The Renegade
Chapter 1

Josephine Rossi needed a break. Not in the sleep late, spa weekend, indulge in a glass or two of wine kind of way—although as a single mom, she’d take any of those and run like an Olympic athlete going for gold. No, Jo needed a big break. The kind that made careers. The kind she’d once gotten, then lost in spectacular fashion. The kind she needed now if she was going to have any hope of living her dream of becoming a full-time actress.

After all, as her agent had delicately pointed out, thirty-two-year-old single moms with limited experience weren’t exactly a casting producer’s first choice for breakthrough roles in new TV series. Not even when those roles spoke to said single mom/actresses deeply, or when they were staring down their very last shot at getting on the silver screen.

Jo’s stomach butterflied at the reality check. Ugh, what was she even doing, coming to Remington for this audition? She was never going to get this role—for God’s sake, Teresa Park was directing the show. Park might not be the most famous director in the business, but her work was well-respected and well-known. Jo had been reading about this new show for months and salivating over the lead role for just as long. But so had probably dozens of other actresses. Younger actresses, prettier actresses, actresses with gobs more experience. Jo hadn’t held any major acting gigs since she’d found out she was pregnant with her daughter, Mikayla, nearly six years ago (despite what her agent said, those half dozen commercials and the walk-on role as Brunette #2 on a semi-popular sitcom so didn’t count).

Jo clattered to a halt mid-step on the chilly city sidewalk, her heart beating a panicked rhythm behind her travel-rumpled sweater. What was she thinking? Yes, Mikayla was in good hands with her father—Derek might’ve been a shitful partner, but he was a great dad, not even hesitating to care for Mikayla while Jo came to Remington—but this was crazy. Seriously, she needed to turn around right now and go back to Savannah. She could probably get a late flight home tonight if she hustled. She’d have to make up a whopper excuse to escape her agent’s wrath—Genevieve had pulled some pretty serious strings to get Jo an audition, she knew. But even if Jo dazzled the casting director with her talent and nailed every single syllable of the audition, there was probably someone younger/older/skinnier/curvier/taller/shorter/whatever-er than her who they’d want more. She’d been nuts-on-toast to think she had even a sliver of a chance of getting this part.

“Jo-Jo!” The familiar voice, so loaded with happiness that Jo’s heart lurched in her rib cage, froze her further to her spot on the pavement.

She turned on the heels of her favorite (read: practical) riding boots and pasted a smile over her face as she greeted her older sister, whom she’d been on her way to meet for dinner. “Frankie, hey. You didn’t have to come outside to greet me.” Damn it. Now Jo would have to wiggle her way out of this face-to-face.

“Oh, yes I did,” Frankie said, wrapping her arms around Jo in a tight hug. “Because I know that look on your face, and you are not ditching out on this audition, cucciola.”

Well, shit. Her sister could read her like a fifty-foot billboard. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a mammoth pain in the a*s?” Jo asked, unable to do anything other than give in to her laugh.

Frankie matched her laugh in reply. “I’m a detective, sweetheart. Mammoth pain in the a*s is pretty much my job description. Now, come on. Since you’re not going back to Savannah for another three weeks”—this, she punctuated with a lift of one dark brow—“let’s get you out of this cold and in front of a good, hot meal, okay? The Crooked Angel is the best bar and grill in the city. You’ll love it.”

Jo gave in to the warmth of her sister’s welcome, stowing away her unease over the audition for now. She was spending three weeks in Remington, taking some much-needed time to catch up with Frankie, her boyfriend Shawn, and Shawn’s daughter, Isla, as well as prepare for the audition itself, which was scheduled for two weeks from now. Landing the role might be a longshot, and her already-fragile ego might take a shellacking in the process, but there was a silver lining, here.

Linking arms with Frankie, Jo listened to her sister chatter happily about her recent move in with Shawn and Isla and her even more recent job with Remington’s Vice Unit as they made their way over the sidewalk and into the brightly lit bar and grill. Frankie’s road had been harder than most, and she’d only reunited with Shawn a few months ago after the two of them spending years apart, both detectives in separate cities. If anyone deserved true love, it was Frankie and Shawn, and the joy on her sister’s face made Jo’s heart squeeze.

Whoa, that joy turned into something other-worldly as soon as Frankie got to a nearby table and caught sight of the man in question.

“Hey,” Frankie said, smiling as she leaned in to give Shawn a quick k**s. “Look who I found. The soon-to-be-famous actress!”

“Hey, Jo,” Shawn said, standing up to give her a hug. “You made it.”

Jo lifted a brow at Frankie—who threw on her best what? expression—but kept her smile in place. For better or worse, she was here for this audition. She even had her very own place to relax and prepare for it, since Frankie still had the lease on her old apartment for another month. Jo might as well make the best of the trip, even if her sister was having some serious delusions of grandeur. “Yep. I sure did.”

“Well, it’s great to see you,” he said, and Frankie nodded, gesturing to the group seated around the table.

“These are the detectives from the Intelligence Unit. Addison Hale”—the petite blonde on Shawn’s other side lifted her bright pink Cosmo and smiled a greeting—“Matteo Garza and Liam Hollister”—the two men across from Shawn and Addison, one dark-haired and the other sporting a neatly trimmed auburn beard and a knit beanie, nodded a hello—“and that cutie pie at the end of the table is baby Elijah, and his mother, Isabella Walker.”

