He ran and hid like a vampire at sunrise. Someone with connections might have been able to find him in a day, or maybe a few hours. Honey’s only connections were a friend from down the block who cleaned rooms at the Beverly Hilton and a second cousin who’d been lucky enough to get his hands on a master key at the Sunset Tower. Neither was much help. It took her an entire week to find out there was a man holed up in the penthouse suite at the Chateau Marmont who wasn’t a rock god or a movie star. That meant an entire week spent sleeping on the cement floor of her garage—stretched out next to the Super Bee with a tire iron in one hand—terrified that the arsonist would surprise her in the night. An entire week spent missing Jack. She knocked on the door to the suite. Once, twice. This was a mistake. Her head was pounding, and Logan wasn’t answering. Her plan had been to cut and run, but she just hadn’t been able to bring herself to leave Los Angeles—the city where she’d been born and raised.
