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After pulling himself together—it took about a gallon of coffee—Finn pulled on a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses and made his way across Rollo’s lawn to his car. If paparazzi were waiting for him, they couldn’t legally come onto Rollo’s property. They’d probably be on the street, at the base of the long, winding driveway that led to the cliff-top house.
At his Tahoe, he hesitated. They probably knew what he drove—they had ways of knowing such things. But they might not recognize Lisa’s Mercedes, and besides, her car had that special seat for Molly.
Decision made, he selected the Mercedes key from the ring and slid into the driver’s seat. Lisa’s scent enveloped him, making his gut go tight. Not only did it smell like her, but she’d left little traces of herself everywhere—a gas
