“I’ve had a really bad few days and I thought I might feel better up here.”

He still says nothing, his gaze rolling over me, over the fire, over the lights that I’ve plugged in. Finally, I get a slight nod. “You climbed over the fence?”

“I impressed myself, actually.” I may have kicked a hole through the lattice, but I’m not going to bring that up right now.

After stoking the fire with another log, Grady walks around to the other side of the hammock and eases himself in, tugging on my blanket until he has enough to wrap around himself, before layering his thicker, heavier one over both of us. “That is quite impressive.”

“How did you know I was up here?”

He leans in until his temple touches mine and then stretches an arm out, pointing to a corner of the fence, the tip of his finger helping guide my line of sight. A tiny red speck of light catches my eye. “Motion-activated camera. An alarm goes off in my apartment if someone comes in here.”

Seriously? “Paranoid much?”

He shrugs. “I just like my space to be . . . mine.”

“And here I am, invading it.”

He chuckles.

“Were you coming up here to kick me out?” I’m guessing not, seeing as he came with a blanket. I feel his gaze on me, but I keep my eyes focused upward, enjoying the added warmth that his body is providing me. I wandered up here fresh from a shower, my hair still damp. It now crunches against the hammock, frozen.

“No. But you should tell me, Maggie . . . why have your days been so bad that you’ve resorted to breaking and entering?”

I smile despite my bad mood, because I love the way my name sounds with his accent. But it slips just as easily. “I found Celine’s diaries.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “And I take it you found things in there that you didn’t know about?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” I haven’t had enough time to process all this, to decide who—if anyone—I’m going to tell. Or who I should tell. And yet for some reason I have the urge to tell Grady. Maybe because he knew Celine but didn’t really know her. Maybe because I doubt he’s the type to run off and tell everyone he knows. He’s a quiet guy. Private, most definitely, if the security camera up here tells me anything. Maybe because we’ve already lounged up here once, and he didn’t try anything on me, didn’t seem to want anything from me. He was content to simply be with me.

Or maybe just because I’m still too shocked to think straight. “Celine had been moonlighting as an escort to make extra money.”

Grady lets out a low whistle. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“I know, neither did I.” I shake my head. “It’s like I didn’t even know her. The girl I grew up with would never have had the nerve to do that, not for all the money in the world.” I turn to look at him, his rich hazel eyes muted in the darkness. “I have money, Grady! I have so much fucking money that I don’t even know what to do with it. I would have paid for everything—her rent, her tuition, everything—but she would never accept it!” A hot tear rolls down my cheek.

“Some people don’t want to be charity cases.”

“I don’t care. I should have made her take it. I should have been here more for her, paid more attention. Called her more. Flown to New York to see her more. I should have gone straight to that admissions office and paid for her tuition and made her go. I should have come here and handed you twelve rent checks and made you tear hers up whenever she tried to pay. Then she never would have felt forced into it.”

He frowns, his mouth opening but hesitating.

“What?” I snap, unintentionally.

“From what I hear, some girls . . . enjoy that line of work.”

“Celine didn’t. I know she didn’t. I read about how much she didn’t. For the most part,” I add quietly, because that last diary entry with “Jay” would suggest otherwise. “She enjoyed having money, that’s what she enjoyed. To not have to worry about how she would pay her bills, and instead live out her dreams.”

He sighs, lifting his arm to fit beneath my head and pull me into his chest. “Money is a tantalizing whore, isn’t she?” I tense and he immediately apologizes. “Sorry, poor choice of words. I just meant that people will find themselves doing things they never expected to just to get their hands on it. Sometimes it’s for a good cause; sometimes it’s not. I hate money for that reason.”

I can’t relate. But can Grady? “And what disgraceful things have you done for money?”

He smirks. “I’m a simple man, who appreciates the simple things in life.”

“Like fixing old ladies’ sinks?”

“Like fixing old ladies’ sinks.” He chuckles, reaching up to swipe my tears away. “And enjoying the great outdoors with a beautiful woman.”

His compliment—however undeserved it may be, after my thirty-six-hour diary-reading marathon has left me with dark bags under my eyes and sallow skin—warms my heart slightly. I sigh. Yes, having someone to talk to about this helps. “I just don’t know what to tell her mother.”

Grady frowns. “Why on earth would you tell her mother? There are some things that parents just shouldn’t know about.” He adds quietly, “Let that secret die with Celine.”

“It’s not that simple. I think one of Celine’s diaries is missing. The latest one. It’s nowhere in the apartment, and diaries aren’t something you simply misplace. If it’s missing, it’s because someone took it. And I can only think of one reason why someone would take it.”

He thinks for a moment. “Because maybe she was servicing someone she shouldn’t have been with?”

“Exactly.” Like the governor of Illinois’s son.

“But that would mean that the guy had to be in her apartment. What are you saying? That you don’t think she killed herself?”

Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. “It’s just strange, is all,” I say, backpedaling, realizing that perhaps I’ve shared too much. “It’s a loose end, and I don’t like loose ends.”

He nods slowly. “Did you ask Ruby? If someone walks down that hall and she’s awake, she knows about it.”