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agency, reporting stories that actually meant something.
    All she had to do was kill Zander Baron just as he had killed Alexander Brannon.

Chapter 2
    Olivia worked from her million-dollar Bel Air mansion, having turned the room with the best view into her office. From her platinum bob and steel grey eyes to her snow white pantsuit, Olivia favored the color palette of the proverbial ice queen. Her thick carpeting, which was the pale, barely blue hue of a glacier, muffled the sound of Zander’s heavy black motorcycle boots.
    Sitting in an office chair ergonomically designed to coddle her lower back and ease her occasional sciatic pain, Olivia watched Zander, only her eyes following his slow, measured steps.
    “You know, Zander, you really haven’t changed that much since we first met,” she began in the clipped, patrician accent that exposed her boarding school background. “You still have that discomforting energy about you, that sense of a caged tiger yearning for escape.”
    He forced himself to stand still, choosing a place near the floor-to-ceiling window. Staring at the picturesque Santa Monica mountains, Zander tried, unsuccessfully, to quiet the restlessness that had plagued him since the press conference the day before.
    “You know her.”
    It wasn’t a question, so Zander didn’t answer. Keeping one hand in the pocket of his black leather motorcycle jacket, he raked the other through his hair. It had been Olivia’s idea to strip it of some of its color. She’d been convinced—correctly—that lighter hair would make his eyes appear more intense. Five years later, he still wasn’t quite used to it. There were times when he caught his reflection and saw a stranger.
    After yesterday’s press conference, he had accepted the fact that he was looking at a stranger every time he caught his reflection.
    “She certainly seemed to know you, Zander,” Olivia said.
    She hadn’t raised her voice above her usual conversational purr, but Zander knew that she was worried. Concerned, rather. In the years she’d represented him, Olivia had never worried about anything.
    “A crisis is merely a problem for which one is ill-prepared,” she’d told him early on in their relationship. “I’m always prepared.”
    Zander doubted that Olivia was prepared for the appearance of Faith Wheeler. He certainly hadn’t been, although he thought he had played off his initial reaction very well. His carefully cultivated image would have taken a dramatic hit if he had passed out from the shock of seeing her.
    Even thinking about her now, his knees weakened, and he might have actually slumped against the windowed wall if he hadn’t caught himself.
    The past decade had been more than kind to Faith. She still had the silky skin that always put him in the mind of hot cocoa with just the right amount of marshmallows melted into it. He hadn’t recognized her voice at first. The shrill, native cry of the story-hunting reporter was nothing like the voice he would hear in his deepest, most vivid dreams over the years.
    If warm honey had a voice, it would sound like Faith.
    “She writes for Personality! ,” Olivia said, pulling him from his reverie. “She took the job there close to two years ago after spending the prerequisite time at daily papers in New York City and Chicago and stringing for a few rags in San Francisco and Los Angeles. She graduated from New York University with a master’s degree in journalism, and although she comes from money, she earned a partial scholarship and paid for her schooling herself.”
    Her information had no effect on Zander. So far, Olivia hadn’t told him anything he hadn’t already Googled himself.
    “Her father, Justus Wheeler, is something of a self-made millionaire, having purchased the Duchess Waverly Coal Company in Dorothy, West Virginia, with part of the fortune he made after Proctor & Gamble bought the patents for two household detergents he developed. Justus renamed the mine for his