Olivia pressed a button on the steering wheel. “Any word from Cedar Point?”

Jamie sighed. “The director said the attendant looked at the paperwork, gave Miss London her personal effects, and buzzed her out. She said she was carrying a plastic grocery bag that looked to have clothes in it. Oh, and that Miss London thanked them for their care and seemed very excited about working with Olivia Han.”

Sarcasm wasn’t her normal, but her sobriety program manager was a master of fitting herself to any circumstance. Olivia affectionately called her “Play-Doh” because Jamie could be whatever or whoever was needed in any situation, from bulldog to mother hen. The older woman was her right hand for good reason.

“So maybe she just went to get us coffees?” Olivia turned left at the next light, keeping her eyes peeled for a blonde in sweatpants carrying a grocery sack.

“Yeah, that’s what she’s doing. For her new bestie therapist,” Jamie drawled, adding a clipped laugh. “Call me and let me know when to send Rick over to Malibu. He has her files from rehab. From the last three rehabs, to be specific.”

“I’ll call when I find her. If I find her,” Olivia said, turning into the strip mall sporting a Clipper Cuts and dry cleaner’s. She pressed the button on the steering wheel and scoured the parking lot and business fronts. She should call Conrad and tell him she’d be returning the initial deposit he’d sent on Chase’s behalf. Olivia wasn’t going to play games with this spoiled junkie no matter how much she got paid. She’d left those days of cajoling, pleading, and throwing bones behind years ago.

Then again, she had to rectify the situation before she withdrew from the predicament that she’d allowed herself to get tangled in. She was responsible because she’d let her guard down and had allowed Chase’s about-face to lull her into false confidence.

Idiocy.

“This is totally on me,” she breathed as the wheel slid through her fingers. She stopped as a car went past and then turned toward the offshoot of a strip mall tucked off the main road.

“Bingo.”

Chase stood outside a run-down diner, tapping on her phone. Even wearing sweats and with her hair in a tangle, the actress looked out of place against the gritty and garish backdrop. That was part of Chase’s problem—she had the little-girl-lost vibe, the kind that crippled men, the kind that made women want to offer her their last dollar bill.

But Olivia knew how facades worked. She was an effin’ pro at seeing past the bullshit. Well, at least she had been. Needed to knock the rust off.

Olivia’s tires squealed when she pulled into the parking spot right in front of her runaway actress. Chase jerked her head up, her blue eyes widening with panic as she stepped back toward the smudged glass.

The moment felt very much like one in a movie. The title for this one would be Runaway Junkie.