them much.

When she flipped the pages, an envelope dropped to the floor. She picked it up. It held something stiff inside, maybe a few photos he hadn’t yet mounted? There were only two words on the envelope—Re: Ginger.

Tilting her head, she opened it. Six photos spilled out onto her hands, then fell to the floor as she started shaking violently.

Her vision hazed, her mouth going dry. She blinked a few times, trying to focus on them, to see the details. Her heart pounded erratically, and something bitter and nasty coursed through her veins. She clenched her teeth as her stomach twisted hard, pushing the pizza back up.

She fell to her knees in front of the glossy photos. They were of her…and some men. They were in some kind of club, but she didn’t recognize the location. And she didn’t recognize anybody else in the pictures except herself.

But in the photos, she was laughing with the men. One of them had his hand on the small of her back and was leaning close, his face a handsbreadth away from her breasts. He wasn’t an ugly man, but she would’ve never allowed somebody she didn’t even know that kind of liberty, even if she’d been single.

Then there was another one of her dancing and laughing. Again, surrounded by men. They looked at her, and it appeared they were eye-fucking her even in the dim light.

Somebody buying her a drink. She accepting it with a flirty grin and a hand on the collar of his shirt.

She slowly gathered them up. They had to be photoshopped. There had to be some kind of inconsistency with the shadows or colors or…something that would show that they weren’t genuine.

Her body went alternately hot and cold as she studied every single square inch of them. She couldn’t see anything that looked wrong. And being a photographer herself, she knew what to look for.

What if whoever was behind them was really good? What if that was how they were able to make them look so authentic?

Who would make something like these and send them to Shane? A jealous woman who wanted Shane for herself? But Ginger had never noticed anybody like that around. He’d always been careful to let people know he was with Ginger and Ginger only.

She didn’t have any stalker or psycho ex-boyfriend either. She’d dated a boy before Shane, but that had been her freshman year of high school. The last she’d heard, he was a successful lawyer, happily married with two kids.

She reached for the envelope. The front had Shane’s name and address, and some PO box for the sender who hadn’t bothered to put down his—or her—name. It was postmarked the previous May.

Now it made sense. His erratic behavior. His leaving. His refusal to talk to her.

Anger exploded in her chest, stealing her breath. She was shaking so hard, she couldn’t even cry out in fury. Her eyes grew hot with unshed tears. He should’ve confronted her with them. Given her a chance to explain. She’d deserved that much, hadn’t she?

At the same time, a small part of her knew why he hadn’t. He’d never had any role model. That had been before his siblings had settled down, and his parents’ marriage had been a train wreck. She could just see him asking Salazar for advice. “Well, son, you should’ve expected it. That’s always how relationships go. There are other fish in the sea.”

The fury turned into an aching sense of loss and betrayal. She tried to blink away the tears, but they coursed down her cheeks anyway.

She stuffed the horrible pictures back into the envelope and shoved it into her purse. She was about to leave, then stopped at the sight of Shane. Quickly she scribbled a note for him on a napkin:

I just remembered something I have to do. Don’t worry about me.

She was going to find out who’d sabotaged her relationship with Shane and stolen one of the most precious things in her life. And then there would be hell to pay.

Chapter Sixteen

The first thing Ginger did when she got home was boot her laptop so she could look up the address. The PO Box was located in Cincinnati, Ohio. She could probably call the post office and ask who was renting it.

The United States Postal Service site pulled up the number. When she dialed, the clerk said there must’ve been an error since the PO Box number didn’t exist. “You might want to contact the sender for the right address.”

“I don’t have their number or anything,” she said.

“Oh. Then I don’t know. Do you at least know their full name or the company name?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

The man sucked his teeth. “Don’t know what to tell you then.”

“Thanks anyway.” She hung up. Dead end.

She bit her lower lip. Why did she think it’d be easy? She’d thought she’d trace the address, find whoever was behind this and confront them. Were there any fingerprints on the envelope? She stared at it dubiously. Cop shows always had people handle evidence with gloves on. She doubted there was anything usable left after Shane and she had touched the envelope with their bare hands, assuming that the sender had been careless. It looked like it had all been carefully planned.

Who could help her figure this out? Shane’s family had private investigators on retainer to handle delicate situations, but she didn’t want to use them. She wasn’t certain that they’d be discreet until she got to the bottom of this. Their loyalty was to Shane, not her.