by Cindy Dees
“Tell me about your daughter,” Willa asked gently.
The woman told a tale of respiratory problems and mystery symptoms, and a frustrating failure by doctors to find a source of the girl’s serious illness. Willa pressed her business card into the woman’s surprised hand. “Call me tomorrow. I’ll have my staff help you get access to medical research specialists. If fracking is making your daughter sick, I want to know.”
The crowd nearby went silent, apparently stunned that she gave a darn.
“Do you have a leader or representative of some kind?” Willa raised her voice to ask the group at large.
An imposing man in a black suit coat, jeans and black cowboy boots stepped forward. “That would be me, I suppose.”
She gave him a card, as well. “Call me. I want to hear more about what all of you are experiencing.”
“Uhh, okay. Sure,” the man replied, obviously more than a little suspicious. But the crowd’s ire seemed diffused and they called farewells to her as Gabe handed her into the SUV.
The Escalade pulled away from the curb before he asked, “Are you really going to talk to those people?”
“Yes. The way I understand government to work, I’m the representative of the people. It’s hard to represent them if I don’t know what worries them.”
“A noble—and naive—sentiment. If you were to hold your father’s office for more than a few weeks, the lobbyists and political-action committees would change your mind soon enough, I expect.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” she replied. “I read a number of my father’s notes, and I have no lofty illusions about how deals get done in Washington. In my mind, the key to being a decent congresswoman is to plan on serving only one term in congress and spending that entire time voting the will of one’s constituents and one’s conscience.”
Gabe laughed. “If only.”
She sighed. “It’s not like I’m going to get a chance to make a difference in the few months I’ve got in this job.”
“You’ve still got the power to endorse a candidate and make a few statements and press releases. The question is, what things matter to you? What do you want to tackle in the time you have?”
She studied him with interest. That was an excellent question. And no one had ever asked it of her before. What did matter to her? For her entire life, John Merris had dictated what was important to her and her mother. He’d coached them in how to answer any political or opinion questions to mirror his platforms. It had always been about him.
“I don’t even know which political party I would support if I had the choice,” she said in wonder.
Gabe glanced over at her in surprise. “Well, then, you’ve got some homework to do, kiddo. Your father’s political party expects you to endorse their replacement candidate for him by next week.”
She sighed. “I should be teaching a bunch of kids their numbers and letters and colors this week. Instead, I’m embroiled in politics and my father’s murder, people breaking into my house and a criminal investigation against James Ward. And if the women at the ball were correct, I’ve apparently sprouted horns and a forked tail, too.”
“You don’t actually care what those bleached-blonde bitches think, do you?” Gabe asked scornfully.
If only she had his tough hide. But no one had ever turned on her like that before, and it had been hurtful and humiliating. And her mother...
“Someone must have given my mother uppers to get her to that ball. She’s been nearly catatonic since my father died.”
“It sounded like someone fed her a bunch of lies, too. You do know not to take personally anything she said, right? She looked completely whacked-out on amphetamines or better.”
“You think?” Willa asked hopefully.
“I know.”
“How?”
“An ex-girlfriend with a drug habit.”
She replied lightly, “Why, Gabe Dawson. I don’t know whether to be more surprised that you dated a druggie or that you actually stuck around long enough with any one woman to consider her a girlfriend.”
“What the hell do the GCBs of Vengeance say about me?” he exclaimed.
“GCBs?”
“Good Christian, uhh, Belles,” he answered sourly.
She smiled. “Well, they say you’re quite a lover. But that you refuse to talk about marriage, and get thoroughly surly if the subject even comes up. Common wisdom is that you never got over your wife dumping you and that you still carry a torch for her.”
Gabe said nothing.
“Comments? Rebuttals?” Willa asked lightly.
“No comment.”
Rats. She’d really love to know how he actually felt about Melinda Grayson. Did he still have a thing for his ex-wife? It would explain a lot about him. Like why he’d hightailed it back to Vengeance when the police told him Melinda had gone missing, and why he’d never remarried. Was she tilting at windmills to even fantasize about a relationship between the two of them? Would she want way more from him than he could ever give her?
“Aww, c’mon, Gabe. Give me something, here,” she cajoled teasingly. “I was straight with you.”
“Fine.” He sighed. “I am an excellent lover.”
She laughed, not only in amusement, but also to hide the way her stomach was suddenly jumping with nervous anticipation. What she wouldn’t give to see for herself. “What about your ex-wife? Do you still have feelings for her?”
“Melinda was—is—a force of nature. You either get sucked into her orbit or she chews you up and spits you out. Making it to the inner circle of her universe was a big accomplishment for me back then. But I couldn’t honestly tell you if I ever got to know the real woman or not. The one I was married to was impressive in just about every way. But she didn’t go much for feelings. We never talked about things like love or insecurity or need.”
Wow. That sounded cold and, frankly, unappealing.
Gabe continued, “Do I have feelings regarding her? Of course. Worry. A sense of unresolved differences. Abandonment. She bailed on me before, and as selfish as it might seem, I feel like she has bailed out on me again.” He added in a rush, “I know the police think she was kidnapped, and this disappearance isn’t her fault. And I feel as guilty as hell for feeling like she’s left me again. So the answer to your question is yes. I still have plenty of feelings toward my ex-wife.”
