E BEAT KIT home by five minutes.

Hi and Shelton took off the moment Sewee nosed up to the dock, claiming dinner responsibilities. They’d had their fill for one day.

Glaring at Chance, Ben asked if I needed anything. I assured him things were under control. A tremendous but necessary lie.

“Please show me to my quarters,” Chance said flippantly.

“Cause any problems,” I warned, “and you sleep on that boat.”

Once inside the townhouse, Coop circled our guest, snuffling, opinion uncertain. I was settling Chance in my bedroom when the front door opened.

“Stay here and be quiet,” I ordered. “If you hear someone coming, hide.”

“I’m hungry. Tell Daddy a friend came for dinner.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

I ran a brush through my hair and hand-smoothed my clothes, trying to calm my tattered nerves. Could I really pull this off?

“Kit would recognize you,” I said. “The night you met wasn’t exactly forgettable. Besides, you’re basically a fugitive.”

“I’ve grown a beard.” Chance stroked his chin. “And I can do a mean British accent. ’Ello Govna! May I ’ave some more gruel?”

He clearly wasn’t taking the situation seriously.

“I’m also grounded and not allowed visitors,” I said. “It won’t work.”

“What am I supposed to eat?”

“Dinner usually takes ten minutes. I’ll bring you something.”

“Won’t he check on you later?”

“He thinks I’m still angry. He won’t be suspicious if I lock myself in here.”

“Tory!” Kit called. “Whitney’s here. Please come down for dinner.”

“Frick!” Of all the timing. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Whitney Dubois?” Chance grinned. “That pretentious nitwit from the cotillion committee?”

I nodded miserably. “Why do you think I’m making my debut?”

“The question had occurred to me.”

Kit could be such a jerk sometimes. He’d given me no warning. My one rule.

“Sit tight.” I motioned for Coop to stay. “Any noise and my wolfdog will maul you.”

I slipped out, leaving Chance nervously eyeing my pet.

Kit was setting the table as Whitney moved about the kitchen. Two bags from Palmetto Pig rested on the counter.

“Whitney. What a surprise.” I scowled at Kit. “I had no idea you were stopping by.”

Kit remained focused on flatware.

Whitney looked pleased. “When your father answered his work phone, I just knew that no proper dinner had been planned. I took it as a call to action.”

Kit smiled at me weakly. “Isn’t that nice, Tor?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Whitney set out plastic containers of pulled pork barbeque and baked beans. “And we have so much to discuss.”

“Discuss?” That sounded bad.

“Tory, you’re in charge of drinks,” Kit said. “We’ll talk after we eat.”

Warning bells dinged.

Kit fidgeted throughout the meal, laughed too hard at my lame jokes. Whitney’s good mood was unshakable—my snidest comments sailed over the top of her carefully coiffed head.

The dinging escalated to clanging. This was starting to feel like a setup.

Whitney was spooning banana pudding into bowls when Kit cleared his throat.

“I’ve made a few decisions. About our future.”

“Have you.” I put down my fork.

Kit’s foot began tapping. Whitney placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Great. Whatever was coming, I wasn’t going to like it.

“I’ve been offered a job.” He swallowed. “I’m going to accept.”

“What!?” I studied his face. “Just like that?”

“Your daddy thought long and hard,” Whitney began. “It wasn’t easy to—”

“Excuse me.” My words were ice. “I’m having a private discussion with my father.”

Whitney inhaled sharply.

Kit placed his hand on hers.

“I understand you’re upset,” Kit said. “But sometimes a parent has to make unpopular decisions. This is the best opportunity I’ve come across. It’s a down economy. Frankly, I’m lucky to have an offer at all.”

My hands reached for each other in my lap. Clamped so tightly I could feel the bones in my fingers. “What is this wonderful opportunity?”

“Seven Mile Island Wildlife Park has an opening for an environmental specialist.” Kit spoke softly. “Professionally, I’m a perfect fit. The pay is excellent. I know you’d prefer to remain in Charleston, but I can’t pass on this one.”

“Where is Seven Mile Island?” Barely audible.

“Alabama,” Kit said. “Near a town called Muscle Shoals.”

“Roll Tide!” Whitney piped.

Kit cringed, fearful of another outburst from me. His instincts were good.

“Alabama? We’re moving next door to Forrest Gump?”

“My back is against the wall, Tory. This job is a way out.”

“You’ll adore Alabama,” Whitney said. “You just have to give it a chance.”

“What do you care?” I turned on her, furious. “Anxious for some personal space?”

Kit shifted. Cleared his throat. “Whitney’s decided to come with us.”

The shock rocked me to my core. My eyes began to burn.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.

“Coming with?” Oh, so very calm. “For a visit? To help us move?”

“Your father is my world,” Whitney gushed. “I can’t bear to lose him.”

“Whitney is moving, too.” Kit watched me intently. “We hope she can live with us, but only with your permission of course. If that makes you uncomfortable, she’ll find an apartment close by.”

A headache formed. Pounded my frontal lobe. I felt dizzy, like the room was spinning.

Alabama? Whitney? Kit had pummeled me with a deadly one-two.

“Don’t worry, darling.” Whitney, Queen of Saying the Wrong Thing. “You still have time to finish your debut. With a little luck, we can advance you to this season’s cohort.”

“This season?” I could barely form words.

“I’ll handle everything,” she chirped. “I’ll speak to the women’s committee after tomorrow’s gala. Remember, you have a brunch in the morning.”

“Tomorrow,” I stammered, my mind numb. The idea of living with Whitney was beyond horrifying. “Brunch. Yes.”

“Good.” Kit tried for levity. “You can remind your friends that you’re still grounded.”

“I don’t have friends at cotillion.”

“Tell that to whoever keeps ringing the house phone.”

His comment puzzled me. “No one calls me on the landline.”

“There are three new entries on the caller ID. Someone named Marlo Bates. I never said you couldn’t use the phone, but remember, you’re supposed to be under house arrest.”

The name jolted me fully alert. Marlo had gotten our phone number. How? Why? Yesterday’s encounter at the manuscript library had clearly been no fluke.

Those guys were tracking me.

“I’ll tell him,” I said, hiding my alarm.

“Don’t worry, sugar.” Whitney’s face was scrunched in earnestness. “This move will be good for all of us. You’ll see that one day.”

You are not my mother!

I pushed back from the table.

“May I be excused?” Glacial.

Screw permission. I bolted up the stairs.