This story would not be the same without the efforts of bigbigbigday006 and gentlemama, who offered their valuable time to help beta this story, and akai-echo, who provided the amazing banner. Finally, this story likely would not have existed at all without the brainstorming session held with beanfromdistrict7 in an old Italian restaurant on the Vegas Strip one summer evening in 2014.

Huge thank you to everyone at loveinpanem for holding A Candle for the Caribbean!

This story is complete. I plan to post a new chapter every Monday (what I like to refer to as 'Mob Mondays') until the story is posted in its entirety.


It's a bright, sunny June morning here in the Mojave desert. Ninety degrees, and it's barely ten o'clock. Outside, I can hear the tourists already splashing in the hotel's pool. This still surprises me, even after three years. The guests start lining up at eight in the morning, which seems too early to me, but I guess when you pay good money to visit Las Vegas and you're not used to this kind of heat, no time is inappropriate.

Not that I'm one to talk. I prefer to take my swims after everyone has gone to bed.

This is a special morning, however. Today, my little sister returns after finishing her school year up at the University of Reno. I haven't seen her since April when she came down to visit for a week. Before that, the last time I had seen her was for Christmas. She's finishing her second year of college, and I couldn't be more proud of her. But missing her hasn't gotten any easier.

Prim is the only person I really have in this world. No, I suppose that's not entirely true. I have Effie, my stage manager, and Cinna, who does my costumes. You see, I'm a singer at one of the biggest casino hotels on the Vegas Strip. I headline the show for the Mockingjay Casino and Hotel. And I'm the Mockingjay.

It wasn't my first choice, by a long shot. I'm not really much of a people person in general. But when I was approached with this opportunity, it was one I could hardly turn down. My husband was dead. My father was dead. My mother went crazy after losing my father and had to be admitted to a mental hospital. She might as well be dead. So Prim and I were alone in this world, and just when I was beginning to panic, this offer came along and saved us both. We have a place to live, plenty of food, clothes on our back. Prim's tuition is even being covered. Because of this, I tolerate what I have to do.

Today, though, there's almost a spring in my step as I leave my suite, located just off the pool, and head over to the Mockingjay's coffee shop for some breakfast. Prim should be here by noon. That's two hours I have to kill before she gets here. Breakfast should knock off one of those hours. After that, I guess I'll putter around the hotel. Maybe I'll try my hand at gambling, even though I'm no good at it. Despite living in a casino in Las Vegas, I couldn't even begin to tell you the difference between craps and poker. Okay, maybe I know that poker has cards, but I couldn't tell you much more than that. And don't even get me started on roulette. I know Keno somewhat because it's played in the restaurants. Even at breakfast at the coffee shop I'm about to go to, there will be Keno girls walking from table to table, taking bets for the gamblers.

I'm just turning out of the employee hallways that hold all the offices, and into the main entrance that leads to the coffee shop, when a group talking loudly wakes me from my thoughts. "Ah! Katniss," a familiar voice calls out to me. It's Plutarch Heavensbee, the owner of the hotel. Well, the public owner, at least.

I look at him curiously but don't offer him much more of a reaction.

"Wonderful timing, my dear." He walks over to me and claps a hand on my back as he leads me back to his group. I recognize most of them. Two of them are Darius and Cray, a couple of the hotel's security guards that Plutarch likes to keep around him to feel safe. Fulvia Cardew, Plutarch's assistant, stands close at hand with a pen and paper, at the ready for anything Plutarch might request. The last member is someone I don't recognize, though he looks familiar to me for some reason. He has blond hair that falls in waves across his forehead and clear blue eyes. Medium height with a stocky build. He can't be much older than I am. His eyes land on me, then quickly dart away, looking elsewhere.

"I'd like you to meet a new employee, Katniss," Plutarch says to me. "This is Peeta Mellark! He'll be working in our accounting office from now on."

"Nice to meet you," I say, and give a small nod.

At this introduction, Peeta Mellark looks back at me, only this time he holds my gaze. He gives me an easygoing smile. "Nice to meet you, too," he says, holding out a hand. I glance down at it before I accept. He clasps my hand in his steady grip and gives it a shake. "Of course, I already know you."

