Dr. Watkins looked back at Chase, a calculating gleam in his eye. “And I have plenty of answers.”

Olivia shut the door, and their voices faded away.

As Chase stared at the closed door, a realization bloomed in her brain—the staff knew she was being released, and both doctors were distracted.

Which meant she had the perfect opportunity to slip out unnoticed.

Chase could be like the little bird on the windowsill—free from the webbing that pinned her against a world she often despised. Sometimes she daydreamed about dyeing her hair, changing her name to something more common, and living a different life. Then she wouldn’t need the booze or the drugs to help her get through the day. She wouldn’t have to deal with her mother, her agent, or the incessant pressure to get a bigger and better role in the next movie. She would be regular ol’ Katie—that was the name she’d give herself—answering phones at an office, lunching with the girls, talking about who slept with the delivery guy last week.

Olivia Han was merely another web spun her way, binding Chase to who she had always been. She’d be trading one prison for another, even if it had a great view with no lookie-loos.

So Chase grabbed a plastic grocery bag and stuffed her granny panties and ugly socks inside. Then she tied her sneaker laces. She wondered who she could call to help her. She needed money, hair dye, a new life.

Maybe this time she could truly erase herself.

Time to run.

CHAPTER FOUR

Olivia knew she shouldn’t have agreed to take on Chase London. Her tender feelings for Conrad had moved her to do something asinine. She didn’t need to get her hands dirty. She’d spent many years working intimately with clients, wiping off the mud, filth, and crap they shook off them in order to emerge clean and ready to face life again. Why had she let herself be convinced that she was the only person who could help Chase?

Because she needed . . . to undo the things she’d done. Because if she could save Chase, a beautiful blonde actress with an addiction problem, it would be like saving Marley. Olivia was as stupid as Conrad and his ego-stroking words.

And she liked the words Conrad had said, words about how he needed her, how she was the only person who could make a difference. Damn her pride. Damn her heart. Doing this favor for Con wasn’t going to change the past. She’d always love him, and being close to him in any way only reminded her that she would never have him. Olivia wasn’t going to play second fiddle to someone who was dead, scrapping up the crumbs, telling herself that she’d be satisfied with only a little.

So Olivia got what she deserved . . . which was driving around the busy area surrounding the exclusive treatment center, looking for her new client who had bolted.

The phone rang.