Cal nodded. “Yeah.”

“Do you have a picture of her? It’ll give me something to go by.”

Cal scrolled through his phone, glancing at hundreds of photos. Mostly shots of cars he’d worked on, in various states of repair. A few of Babcock, when she was still healthy enough to sit on the terrace and look out at the beach. He finally found a pic of Jules on her nineteenth birthday. She hadn’t worn nearly as much makeup then as she did now, and her hair was shorter. She wore a birthday tiara and showed off the sapphire earrings he’d given her as a present.

His stomach dropped. He had picture after picture of the cars he’d worked on, but only one of his sister.

“Here she is.” His voice sounded gruffer than usual, thick with emotion. He showed Monica the photo and glanced away. Cal really was a crap brother. That seriously needed to change.

“She’s pretty. You guys have the same eyes.” Monica glanced up at him, scanned his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been a selfish bastard.”

“I would never describe you as a selfish person, Cal.” She reached out and gave his arm a quick squeeze. “I’ll take this side and meet you in front of the theater.”

Cal nodded and moved off. Monica was being very kind to him. He wasn’t sure he deserved it.

* * *

Cal was a lot of things—handsome, funny, a fantastic lover…but selfish? Not even close. Monica had seen him give money to strangers, and he was kind to everyone. She didn’t know the whole story with his sister, but from the way it sounded, they didn’t see each other very often. So Cal probably didn’t understand that sisters were a pain. Monica had two to prove it.

Over the next three hours, she and Cal tried to divide and conquer, looking in every store, bar, and restaurant. They asked sales people and wait staff if they’d seen Jules. Monica wasn’t sure the girl had ever been here. Cal had described his sister’s revealing outfit, and Jules’s short, gold skirt sounded second-glance worthy. Surely someone would have noticed. But they struck out over and over.

Finally admitting defeat, she and Cal walked back to the car. Monica gazed up at him. His eyes were serious. She was used to seeing him wear a smile, but now, Cal’s mouth leveled into a straight line, and his wide shoulders climbed upward, tense and strained. She wished she could reassure him somehow, but she didn’t know what to say.

This must have been how Allie used to feel when Monica pulled shit like this.

When Cal’s phone rang, he practically ripped it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. “I don’t have time now, Mum.” Then he froze. “What? She’s with you? For how long?” That worried look on his face morphed to anger, hardening his features, turning his eyes into green glaciers. “I’m on my way.” He punched the End button. “She’s been with my mother most of the afternoon. That fucking little brat.”

Chapter 13

Monica held on to his arm. His biceps bunched under her hand. “Cal. Remember, patience.”

He turned those cold, angry eyes on her. “I’m brassed off with Jules, make no mistake, but Pixie should have called me hours ago. She’s meant to be the adult.” He jerked his arm from her grasp. “Do you mind driving me out to her place? I could take a cab, if you’d rather.”

She dismissed his biting tone. “Of course I’ll drive you.” And Monica hoped he’d calm down a little before they arrived. Cal was good-natured and very easy to be around. She had a feeling it took a lot to push him over the edge. Between Pix and Jules, they’d given him a hard shove.

As she exited the parking garage and pulled onto the Strip, she shot him a look. Dusk had set in, painting the horizon in shades ranging from deep pink to light peach. The neon signs popped against the darkening sky. “She may have had her reasons, Cal. Your mom, I mean.”

He shook his head. “Don’t think so. Pixie is unreliable at the best of times, and self-serving always.” He clamped his mouth shut and faced the passenger window. Other than giving her directions, he didn’t say another word the entire trip.

When Monica arrived at Pixie’s house and rolled past the heavy wooden gates and up the long, circular drive, security lights glowed. Near the house, Paolo waited for them with a little Pomeranian in his arms.

Cal turned to her as she braked. “You don’t have to stay, Monica. Go home, do some work, sit in your unfurnished house, and have a good evening.”

He started to get out of the car, but she pulled on his sleeve. “Don’t pull that shit with me, okay? I don’t deserve it.”

With a bitter twist of his lips, he nodded. “You’re right. I’m taking my foul mood out on you. I apologize. You were brilliant today, calmed me down when I was about to lose my rag. I appreciate it. But don’t feel like you have to stick around.”

“I’ll wait to see if you need a ride.”

He smiled then. A wan, tired smile, but it was something. Better than the frown he’d been sporting all afternoon. “Thank you. I’ll have to make it up to you somehow.”

“You took care of Ryan last night. I’d say we’re even.”

Cal grimaced. “That’s right. Don’t remind me.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then got out of the car.

While he strolled toward Paolo, Monica went to the front door and used the knocker. A maid answered the door and led the way to the large, open living room. This was the first time Monica had been to Pixie’s house—the palatial palazzo. Mediterranean architecture on steroids.

The walls, the furnishings, the rugs—all white. The only color in the room was Pixie, lounging on a tufted, modern chaise, thumbing through a glossy fashion magazine. She looked up when Monica stepped into the room. “Hey, Pix.”

The older woman’s brows rose a fraction, and she unfolded herself from the lounger. “Darling! How are you?” She dropped the magazine and strode forward, taking both of Monica’s hands. At five foot five, Monica was hardly statuesque, but Pix made her feel like it. Diminutive in stature with sharp features in a heart-shaped face, she looked a dozen years younger than she actually was. Vitality swirled around her, affecting everything in its path. Monica felt a little more alert just sharing space with Pix. Cal must have gotten the charisma gene from his mom.

Monica accepted Pixie’s air kiss. “I’m well. You’re looking fab, as usual.” Cal’s mom wore tight slacks patterned in bold black-and-white stripes. Her hot-pink blouse revealed a risqué amount of cleavage. One more undone button, and her boobs would have been on parade.

Pix flipped a mass of dark hair behind her shoulder. “Oh, Monnie, you’re so very sweet. Whatever are you doing here?”

“I brought Cal.” Monica stepped closer and lowered her voice. “He’s pretty angry right now, so you might want to tread carefully.”

Pix squared her shoulders. “He’s angry with me, is he? We’ll see about that.”

Monica began backing up. She didn’t want to be in the same room when Cal’s heated anger met Pix’s haughty demeanor. Sounded like a perfect recipe for disaster. “Where’s Jules? I’d like to meet her.”

“Game room, down the hall.” She flung her left arm in one direction as she looked toward the doorway, waiting for Cal, no doubt.

She didn’t need to be told twice. Monica retreated to the hallway, and when she heard the sound of pool balls clacking, she headed toward it.

Her first sight of Jules came as a surprise. The younger girl only vaguely resembled the picture Cal had shown her earlier. Jules’s warm brown hair looked longer now, and she’d added a few platinum extensions. Obviously a fan of the spray tan, she displayed too much skin from her neck all the way down to the stacked heels any stripper would be proud to wear. She leaned over the table with her pool cue and lined up a shot.

“Hello. Jules?”

The girl straightened slightly. “Yeah, who are you?” Her brown eyes flashed over Monica and dismissed her. Not waiting for an answer, she bent back over the table, and with a smooth jab, whacked the six ball into the corner pocket.