"Do you?" I ask, genuinely curious. Maybe we have met before, and maybe he remembers where and when and is about to tell me how.

"Of course," he gives a lopsided grin. "Everybody knows the Mockingjay."

Oh, is that all? I try to give him the friendliest smile I can muster. "I hope you're a fan," I say, putting on that public persona that Effie Trinket has worked so hard to drill into me.

"Of course he is," Plutarch says before Peeta even has a chance to answer. "Who wouldn't be a fan, with a velvet voice like yours? Anyways, Katniss, we don't want to hold you up. Lots to show Mr. Mellark here!"

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Everdeen," Peeta says to me with another warm smile as Plutarch ushers him off.

I'm left standing alone in the hallway, with nothing to do except continue my original purpose. So I make my way to the coffee shop, all the while pondering the encounter in my head. It wasn't exactly out of the ordinary-Plutarch often introduces new employees to those of us who have been here a while. But something about the way he acted with this one- what was his name? Peeta. Peeta Mellark. Something about the way he acted with this Peeta Mellark seemed odd for some reason. I just can't put my finger on what it was.

And Peeta Mellark himself… why did he seem so familiar? I know I've seen him somewhere, but I don't know where.

"Morning, Katniss," another familiar voice cuts into my thoughts. I glance up at the red-headed girl standing in front of my table.

"Morning, Lavinia," I say.

"The usual?"

I nod. In a matter of moments, Lavinia has a glass of orange juice placed in front of me. I sip on it while I continue my thoughts in quiet. Then I feel somebody slip into my booth next to me.

"Katniss," Darius offers me a mischievous grin.

"Darius," I say. "All done with your tour?"

"Maybe," he says playfully. "What are you having for breakfast?"

"My usual. And what do you mean, 'maybe?'"

"I mean, maybe I got excused early so Plutarch could finish the rest of it himself."

That seems odd, but I shrug it off. Darius tugs at the tip of my braid.

"Come on, Katniss, don't you want to know why?"

"Not really," I say.

"He's hiding something."

I give him a look. "What makes you think that?"

"Why else would he make the rest of us leave, when normally we're there for the full tour?"

"I don't know," I say. "He is an accountant. Maybe they had confidential stuff to talk about."

"Exactly, Darius says triumphantly, then looks at me, waiting for me to catch up.

I sigh and decide to take the bait. "What are you getting at, Darius?"

"Haven't you heard the rumors?" he asks, and now he genuinely seems surprised.

"What rumors?"

He glances around, then leans in closer and drops his voice to a whisper. "The rumors are that he's a plant for the FBI. He's here to catch any funny business that might be happening with the books. And you and I both know that- " he drops off mid-sentence. But he didn't have to complete it for me to know what he's talking about. Because Darius and I both know what goes on behind the scenes around this place. If what Darius is saying is true, this could be bad.

"Anyway, you be careful, Mockingjay," he says as he helps himself to my orange juice.

"Why?" I ask, frowning as I take the glass out of his hands.

He gives me another grin as he slides out of the booth. "Because he sure seemed taken with you."

I'm still brushing off Darius's words as I pull up to the small airport that services Las Vegas. You'd never know from looking at it that McCarren Field brings visitors from all around the world to our little town. I wonder how many of them are disappointed when they land to see we're really not much more than a stop in the endless desert surrounding us. It doesn't seem to be many, though. There is no short supply of tourists around here.

It's not a tourist I'm looking for right now, though. I'm here to pick up Prim and take her back for her summer checking guests in at the Mockingjay's front desk.

As I cross the dusty parking lot to wait for Prim's plane to touch down, Darius's words echo once more in my head. He sure seemed taken with you. Why would our new accountant be taken with me? Sure, I've had my fair share of fans attempt to meet me in the past. And yes, most of them have been male. But this Peeta Mellark, with his wholesome blue eyes and golden curls, with his easygoing expression, he doesn't seem the type to become obsessed with a lounge singer in Las Vegas. Especially if it turns out to be true that he's working for the FBI. If anything, he's just scoping me out for any potential leads.

