Switched At Birth. Christine Rimmer

      “Right. You’re attracted to her goodness.”

      In some ways Karin was still the bratty little sister he’d grown up with. Mostly, he hoped she would never change. Times like now, though? Not so much. “There really is a point to this conversation and the point is that we need to keep the kids out of her hair and make sure they don’t tell anyone she’s staying here.”

      “All right. I’ll handle it.”

      “How?”

      “Well, Ben’s no problem. He was born responsible and reasonable. He already knows the cottage is off-limits when a tenant is living there and that the tenants have a right to their privacy. Coco is a bit of a challenge. She’s such a free spirit. But we’ve been talking about privacy and respect lately. I’ll start with that. Ben will back me. Coco will fall in line, for her beloved ‘Eliza’s’ sake, if nothing else.”

      He stared at his sister, thinking that beyond loving her, he really liked her. A lot. He was just about to tell her that when she sent him a slow, knowing smile. He knew that smile. It was her give-Sten-some-grief smile.

      “You like the movie star,” she said. “And not just because she’s so good.”

      “Oh, come on.” He tried to look really bored. “What guy with a pulse wouldn’t like her?”

      “Stennie. There’s nothing wrong with liking the girl next door.” Stennie. He used to chase her around the house with a squirt gun when she called him that. But now he was a grown-ass man and knew better than to let his sister’s teasing get to him. Much. She leaned close again and pitched her voice low. “It’s been more than a year since Ella went back to that loser in Seattle. Good riddance. Time to move on.”

      “Ella? Who’s Ella?”

      “Har-har. I know you don’t like to talk about her. I don’t want to talk about her, either. I never liked her.”

      “You didn’t say so at the time.”

      “Because I’m a good sister who minds her own business and has sense enough not to give her big brother advice on his love life.”

      “Right. Like you’re not doing now?”

      “This isn’t advice. It’s a nudge. Sometimes you need a nudge.”

      “She wants to be alone. I signed the NDA.”

      “You’re repeating yourself. And you like her. And you really ought to just go ahead and follow up on that.”

      * * *

      That night and the next day, Madison started to wonder what she was even doing in Valentine Bay. She’d yet to work up the courage to reach out to Percy Valentine and the family she’d been born into.

      And what was the point of getting away from LA when all she did was field calls from her agent and her manager? Myra and Rafe just never quit. They tagged-teamed her, pressuring her to sign on for this and think about that, to come back to LA for some high-priority meetings, to read a pile of scripts yesterday because time was flying by and she couldn’t afford to lose momentum.

      Madison could not have cared less about momentum. She needed a life—a real life, a life like most people took for granted. A life containing a family, a special guy and some friends she got together with outside of the movie business. Too bad she seemed stuck on hold lately, unable to take the necessary steps to make her goals happen.

      Coco and Benjamin waved at her when they played outside, but when she tried to signal them up, they just waved again and ran off. She was pretty sure they’d been told to keep away.

      And as for Sten? More than once, she faintly heard machines whirring down in his workshop. But his roll-up door stayed shut.

      On the night of her fourth day in Valentine Bay, she’d had enough. She lay in bed in the dark and stared blankly at the shadows near the ceiling thinking that something had to give. She couldn’t go on like this.

      Bright and early the next morning, she called her manager and her agent and informed them in no uncertain terms that she was taking time off, having an actual vacation. And when a person took a vacation, she didn’t want to constantly be forced to think about work.

      They were not to contact her. If some emergency came up and they just had to reach out to her, they were to get in touch with Rudy, who would pass the word to her.

      Next, she called Rudy and told him that while she was in Valentine Bay, he would be dealing with Rafe and Myra. She also instructed him to call her security firm and inform them that she was sending Dirk back to LA.

      “That’s not going to go well,” said her PA in his usual dry, unflappable tone.

      “Do it. I’m serious. Dirk’s the best. Make it very clear it’s nothing against him. I just need to be on my own right now.”

      Ten minutes later, Rudy called her back to pass on the dire warnings from her security people. The team had not approved when she took only one bodyguard to Oregon, and they were even more concerned when they learned that she’d been using Dirk as a driver, too; security should stay focused on the main job.

      And now she was suddenly ditching Dirk, as well? Her security team predicted that big trouble would follow.

      “Let me send a driver, at least,” Rudy pleaded.

      “No. It’s a dinky town. I’ll find a way to get around.”

      “But you don’t have a valid—”

      “Rudy. I’ll figure something out.”

      “I don’t know why you won’t let me send Ada. You’re going to need someone to keep the fridge stocked and make the bed.”

      “I’m managing all that on my own.”

      “I really think you need to—”

      “Rudy. Seriously, if I need help, you’re a phone call away.”

      He argued some more. He was a sweetheart and very protective of her. She loved him for that.

      But she also stuck by her decision to go it alone for a while.

      At two that afternoon, Dirk got in the rented Hummer they’d been using since their arrival and drove away. Once he was gone, Madison tried again to work up the nerve to call someone in the Bravo family. She’d put all their numbers in her phone, but she’d yet to make use of them.

      She dialed Percy’s number twice. Both times, she hung up before it could ring. Then she tried texting her switched sister, Aislinn.

      Same result. She began and then erased four texts without sending them.

      For a couple of hours after that, she alternately tried to concentrate on reading a book, searched the Netflix menu for something to watch and paced the floor in exasperation at her own inability to complete a damn phone call or hit Send on a text.

      At five, frustrated and fed up with herself, she did a very bad thing. It wasn’t premediated—at least, not exactly.

      She entered the powder room off the kitchen innocently enough, used the toilet, flushed it and washed her hands. And it wasn’t until then, as she rinsed and dried and glared at herself in the mirror over the pedestal sink, that it occurred to her that Sten Larson’s phone number was right there on a little card by the landline in the living area.

      In case she had a problem and needed him to fix it.

      Carefully, she folded the towel and hung it back on the rack.

      Then she took the lid off the toilet and set it on the seat. The mechanism within was simple enough. A chain pulled a rubber flapper up when you flushed. The flapper lowered to seal the water inside once the tank was full again.

      That chain? It could easily be unhooked from the bar that connected it to the handle. But wouldn’t it be