The Black Sheep's Secret Child. Cat Schield

Club T’s was only open Friday through Monday. Without a table reservation, the average wait for general admission on a Monday night was one to three hours. Savannah had no intention of standing around that long to get in to see her brother-in-law.

      A driving beat poured from the club’s mirror-lined doorway. At one o’clock in the morning, Club T’s was in full swing, and Savannah was actively second-guessing her impulse to hunt down Trent to discuss business at this unorthodox hour. But she’d been turned away from his office earlier when she’d tried to make an appointment with his assistant, and so coming here seemed the only way she could get him to acknowledge her.

      A wave of melancholy caught her off guard. She’d been fixated on Trent since age eleven when she’d left Tennessee and moved to LA to live with her aunt Stacy, the Caldwell family’s live-in housekeeper. At first Savannah had just wanted him to like her. As she entered high school, she’d developed a full-blown crush on him. But it wasn’t until she’d moved to New York City at eighteen and began modeling that Trent finally noticed her as a woman.

      When she’d married Trent’s brother, Rafe, sixteen months ago, Trent had severed all contact with her. The loss had been devastating. To cope she’d buried her sadness. But suppressing her emotions had turned her into a poorly crafted replica of who she used to be. She spoke less. Dressed and acted like a matron twice her age. She’d lost all touch with the optimistic young woman who dreamed of a loving family, and a husband who adored her.

      Savannah stepped up to the blond bouncer with the well-defined cheekbones. In four-inch heels, she stood six feet tall, yet the top of her head came no higher than the second button of his snug black polo with Club T’s logo. Where ten minutes ago she’d been truly determined, she was suddenly awash in hesitation. Even if Savannah was comfortable with confrontation, she was no match for this man. He was accustomed to subduing intoxicated, belligerent troublemakers twice her size.

      WWCD. What would Courtney do?

      She drew in a breath to counteract her rising anxiety and ran through the centering exercises her acting coach had drilled into her. Playing the part of wealthy mean girl Courtney Day on a soap opera for three years had enabled Savannah to summon the demanding character at will, even two years after she’d stopped acting.

      In the early days of working on the show, Savannah had struggled in a role as foreign to her as Courtney. While she’d certainly encountered enough rich, entitled and manipulative women during her years of living in the Caldwell household to draw from to create Courtney, Savannah hated the sort of conflict the socialite thrived on. Savannah would rather retreat than stick up for herself and had a hard time acting as if everyone should rush to do her bidding.

      She’d landed the role because of how she’d looked in Courtney’s designer clothes, with her hair and makeup done by professionals, not because she could act. Within the first two days, it was obvious she was going to be fired unless she learned to embrace Courtney’s mean-girl persona. A fellow actor recommended her acting coach. Bert Shaw was tough and smart. He convinced her to live the persona 24/7 until she was more familiar with Courtney than Savannah. It had taken two weeks, but once she surrendered to Courtney’s strengths, her flaws were easier to accept.

      With a slow blink, Savannah wrapped herself in her alter ego once more. “I need to speak with Trent,” she told the gatekeeper.

      To her shock, the man nodded. The smile he gave her was surprisingly gentle for one of his imposing bulk. “Of course, Mrs. Caldwell. He said to let you right in.”

      Savannah wasn’t sure whether to be delighted or worried that Trent had at long last made himself available after ignoring her phone calls for the last seven days. What sort of game was he playing? Knowing Trent the way she did, it could be any number of things.

      “He’ll be in the VIP section upstairs.” The bouncer unhooked the rope from the stanchion and gestured her toward the entrance.

      Courtney treated most people as if they existed only to serve her. Savannah should have sailed through without giving the bouncer another glance, but she sent him a grateful smile as she went by.

      Once upon a time she might have enjoyed being here, but not tonight. Club T’s catered to twentysomethings who favored short dresses that bared long tanned legs and impressive amounts of cleavage. As she eased through the press of bodies, she was feeing positively archaic.

      She’d had fun taking in the LA and New York City nightlife at Trent’s side. But that was before she’d entered a loveless marriage, given birth to her son and become a widow all in the space of a year and a half. Not what she’d hoped for herself.

      When she thought about the girl who’d dreamed of living happily ever after, she missed her a lot. Naive and very foolish she might have been, but she’d also been brimming with optimism. Undaunted by a lonely childhood where she’d been more burden than someone’s pride and joy, she’d craved a traditional family lifestyle, with a husband and children, a cozy house with a dog, and a white picket fence. Instead, she’d fallen for Trent Caldwell and picked the one man who would never make her dreams come true...

      Handsome and confident, with an irresistible charm, Trent could also be difficult and moody when things didn’t go his way. His family brought out the worst in him, something Savannah had often witnessed during the years she’d lived with them.

      When Trent’s father, Siggy, went after his younger son for his wild nature and reckless behavior, the whole house had resonated with his denigrating monologues. Siggy saw himself as the head of a dynasty and viewed Trent as the bad seed. During the seven years Savannah had lived with her aunt, it became clear that while eldest son, Rafe, could do no wrong, younger son, Trent, did nothing right.

      In the aftermath of those arguments, Savannah had always gone to Trent. In him she saw reflected the loneliness and isolation that defined her situation. Believing they were kindred spirits fanned her girlish crush on him. She supposed that Trent acted the way he did because it was expected of him rather than because it was his nature. Just as she was confident that if he’d been raised by a father who’d been supportive and kind, rather than a tyrant, he would have ended up totally different.

      She paused at the edge of the dance floor and searched for the stairs that would take her into the VIP section. Since Savannah had never visited Las Vegas before, she had no idea where she was going. The photographs she’d seen of Club T’s didn’t do the enormity of the place justice. The club occupied forty thousand square feet in Cobalt, one of the premier hotels on the Strip. In addition to the enormous dance floor inside, the club boasted a sprawling outdoor patio and pool area.

      The club was owned by three men—the T’s that made up the club’s name. Trent Caldwell, Savannah’s brother-in-law, who managed the day-to-day business, had a 50 percent stake. The other half was split between Kyle Tailor, former Cubs pitcher and part owner of the LA Dodgers as well as the boyfriend of Trent’s sister, Melody, and Nate Tucker, Grammy-winning singer/songwriter, Free Fall’s lead singer, producer and owner of Ugly Trout Records.

      Before Savannah could start moving again, a medium-size man with brown hair snagged her arm. “Hey, there, beautiful. If you’re looking for someone, here I am. Let me buy you a drink.”

      “No, thank you.”

      “Come on. One drink.”

      “I’m meeting someone.”

      “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

      She’d had too many encounters with men like this. She didn’t need a basket filled with cookies or a red cape to attract the wolves. Something beyond being blonde and pretty made her prey. And all too often she had a tendency to trust when she should question instead.

      “I mind.”

      The bodies around them shifted, allowing Savannah to slip away without further confrontation. She angled away from the bar and the dance floor. Sheer luck allowed her to blunder in the right direction. Another mammoth guarded the VIP entrance, but he let her in without challenge. Noting the earpiece he wore, Savannah assumed he’d been warned to expect her.

      She