Honey stood in Grayson's private bathroom, gripping the sink as she stared at her reflection. Her red hair fell in messy waves around her shoulders, her lips were swollen from his kisses, and her cheeks were flushed from sex. She looked thoroughly ravaged.

"Pull yourself together," she whispered.

The woman staring back at her bore little resemblance to Joy Smith. This wasn't Honey Johnson, she felt caught between identities, because of what had happened with Riley. She had gone looking for ...