Which is why I need to stay as far away from Peeta Mellark as I can.

Yes, I know things. Not as many things as Gale did, or Plutarch Heavensbee, or any number of lackeys actually involved in Snow's… business. I'm honestly just a lounge singer. But I'm a lounge singer with information that could prove useful to someone looking to find out what's really going on, and I can't have that. Not when everything I do is meant to keep Prim safe.

I shake my head. What am I so concerned about, anyway? I don't even know for sure that Peeta Mellark is an informant for the FBI. That's just Darius repeating the casino's gossip. It could just as easily be untrue. So far, the only thing Peeta is guilty of is being a little too genuinely friendly. That's not normal around Vegas, except maybe for our visitors.

A short time later, Prim is running to me from the plane's staircase, pausing just long enough to deposit her bags quickly on the ground before she throws her arms around me.

"Katniss!" She all but squeals.

"Welcome home, Little Duck," I say. "Did you have a good flight?"

"Yes. Well, it was a little bumpy taking off, but it was quiet after that. It's so good to be home with you!"

"It's good to have you home, Prim," I smile at her. "Do we have everything?"

Prim nods, and babbles on happily about everything she can possibly think of as we make our way back and load up the car. She tells me everything-from the friends she's made to the boys who have taken her on dates (but behaved like gentlemen, of course), to the extracurricular activities she's participated in.

"It's a wonder you have any time for studying," I laugh.

"Just barely," she agrees, then shoots me a worried look. "But I am studying, don't worry!"

I do my best to give her a stern look, but it just turns into another laugh.

"What about you, Katniss?" she asks curiously. "Anything new around The Mockingjay?"

"Not really," I say idly. "A new accountant started today." I'm not really sure why I bothered to even mention it. It's hardly exciting news.

"Oh?" Prim shoots me a devilish look. "Anyone interesting?"

If someone who is potentially a spy for the FBI is interesting, then yes, that would certainly be interesting. But I can hardly tell Prim that, solid evidence or otherwise. I do my best to protect her from that world as much as I can. "Not really," I say. "I think he's from the Midwest." Is he? I don't even know. I'm basing that off of absolutely nothing.

"Is he cute?"

"Prim!"

"I'm just saying!" she laughs.

I glance over at her. "He's too old for you."

"You know that's not what I meant."

When I don't respond, Prim just shakes her head. We've had a version of this conversation a thousand times since Gale's been gone, and it always ends the same way. Really, I don't know why Prim even bothers anymore. It's too dangerous for me to date. Well, unless you count Finnick. Finnick Odair, with a set of pipes that can hypnotize nearly any woman with his powerful croon, not to mention his recent takeover of Hollywood. Snow set it up once so it appeared to the whole world that we had a relationship. But that was never anything more than some well-timed photo ops here, and occasionally Los Angeles. The only thing that ever truly bloomed between Finnick and me was a lasting friendship. Mostly because we're in the same kind of pain. We're trapped living this same kind of life together.

"Your job is all set for the summer," I say a minute later. It's obvious that I'm changing the subject, but Prim doesn't question it. She looks me over for a minute, but when she does finally respond, it's about the job. "Where am I working this year?"

Every summer since we've been here, and she's been old enough to hold a job, she has spent her time earning a little extra cash. It's actually Snow's way of expecting a little payback for all the ways he's helped us. It's also his way of keeping her close by so he can keep an eye on us, I'm sure, but I'm also really grateful. Because with the chance to work, and make a little extra money of her own, Prim stands every chance of breaking away from this lifestyle one day and living a life of freedom.

That's not a chance I'm ever going to have.

"You'll be at the front desk," I say.

She nods. "That's not so bad,"

"No," I shake my head. "And at least it's inside, where it's cool."

"Right," she agrees. Last year, she served drinks on the pool deck. Given how any day can be over one hundred degrees in the summer, it's hard to spend much time out there if you're not in the water. I'm glad I was able to get her a gig inside this year.

