The book Matt started in Denver and finished in Kevin’s cabin. The book that somehow leaked onto the Internet and got published as an e-book by “W. Pierce.”
Matt swore he had no part in it—no part beyond writing it, that is. I believed him. After all, Night Owl chronicled our romance in aching detail. No way would Matt, Mr. Privacy Above All Else, publish that book for the world to see.
But who did, and why?
I remembered when I first heard about Night Owl. Pam got wind of the e-book in late January. Just weeks after appearing, it was viral. Half a thousand reviews on Amazon. Pirated copies all over the web. The text posted on forums, blogs, Facebook.
And my name was in it, Matt’s name, the whole story.
I sat up late that night reading the book, by turns horrified and aroused. And livid.
I called Matt in the early morning. I was shaking, shouting into my cell. “How could you put it online? How could you publish that book without asking me?”
“What?” he said. “What book, what fucking book? Where?” Panic bled into his voice. My God, I realized then, he has no idea.
“Hannah?” Nate waved a hand before my eyes.
“Huh? Sorry. Uh, the book. It’s … just so disturbing. So embarrassing.”
“I can only imagine.” Nate was suddenly upbeat, talking hurriedly. “The audacity. It’s absolute filth. Dragging my brother’s name through the mud, and yours. You know, it follows the whole episode in Geneva with alarming accuracy. Matt had a local friend there, at a farm up the road. Could be her. Who knows what he told people when he was in that frame of mind? Whoever it is, they know about my house, my family, our—”
“Excuse me? Could be … who?”
“The woman at the farm. She could be the author.” Nate nodded. “Someone close to him, definitely. His psychiatrist? That’s almost too sick to consider, but who knows? People are so depraved, so desperate for money. They’ll take advantage of anyone, Hannah. Predators.”
Nate took my shoulder and steered me toward the house.
“Don’t worry, though,” he went on. “I’ve invited Shapiro. Ah, George Shapiro. Have I mentioned him? I’m sure Matt did. The family—”
“Lawyer,” I said. My voice shrank with dread. “The family lawyer.”
“Yes, that’s right. It’s libel, that book. Defamation … whatever they call it. Shapiro is prepared to bury the author. I know you’ll talk to him.” Nate squeezed my shoulder. “Yours is the strongest case. Never mind the expense, this is important. For you, for Matt’s legacy.”
We were stalled at the front door. Nate held me by both shoulders and gazed earnestly at me, confident in my compliance. What could I say? Actually, Nate, Matt wrote Night Owl. He’s been chilling at our friend’s cabin, pretending to be dead. Sorry about that.
Fuck.
I gathered a breath and opened my mouth. Say something! Stop this ridiculous manhunt for “the author.” For Matt. “I—Nate, it’s so soon after Matt’s passing—”
The front door swung open.
The odor of potpourri and seasonal candles hit me.
“This must be the infamous little bird,” said a voice thick with cynicism.
I looked up, and up, at the tall figure standing in the doorway. We had never met, but he was unmistakable.
The middle brother.
Seth Sky.
Chapter 4
MATT
I sprinted up the cellar steps and rushed to my phone. I quickly checked the caller’s number. It wasn’t Hannah.
“Hello?” I let out a shaking breath. “Hello?”
Nothing. And yet I knew someone was there, sentience in the silence on the line.
“Please, don’t hang up,” I said. “I told you, you’re not in trouble. Talk to me.” I began to pace. “Come on. Icarus on fire, right? Clever name. I’m glad you called.”
I waited then, because I had said enough. I even smiled. Life is stranger than fiction.
“So, you’re alive,” said a voice. It was a female voice, smooth and cultured.
I paused in front of the fireplace. As I watched, a castle of cinders collapsed.
“Excuse me?”