The Sinner. Kathleen O'Brien

and shove the whole thing down that idiot’s throat. Bryce took his time picking out a tomato. He’d enjoy watching that.

      But she didn’t do it. Though the punk was waiting for a reaction, the woman just stood there, her hands frozen on the bananas.

      Without speaking, she edged farther down the counter. She turned her head away, exposing the graceful, pale nape of her neck between her hairline and her jacket.

      Something moved inside Bryce, some primitive awareness that was way ahead of his conscious mind. He knew that neck. He knew that woman.

      It was Lara.

      Though it was as preposterous as ever, he wasn’t really shocked. It was as if he’d been half expecting this for days, ever since that first class, when he’d looked out the window and hallucinated a vision of her.

      Idiot kid. If the boy knew he was making a pass at Lara Lynmore, movie star, he’d probably faint headfirst into the avocados. She could have destroyed him with one look. But she clearly didn’t have the confidence to do that anymore. And why should she? She’d spent ten months stalked by a madman who had probably seemed, at first, to be as goofy and innocent as this kid.

      Bryce walked up and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

      “Hey, pal,” he said politely. “Do something for me, would you?”

      “Huh?” The kid looked up, too surprised to be hostile. “What?”

      Bryce gave him a cold smile. “Shove off.”

      Before the kid could react, Bryce picked up the greenest banana on the display. “And take your banana with you. It won’t be ripe for years yet.” He picked up the kid’s slack arm and slapped the banana into his hand. He raised one brow. “If you know what I mean.”

      The kid’s friend snickered—he got it, anyhow. And the dark flush creeping over the banana-boy’s smooth cheeks said he got it, too.

      “Sure, man, whatever. Hey, I didn’t know she was with you.”

      And then, desperately trying to look cool about it, the boys sauntered away.

      Bryce took a deep breath and slowly turned around. He came face to face with a snub-nosed, freckle-faced, jean-clad young woman. A typical, grungy coed who just a month ago, according to Vanity Fair, had been Hollywood’s Sexiest Newcomer.

      “Lara,” he said. “Lara Lynmore.”

      “No.” She spoke softly, shaking her head. “Lara Gilbert.”

      She looked so young without her makeup. Her eyes were so dark, so haunted, and her face so pale. He didn’t have the heart to say what he’d been planning to say.

      Instead he simply took her basket of vegetables and plopped it into the cart next to his dog food.

      “Okay then, Lara Gilbert,” he said. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink. You’ve got a hell of a lot of explaining to do.”

      LARA WONDERED where Bryce was taking her.

      At this hour on a winter’s night, a little town like Heyday was fast asleep. Pointy stars glittered like frost on the black sky, unchallenged by man-made lights. The fields they passed were empty—even horses and cows knew when to hunker down.

      Ahead of her, Bryce’s expensive sportscar seemed almost ghostly as it glided down the tree-lined road. Silver metal skimming across glittering snow at the edges of the road, flickering in and out of shadows, brushing past bony black fingers of oak and elm.

      He had slowed down once, as they approached a roadside diner. But at that very moment the diner’s marquee lights blinked off, and the clock in Lara’s car changed to midnight. Now what? They were almost ten miles outside the Heyday city limits, halfway to Grupton, the next little town. Was there anything out here at all?

      Suddenly his turn signal began to pulse red, warning her that he was about to pull off the road. She looked to the right, surprised to see that a long, low building had sprung up out of the shadows.

      Absolutely Nowhere. That’s what the small red neon sign said. The name definitely fit.

      Amazingly, at least five other cars were nosed up to the long brick building, looking as if they planned to stay all night. On closer inspection, the place was bigger than she’d realized. The part that fronted the road was small, just an average hideaway bar, but behind that the building stretched out in a long line of brick motel units. Another red sign flickered in front of the first one. Vacancy.

      Bryce parked first, then waited so that they could walk in together. A gentlemanly gesture, but his un-smiling silence sent a different message. Lara’s stomach tightened as she brushed past him through the door he politely held open.

      Inside, the bar was much more civilized than she’d expected. Booths lined the perimeter, each with a red tablecloth and a red-globed candle. Huge, framed maps decorated every wall, each with a red arrow pointing to some famous city, and the helpful words, “You are NOT here.”

      She had to smile. Of course you weren’t in Paris or London or New York. You were Absolutely Nowhere.

      And there wasn’t a single zebra in sight. Obviously they were no longer in Heyday, either.

      Bryce led her to a booth in the corner, as far away as he could get from the other couples in the room, most of whom were huddled in pairs, twining fingers, nuzzling necks. With surprise, Lara recognized one of the librarians from the college, who was toying with the ear stud on a man about half her age, a man who didn’t look like anybody’s husband. They appeared to be about one drink away from renting a room.

      Instinctively, Lara didn’t say hello. She was still uncomfortable drawing attention to herself, for fear someone might recognize her. Besides, Absolutely Nowhere was clearly the in-destination for people who didn’t want to be spotted by the folks back home.

      A waitress appeared, and while Bryce ordered his beer, Lara wondered what to get. She’d planned to ask for a sparkling water, but suddenly she thought she might need something stronger.

      “I’ll have a rum and Coke,” she said.

      “With extra ice, please,” Bryce put in automatically, but he clenched his jaw afterward, as if he regretted saying anything. As if he would like to pretend he didn’t remember that small detail, or anything else about their six weeks together.

      But he did remember. Lara hugged that thought.

      When the waitress was gone, he leaned back against the bench seat and regarded Lara steadily for a long moment. She fought not to fidget, though she knew she looked awful. That was part of her “disguise,” and it had worked well so far.

      In fact, she looked less like a movie star than half the people in this room. At least they had dolled themselves up for their late-night assignations. Lara hadn’t even combed her hair before twisting it back into a plastic clip. Her old jeans were fraying at the cuff, and she was sure this T-shirt had a paint stain on the front.

      For the first time in months, she almost wished she had taken her mother’s advice, and never left the house without being painted and costumed and battle-ready.

      “Okay, let’s hear it,” he said. “What the devil are you doing in Heyday?”

      His voice was cold. He obviously wasn’t going to make this easy. But then, why should he? Back in L.A., he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in pursuing their relationship, and now here she was, living in his hometown. She suddenly realized exactly how strange this must look to him.

      “First of all, I’m going to school,” she began. She held up her hand to stave off his protest. “Don’t laugh. It’s true.”

      “It may be true, but it’s ridiculous. Unless—is this some kind of undercover research? Did you land a role as a coed?”

      “No. It has nothing to do with films. I’m through with films.”

      He