We reach the hotel in a short time. I pull into my normal parking spot, and in a flash Eddy, one of the bellhops is at our side and offering to carry Prim's luggage in for her. After some light protest, we agree to let him help and follow him inside the doors of The Mockingjay.

"Not much has changed," Prim says, taking it in.

"No," I agree. "But they're painting the casino in the Fall when it gets quieter. Are you hungry?" I ask as we pass by the same coffee shop where I'd eaten breakfast this morning.

"I'm starving!" Prim says, putting a hand on her stomach. "I haven't eaten since early this morning!"

"Come on, then," I laugh. She follows me in, and we take our seats. It isn't until our drink orders have been placed and Prim sits pouring over the menu that I even notice him.

His blue eyes are trained on me but flick away as soon as he notices me looking. He's sitting on the other side of the restaurant from us, by himself, a plate of half-eaten food in front of him. I suppose he came in for lunch. Of course, he did. Why else would he even be in here? But just the sight of him makes me nervous, and I don't know why, though I suppose the suspicious that he's a plant for the FBI is as good a reason as any.

"What are you looking at?" Prim's voice breaks into my thoughts. She twists around in her chair to follow my gaze before I have a chance to avert it and spots him. By now he's ignoring us completely, concentrating on his sandwich and the newspaper before him, but Prim figures it out anyway. She turns back around and fixes me with a mischievous grin. "Who is he?"

"No one," I mutter. "Um, I mean, that's just the new accountant I was telling you about."

Her face lights up. "He is cute!" She practically squeals.

"Prim!" I scold, ignoring the way my cheeks burn.

"Admit it," she says triumphantly. "You think he's handsome. Are you going to let him take you out?"

"No, Prim! I… I'm not supposed to date anyone at the hotel." It isn't entirely true. But it's the first thing I can think of to get her off my case. What is true is that Snow forbids me from dating anyone he doesn't approve of. I'm his property, as far as he's concerned.

Prim looks crestfallen. "Oh. I didn't realize that " she says. She looks so disappointed, you'd think I had just told her that she was the one not allowed to date anybody. "That's too bad. He seems like he'd be good for you."

I'm quiet as I taken in her comment. She's never said anything like that before-what does she mean? He seems like he'd be good for me? I push the thought away because it doesn't matter what it means. All that matters is that I keep both of us safe, and somehow I don't think I can do that if I become too involved with Peeta Mellark. It's better if she stops asking questions.

"Katniss! You have five minutes until curtain!" my stage manager hisses from the doorway.

"All right, Effie," I say.

"Everyone needs to be in their places in four!" She shoots back.

"We'll have her out in time. I promise." Cinna, my stylist, can't help laughing as he turns back towards me while Effie throws her hands up in exasperation and stamps out of the room.

"Honestly, you'd think this was my first night or something," I say to him.

"Well, you know how Effie is," he says as he holds out a pair of black nylons for me to step into.

I do. "If she doesn't make sure everything happens exactly when it's supposed to, we'll never hear the end of how our schedules will be thrown off for the rest of our lives."

"Exactly," he agrees. "She's just looking out for your best interest, though, Katniss."

"I know," I sigh. And it's true, I probably wouldn't be anywhere without the help of Effie Trinket and her meticulous time-keeping. Snow could not have picked a better person to keep me on track and make sure the main show in his hotel holds together. And I have to admit, I have a certain respect for Effie and her determination. That doesn't make her any less frustrating to be around.

Venia, one of Cinna's associates on my style team, steps up, holding out a tube of lipstick. I pucker my lips obediently while she applies the finishing touch to my look. "Perfect!" She cries. "You're going to dazzle them again, Katniss!"

"I'd better," I say as I make my way towards the door of my dressing room. Because everything else in my life relies on the performances I give. If I stop satisfying audiences, then I stop satisfying Snow. And if I stop satisfying Snow… I don't even want to think about the consequences. All it takes is imagining what might happen to Prim if I lose his favor, and I find it within me to give the performance of my life. Again.

