“I need to leave,” Renee said quietly.
“I’ll go with you.”
She made a huffing noise that might have been laughter or it might’ve been frustration. “No, you won’t.”
“But—”
“You don’t get it, do you?” She pivoted in her seat and pinned him with a hard look. “I will ruin you, Oliver Lawrence. I’ll ruin you and your business and everyone you love. And I won’t do it. I...” Her voice cracked and she looked back out the windshield. “I can’t do that to you.”
His mouth opened but nothing came out.
“I need to pack,” she said, her voice strong and sure again. “And then I need to leave before it all comes crashing down on you. I won’t let my family destroy yours like they’ve destroyed me.”
Thirteen
Oliver kept talking. One minute, he was going to charter a plane. The next, a helicopter. Then it was a private yacht leaving from Galveston and heading for open waters because “no one could follow us there,” as if determined reporters wouldn’t be able to rent a speedboat.
Renee listened with only half an ear as she packed because it didn’t matter—whatever harebrained scheme he came up with, it wouldn’t work. There was no quick, easy fix that would let everyone live happily-ever-after. Not this time. Not for her.
She knew that. She’d always known that. Funny how thinking it, however, made her heart ache.
She needed to leave quickly before Oliver got it into her head to make her stay or, worse, enlist his family. Renee knew what she had to do but if the entire Lawrence family showed up to plead their case, she might not be strong enough to do the right thing.
And the right thing was so obvious. Renee simply couldn’t hurt any of the Lawrences. Not even Flash. After all, he hadn’t done anything Oliver himself hadn’t done. Oliver had just had the good fortune to blurt out her name in front of small-town firefighters instead of a desperate music promoter.
So her mind was made up. She was leaving—alone. She’d see if she could stay with her former sister-in-law, Carolyn, for a few days. It would be awkward and uncomfortable but then again, Carolyn had given that interview where she’d passed on the chance to destroy Renee. And she and Carolyn had always got along before the scandal and divorce and death.
Besides, it wasn’t like she could do more damage to Carolyn’s reputation. She’d already been married to Clint. In the ruined department, she and Renee were practically equal.
Renee and Oliver would never be equal. Good Lord, he’d proposed. He’d said he’d marry her in the middle of the rodeo and he hated the rodeo.
In another time, another life, it would’ve been something wonderful.
Except for the but. Because there was always a but, wasn’t there? As sweet as that marriage proposal had been, Oliver had prefaced that declaration with, If I thought it’d make things better...
He’d marry her. He’d do his best to make her happy. He might even adopt her child, when the time came, and she knew he’d be an amazing father. It might be good. Great, even.
But it wouldn’t be perfect because he couldn’t live without her. He’d offer her the protection of his name and access to all his resources because it was the most obvious solution to a problem.
Her.
She might be hopelessly in love with him, but she wasn’t his problem to solve. And she wasn’t about to marry another man who didn’t love her.
Leaving was the only option.
“...one of those big bus-sized RVs that rock stars travel in,” he was saying when he growled and spun, pulling out his phone. He never kept the sound on and therefore, she was always startled when he’d answer it at random times. “What?”
She hadn’t bothered to pack the funereal dress or shoes—neither fitted anymore. But her lawyers would most likely blow their collective tops if she were spotted walking around in Chloe’s fancy rodeo clothes. But the only alternative was pushing her leggings past the point of decency, so sequins it was. Which left the problem of the boots. She couldn’t exactly walk around in those things anywhere but Texas. If she showed up in New York in the boots and the sequins, the press would have a freaking field day with her. What a shame. She set them next to the closet door and then closed the zipper on her single piece of luggage.
“Renee?” There was something different in Oliver’s tone instead of the desperation that had colored all his grand plans thus far.
“Yes?”
“There are some men here for you.”
The way he said it made it clear that he wasn’t talking about the press. Even as the bottom of her stomach fell out, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Old habits never died, it seemed. Just because she hadn’t had to fall back on them for the better part of a month didn’t mean she’d forgotten how to protect herself. “Who?”
But she already knew because Oliver wasn’t trying to arrange a quick getaway in his zippy sports car. “The FBI. Security checked them out. They need you to return to New York with them.”
Ah. They must have decided to turn the pressure up on Clint. At least, she hoped that was the case and not that they’d already caught wind of the disastrous rodeo outing.
Again, her stomach tried to turn at the thought of someone snapping a picture of her smiling and laughing—the very things her lawyers had informed her not to do. But Oliver had reminded her how to be happy and she’d almost forgotten what it was like to keep her real self locked deep inside.
She needed to remember. Quickly.
“I see.” She tried to smile for Oliver, to show him that she wasn’t scared or worried—that she’d be perfectly safe in the company of the Justice Department’s best officers.
She didn’t make it. “Don’t do that,” he snapped, throwing his phone down and closing the distance between them. He grabbed
