Born Wild

Had she been expecting anything more? No, not really. But still she pressed, “Don’t play games, Blake. The only two people who knew where I was tonight were you and Dad.”

“Eve,” her father cut in, “stop this nonsense. Blake wouldn’t—”

“Shut up,” she commanded, turning to glare at him and his startled expression. Yep, you’re starting to get it, aren’t you? I’m not a scared little girl you can push around anymore. “You’ve done quite enough already.”

“Wh-what?” he sputtered, nostril’s flaring before he realized his veneer of elegance was slipping. Sniffing, he said, “I can’t imagine what you mean, I—”

“Save it, Dad,” she told him. “The fact remains you knew I was afraid. You knew Jeremy and I both believed there was something insidious behind all my accidents,” she made the quote marks with the fingers of one hand. “But you chose to ignore us, ignore my fear. And for that and for the fact that you’re still associating with my ex-husband when you know I’ve been trying for over a decade to distance myself from him, not to mention the way you pushed me at him twelve years ago, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Eve,” he placated, reaching toward her. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” she promised, nodding her head, meeting his gaze head-on. Read the truth in my eyes, Dad. “I mean every single word of it.”

He dropped his hand, his face draining of blood until his cheeks looked sallow. And she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel a pinch of regret at the harshness of her words. But she’d come too far to back down now. Sparing him one last pitying glance, she turned back to Blake.

“Tell me, Blake,” she demanded, “what possible motive could you have for paying two thugs to come into Delilah’s bar to gun me down. Tell me,” a sharp note edged into her tone, but she couldn’t help it, “one good reason why you’d set fire to my condo, or cut my brake lines, or have someone try to shoot me outside the aquarium. I’d really, really like to know.”

And that was an understatement. Because, even though they weren’t on great terms, neither had she thought they were mortal enemies. And, yes, if she wanted to keep riding the Honesty Train, she had to admit that it hurt to think of him hating her so much that he’d pay to see her dead. Dear God, haven’t I always tried to be nice to him? Even after I found out what he did? Haven’t I always treated him with kindness?

“Is it because I refused to come back to you?” she asked, shaking her head, her voice thick with confusion. “Is it because you—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he yelled, spitting blood onto the marble tiles.

She snorted a laugh, but there was no humor in it, just bone-deep sadness and the type of weariness that reached right down to the soul. “And I guess I’m just supposed to believe you after what happened? I guess I’m just supposed to believe—”

“What happened all those years ago is as much his fault as it is mine,” Blake snarled. He thrust his bloody chin toward her father.

“Not another word, Blake,” her dad warned, his eyes boring into her ex-husband’s until she was surprised the back of Blake’s head didn’t blow out.

She glanced back and forth between the men, frowning. She knew it was her father who’d pressured her unrelentingly until she finally, sullenly agreed to go out with Blake, but…but there was something more going on here…

A deep sense of foreboding scratched at the back of her brain with sharp, broken nails, causing her to narrow her eyes. “What are you talking about?” she breathed, her heart crashing against her breastbone like hurricane-force waves against a rocky shore.

“All these years,” Blake shook his head, his lips pulling into the kind of smile that was really more of a grimace. With the blood staining his teeth, the gesture was particularly macabre, “you thought it was my idea to call the press and have them waiting to snap pictures of the two of us that night.”

Oh, yes. The infamous pictures…the ones that showed her laughing at Blake over a bottle of Chianti. The ones that showed her and Blake dancing in the moonlight, smiling up at each other, looking, for all the world, like two people madly in love. The ones that showed Blake kissing her passionately outside the front door of her dorm. The ones that had run with headlines like: A Love Affair Made in Real Estate Mogul Heaven. The ones that’d pushed Billy away and forced her to admit that her dreams were dead and buried after the letters she sent to him, begging him for forgiveness, went unanswered.

Of course, what those pictures hadn’t shown was her checking her watch every five minutes, counting down the seconds until the date was over. What they hadn’t shown was her angrily pushing Blake away after he grabbed her and slammed his mouth down over hers. What they hadn’t shown was…the truth. Not that it mattered anyway, considering she’d betrayed Billy the second she agreed to that awful date, but still…

“You divorced me six measly months after we said our vows because you thought it was me,” Blake shoved his thumb into his chest, “who called in the tip to the press.”

“It was you,” she insisted, her foreboding morphing into the kind of dread that had her scalp tingling. But there was no reason for it. Because she knew for fact it’d been Blake. After they’d been married only a few weeks and her head had had time to clear from the heartache of losing Billy and the whirlwind of the rushed wedding, she’d started having misgivings. Misgivings about the way Blake had been a little too outspoken in his anger with the press. Misgivings about the fact that he’d been a little too willing to hold her close and dry her tears while she cried over another man. Misgivings about how he’d been just a little too quick to propose marriage after it became apparent Billy was out of the picture. She’d started to feel instinctively that something wasn’t right, that it all felt…planned somehow.

It’d taken her a couple of months to work up the courage to hire a private investigator, but she finally did it. And what’d turned up after some digging? Well, the not-so-insignificant fact that the phone call to the local media had come directly from Blake’s cell phone that night. “You’d been hounding me to go out with you for months, just as much as my father had,” she insisted. “And when I finally agreed, you found a way to make sure I stayed with you. You found a way to ruin my only other option. The phone records don’t lie, Blake.”

He shook his head, his expression derisive. “It’s true I wanted you since the first moment I saw you on campus. I still want you.” Ah, and now the real truth was coming out. Want. He wanted her. Which was a completely different song than the one he’d been singing for the last decade or so. The song of love. Like most spoiled rich boys, the one thing Blake Parish coveted more than anything was the one thing he couldn’t have. And, deep down, even while they’d been married, he must’ve known he couldn’t have her. Not in any way that mattered. “We’re perfect together.”

She barely resisted snorting and rolling her eyes. Perfect together? In what world? Certainly not hers.

“And I would’ve gotten you eventually, fair and square,” he continued. Again, in what world? “had he,” he tilted his chin toward her father, “not gotten impatient and decided to…help things along.”

Wait, what? The room did a slow tilt to the left, and she found herself eternally grateful Billy was beside her to steady her when she wobbled. What was Blake saying? That it was her…her father’s idea to call the press that night?

She slowly turned to the man accused. And from the way the muscle ticked in his jaw, from the way he couldn’t quite hold her gaze, he didn’t need to affirm or deny Blake’s allegation.

No…

But the truth was written all over her father’s face, flashing at her as brightly as a neon sign. Good God, had she really thought there was nothing Blake could say that would hurt her? Had she really thought there was nothing he could tell her to make her want to back away from the truth?

“How could you do that?” She meant to scream the words at her father, but they croaked out of her in a hoarse whisper.