To what I'm sure is Effie's great relief, I'm in my spot at exactly the time I'm supposed to be there. I hear Claudius Templesmith, the opening act, give my introduction and hold my breath as the curtain rises, and the next thing I know I'm standing in front of hundreds of people sitting around circular tables with heaping plates of food placed in front of them. But none of them are paying any attention to their food, save for one or two. Nearly every eye in the house is turned to me.

I'd be lying if I said I ever got comfortable with doing this. I don't like the limelight; I never have. If it were up to me, I'd be perfectly happy living a life of peace and quiet and attracting as little attention as possible. But it isn't up to me, and this is what I know I must do to keep my sister and myself alive. So I've gotten used to it. Being careful only to stare at the tops of the audiences' heads, I open my mouth and begin the opening song.

I'm half-way through it when I notice him. Those same two blue eyes that I caught watching me from across the coffee shop today. Only now they come from the back of the house, where he sits by himself, watching me. Making eye contact, that was my mistake. I never catch their eyes! So what was it that made me look now? I almost forget myself in the middle of the number. Fortunately, I catch myself just in time and continue. But it's almost impossible to ignore those blue eyes for the entirety of my performance.

It's a bigger relief than usual when I finish the last number and the curtains go down, blocking me from that figure in the audience that makes me feel so shaken up. I just stand there for a minute, taking a few deep breaths while I try to process what just happened.

"Katniss, the curtains go up in 30 seconds for your encore," Effie hisses at me, taking me out of my rumination.

I nod and try my best to gain my composure. When I see the curtains begin to lift, I plaster what I hope is a genuinely happy smile, and step forward to greet my audience while they cheer me on. Some of them actually throw kisses, and I pretend to catch them. I'm not sure where this part of me comes from every night when most of the time I can barely stand to even talk to strangers, but something about the energy of the crowd helps me forget myself.

I'm glad. Because the last thing I want to do is put Prim in danger.

You never would know how full the audience had been tonight if you were judging by the pool alone. By the time I get out there, there isn't one soul left. Everyone is either in the casino, out seeing another show, or doing God knows what out on the town. And those who are left have gone to bed.

That's why I like to go for my daily swim at night. By this time of day, it's cleared out and I have the pool to myself. I would prefer it that way even if I weren't a recognized face around here. It's peaceful when I'm by myself. And even though the sun has set, and the desert is completely plunged in darkness, the water is still warm, and the lights from the casino provide plenty of illumination to see what I'm doing.

But the best is floating on your back so that you can stare up at the night sky. At first, it just looks black, but after you really look at it, you can see that there are actually many shades of midnight blue streaked across the sky, and the stars pop brilliantly in contrast. Sometimes when I'm out here, I can almost forget everything else. For a few blissful moments in the day, I'm at peace.

I guess that's why I don't realize I'm no longer alone until he's standing at the edge of the pool. He's in striped red swim trunks, and a matching red unbuttoned shirt, with a towel thrown over his right shoulder. He stands watching me until I realize he's there and gasp. Then he startles back to life.

"I'm sorry," he offers. "I didn't mean to scare you.

"Then why are you just standing there, watching me?" I frown at him.

"You looked so peaceful," he says. "I didn't want to interrupt."

I say nothing. I only watch him warily.

"Do you mind if I get in too? I was hoping to get in a swim before bed."

I still don't say anything, but he doesn't wait for an answer. He throws his towel on a lounge chair, shrugs off his shirt and does the same with it. Then he climbs in on the other end of the pool.

"It's kind of late for a swim, isn't it?" I ask, watching as he acclimates to the cooler water.

"You tell me," he says pointedly. Touche. Still, I'm not ready to just be alright with him in the pool. Not after all the rumors I've heard about him, and the way he's been watching me all day. "I have a good reason to swim this late," I say defensively. "It's the only way I can swim without being bombarded."

He raises his brow at this. "You think you're so famous that you can't swim without being harassed?"

It's enough to take the wind out of my sails, though truth is, I might have deserved it. Still, I can't give in. "It's happened," I shoot back. "What's your excuse?" There. Let's see how he likes having the spotlight turned right back around on him.

He just shrugs. "I had a busy day. I wanted to relax in the water, and this was the first chance I got." Then he turns away from me and dives under the surface. I watch as he swims the length of the pool underwater, comes up quickly for air, then, dives back under and returns to the other end again.