“It’s nice to meet all of you,” Jo said. She slid into the empty seat at the head of the table, situating herself between Shawn and Frankie. “No Isla tonight?” Jo had met the sweet three-year-old last month when the trio had visited the Rossi clan in Savannah, post-holidays.

“We came here right from work,” Shawn said, his eyes lighting up at the mention of his daughter. “So she’s hanging out at home with our nanny, Annette. But she’s excited to see you this week.”

The way Shawn had so casually referred to himself and Frankie as “our” was not lost on Jo even though Frankie wasn’t Isla’s biological mother. “I’m excited to see her, too. She’s a great kid.”

“Oh, perfect timing,” said Frankie, looking at a spot over Jo’s shoulder. Jo turned, her expression entirely WTF until her eyes landed on the sin-hot blond guy behind her, and dear, sweet Jesus, could her sister not warn a girl?

“Uh, for what?” Jo semi-stammered. But come on. Between the blond waves curling over his ears and reaching down toward his shoulders, the dark-chocolate eyes fixed directly on hers, and the black T-shirt molded to his lean, ropy muscles, she couldn’t be blamed for her lack of composure. For God’s sake, the man’s forearms were practically foreplay.

Frankie, who had X-ray vision into Jo’s head after decades of practice, at least had the good graces to tuck her smile between her lips. “For ordering. Jo, this is Sawyer Knox. He’s one of the bar managers here at the Crooked Angel. Sawyer, this is my sister, Josephine Rossi.”

“Right. The soon-to-be-famous actress,” Sawyer said, making Jo want to die quietly on the spot. How long had he been standing there?

“Not exactly,” Jo said. The last thing she needed was to call attention to the fact that she had a snowball’s chance in hell of landing this role. “But, um, hi.”

Sawyer’s mouth settled into a half-smile that did criminal things to Jo’s insides. “I’ve never met a not-exactly-soon-to-be-famous actress before,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand.

Because Jo’s level of nerves was directly proportional to her tendency for sarcasm, she said, “I can’t imagine that’s the case. Women like me? We’re everywhere.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Sawyer said kindly.

Jo flushed. “I meant actresses who aren’t famous yet. There are…there are a lot of us, so, you know. We’re everywhere.”

“Ah,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Well, what can I get you, Jo?”

“A glass of merlot would be great.” One big enough for me to drown myself in, please and thank you. Seriously, this guy couldn’t be more than twenty-five, and he was probably nice to all the customers. She had no business getting all fluttery over his smile.

“You got it. How about you, Frankie?”

Everyone else placed their orders, and Jo managed a polite “nice to meet you” as Sawyer departed for the bar at the back of the restaurant. Frankie and Addison started talking about the best menu items—a solid tie between the Cuban sandwich and the French dip—and Isabella excused herself to change the baby’s diaper. Shawn had just turned to ask Jo how her flight had been when a chorus of cell phone chimes and buzzes went off around the table.

“What the…oh, my God,” Frankie said, her eyes going wide as both Addison and Matteo slid back from the table, phones in hand.

“I’ll call Annette and let her know,” Shawn said, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair, and holy crap, they all looked so serious.

Jo stole a deep breath. “What’s going on?”

“I am so sorry,” Frankie said, flicking another glance at her cell phone, then meeting Jo’s gaze. “We have to go. I can’t really say more, but there’s been an emergency downtown, and they need backup—”

“No, no. I understand. Just be careful, okay.” Jo’s heart was beating at about ninety miles an hour. How they could all be so calm about the danger they faced on the daily was a bit mind-blowing, honestly.

“I promise, we will. We have each other’s backs.”

With how intense Shawn’s dark blue stare had just become at Frankie’s promise, that actually did make Jo feel better, if only by a millimeter. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you later.”

Frankie reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a key ring, handing it over to Jo. “Here’s the key to my old place. It’s not a palace, but it’s clean and quiet.”

“Two things my house in Savannah isn’t,” Jo offered with a smile to lighten the mood. “Go. Don’t worry about me,” she added, because her sister wasn’t the only one who could do the sibling mind-meld thing, and the last thing she wanted was for Frankie to head into an emergency distracted. “I’ll get dinner, then call a Lyft.”

Frankie nodded, turning toward the door. “Okay. Text me when you get there so I know you’re safe? We’ll catch up more tomorrow, I swear.”

“Yes, I’ll text you. Go,” Jo said, shooing her on her way with the rest of the detectives.

As soon as they’d crossed the threshold, Jo eyed the empty table, then the bustling restaurant around her. Sitting here at this huge table by herself seemed silly, not to mention pretty embarrassing. She could just go to the bar and grab a quick dinner there. Sure, she was alone, but plenty of people went out to eat by themselves. She’d never done it, personally, but there was no reason why she couldn’t be bold and badass like her older sister and start now.

Except for the fact that she was neither bold nor badass. She was sitting in the middle of a crowded restaurant all alone, about to face what might well be her very last audition ever, and that settled it. Takeout and wine in her pajamas might be just as pathetic as dining alone, but at least no one would be around to witness that.

Jo turned toward the back of the restaurant. All she had to do was cancel her order at the bar, then make a quick stop in the restroom, and she’d be on her way to where she really belonged.

Her comfort zone.