I’ll never forget the way her shrieks of “Arrest her now!” echoed off the walls of the morgue as security escorted her out of the building. Even now, my hackles rise at the memory of her voice.

When Ricky’s lawyer called to tell me that I wasn’t invited to the reading of his will, I wasn’t surprised. I knew Renee would do everything she could to make my life hell after he was gone. But I learned too late how effectively she’d plotted her revenge. She made sure Ricky not only named her as executor of his estate, but also the sole beneficiary.

When I asked how that was possible, because California is a community property state, the lawyer spouted a bunch of legal jargon at me that I didn’t understand. The bottom line, though? He said community property wasn’t even a concern at this point because Ricky had spent every penny, and if I wanted to contest the will, all I’d be arguing over was inheriting half the debts Ricky left behind.

The one exception? The house had been purchased in my name, so Renee couldn’t throw me out. I stayed in LA for three months to see if the lawyer was lying, but when they carted off the furniture for auction and the sheriff put the notice on the door, I finally believed he was telling the truth. I was lucky that the house sold to a creepy fan for just enough to cover the balance of the mortgage, so at least I didn’t have that debt weighing me down.

Before I left LA, there was one final nail pounded into the coffin of my former life. I called Ricky’s manager, and he told me Renee had assigned all future royalties of the songs I’d written to the creditors to keep them from taking her house.

It added insult to injury. My hard work for a decade had been used to save her lifestyle.

That was also the day Cricket made one last attempt to beg me to come home for her wedding. With nothing to keep me in LA and nowhere else to go, I came running back to Gable.

All these memories coalesce into a ball of fire in my chest, and I want to do nothing more than rip Renee Rango’s fake red hair out by the roots.

My visions of petty revenge fade away when Lincoln sits straighter beside me.

“I remember her,” he says as he stares out the window. “From years ago. She showed up at the house once to see my father, and my mother ordered her off the property. Fuck, I never put it together.”

The gates open as the SUV ahead of us, carrying Commodore and McKinley, slips inside and we follow, leaving the muted voices of various members of the press behind us. The thought of what Renee Rango is telling them sends my apprehension even higher.

No matter what Lincoln said about protecting me from Renee, I know how ruthless she can be.