He comes back up and slickens his hair back with his hands.

"You're the new accountant, aren't you?" I ask, my voice more gentle.

He turns back towards me, looking like he's surprised I would continue a conversation with him. "Yeah," he confirms. "First day."

I nod. "How do you like it?"

"Not bad," he says. He turns all the way back around so he's facing me. "Pay's good. World class entertainment. And you have to admit, the food's prime."

"Where are you from?" I ask.

"Nebraska," he says. I try to bite back a laugh. With his ashen blond hair, those crystal blue eyes, his pale skin and chiseled arms and chest that he hides under button-down shirts, everything about him screams wholesome. It doesn't surprise me one bit to learn he's from the Midwest.

"What about you?" he asks. "Where are you from originally?"

"Me?" I blink. No one has ever asked me this before. Not since moving here. "I've always been here. I popped up with the hotel."

He laughs to himself. "I doubt that," he says. But he doesn't press it any further.

"Appalachia," I finally admit quietly.

"Appalachia?" He repeats, as though he wasn't sure he had heard me correctly. I nod. "How'd you get out here?" He asks.

I'm silent while I think my answer over. There's no way I can tell him the whole story. Especially if the rumors about him are true. "My husband… died," I say evasively. It's the truth, but what I make sure not to tell him is how he died. Why he died.

Immediately, Peeta's entire demeanor changes. "Oh. I'm so sorry," he says, and he honestly sounds like he means it. Concern shows in those blue eyes of his. "I didn't mean to bring up something painful."

I just shake my head. "It was a few years back. I've worked through it."

Now it's Peeta's turn to nod. "Well… that explains why you left Appalachia. But how did you end up here?"

"My husband… knew the owner," I explain, choosing my words carefully. Actually, Gale worked for the owner, but that's another part of the story I have to leave out or otherwise risk Peeta's suspicion. "When he died, I was offered a job out here. What?" I ask as an amused grin spreads across his face.

"Just the way you put it," he says. "You make it sound like he offered you a position as a secretary or something and not the headlining star for a hotel on the Vegas Strip."

I frown. "It is just a job," I insist. "I wouldn't be doing this willingly."

"What would you be doing then?" He asks. He sounds genuinely curious, but once again, the question catches me completely off guard. I've never really given much thought to what I would be doing if things were different. It's always been about protecting my sister. "Just… caring for my sister, I suppose," I tell him.

"You have a sister?" He asks.

"Yes," I nod stiffly. It's not much information, but already I feel like I've told him more than I should.

"How old is she?"

I hesitate before answering. "She's twenty."

Peeta immediately smiles again, clearly fighting back a laugh.

"What's so funny?" I demand.

He just shakes his head. "I thought she would be younger. You're still taking care of your twenty-year-old sister?"

"I'm all she has!" I practically yell. Angry, I turn and swim towards the ladder to climb out of the pool. I normally would spend much longer in here, but I'm so irritated, so insulted by Peeta Mellark's comments, that I don't want to be here with him any longer.

"Wait! I didn't mean to insult you. I promise. Please come back," he pleads. I don't know why, but I stop, right at the base of the ladder. But I don't turn back. "I was just teasing you," he continues.

I spin around and glare at him. "You don't know me well enough to tease me," I spit.

He looks taken aback as he thinks this over. Then he swims over so that he's directly in front of me, a mere matter of inches away from my body. Why is he so close?

"You're right," he says. "I'm sorry. I guess I couldn't help myself."

Our eyes lock. A million responses must run through my mind, but not a single one comes out. Instead, I engage in this silent impasse as we each size the other up, working something out, but I don't know what it is. But now that he's right in front of me, I realize how tall he is, how broad his shoulders are. He's so close that even in the darkness, I can see the blond hair on his chest that reflects off the light coming from inside the hotel. I realize my back is pressed solidly against the ladder; my breath is hitched in my throat. Something about him terrifies me, yet I know I'm not in any danger.

"Good night," I mutter curtly, then turn and climb swiftly out of the pool.