Complicated ones. That might or might not include romantic feelings like love and desire to reunite. He’d neatly avoided talking about those in his outburst.
“What do the police know about her kidnapping?”
“Shockingly little. Her housekeeper arrived one morning, and Melinda was just gone. There were no signs of a struggle in her house or office. Her car was still parked in the garage, her keys and briefcase and laptop sitting on the kitchen counter. Her syllabus and lecture notes for the semester were on her desk.”
Willa shuddered. It sounded a lot like her father’s murder—a life interrupted completely without warning.
Gabe continued, “The only unusual thing the police found was a grocery list in Melinda’s handwriting. It stopped in the middle of a word. Maybe the phone rang or someone came to the door, or someone snuck up on her from behind and grabbed her. It’s a mystery.”
“And there were no witnesses or anyone with any more information?” she asked.
“No one legitimate has come forward in spite of the hundred-thousand-dollar reward I put up, and there have been no ransom demands.”
“Is there a chance—” Willa broke off. “No, never mind.”
“Go ahead. Say it.”
Willa winced. “Is there a chance she was murdered, too? She did disappear right about the same time my father and those other men were killed.”
Gabe went very still. “I would be lying if I said it wasn’t possible. But I can’t think that way.” His voice gathered force. “I won’t think that way. She’s alive. I’m standing by that until I have positive proof to the contrary.”
> Willa felt like he’d just stuck a knife in her gut. He did still love his ex-wife. But she couldn’t exactly blame him for revealing it. After all, she was the one who’d brought up the subject of Melinda’s possible murder. And in all fairness, if she’d been kidnapped and was alone and terrified, she’d be desperate for her family and friends to continue fighting to find her, to continue believing she was alive, to continue their efforts to rescue her.
“Is there anything I can do to help find her?” Willa asked soberly.
Gabe looked over at her in genuine surprise. “No, but thanks for the offer. That’s kind of you.”
Willa frowned. “You say that like you thought I was wishing Melinda would turn up dead.”
His answer was surprisingly bitter. “Let’s just say neither she nor I were ever embraced by the scions of Southern society in this corner of the world.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
They were stopped at a red light, and Gabe stared across the vehicle at her in open shock. “You do realize that you are as blue-blooded an insider to the halls of old-school power in Texas as they come, don’t you?”
She blinked at him, uncomprehending.
“You’re the daughter of one of the richest and most powerful men in Texas for the past thirty years or so. And you’re beautiful and single, to boot. There have to have been young men falling all over themselves to marry you since you got out of school.”
“If there have, they’ve been invisible,” she retorted. Not for lack of her father constantly throwing her at every son of some powerful, old-money family or another from Dallas. It was just that none of the boys had ever called back. It was as if they’d taken her out as a favor to her father. But once they’d met her, they’d moved on quickly to greener pastures. Heck, her father had set up the date with James Ward.
The light turned green, and Gabe accelerated before demanding, “Tell me you’re lying.”
“I’m serious, Gabe. My social life has hovered between life support and dead pretty much forever.”
“That’s not possible,” he announced. “A woman as beautiful and intelligent and charming as you?”
How embarrassing was this, having to confess that no one had ever wanted to date the shy, awkward daughter of a scary man? “It’s not like I’ve ever run around looking like this before. And after the reaction I got tonight, I’m not going to try it again any time soon.”
Her own mother had called her a whore and a slut, for goodness’ sake. Tears welled up in her eyes to recall it. She’d thought this dress was beautiful, and for once in her life, she’d felt pretty. And the way Gabe’s eyes had lit up when she’d opened the front door—she’d thought that maybe he’d found her pretty, too.
Speaking of Gabe, she risked a sideways glance at him. His jaw was set, and if she wasn’t mistaken, muscles in his neck were tensed in irritation. Was he mad she wasn’t the social catch he’d thought she was? Had he expected that with her on his arm, people wouldn’t treat him like dirt for once? She sincerely wished she’d been able to give him the social acceptability he seemed to crave beneath his I-don’t-care attitude. But instead of lifting him up, apparently, she’d succeeded in dragging them both down.
How could a simple charity ball have gone so horribly wrong?
The Escalade turned into a driveway she didn’t recognize. It led to a garage behind a small craftsman bungalow near Darby College. “Is this your place?” she asked. She’d known his childhood home was somewhere in this neighborhood, but she’d never seen it before.
“Yup.” He got out of the Cadillac and came around to open her door for her in grim silence. Grim enough that she decided not to ask just now why he’d brought her here. She followed him up the wide steps to a gracious porch and waited while he unlocked the front door.
“Don’t call the place cute,” he growled as he stepped inside. “I despise cute.”
She stepped into a living room as masculine as any room she’d ever seen. Flagstone floors, cedar paneling, oversize leather furniture and a massive fieldstone fireplace dominated the space. “There’s nothing remotely cute about this room,” she assured him. “I’d call it rustic or comfortable or perfect for its owner. Or I might even say that Ralph Lauren would approve. But I would not call it cute.”
He grunted in what she thought might be thanks as he moved swiftly through the room and disappeared down a hall. At a loss, she waited inside the front door, unsure of what to do with herself. Lights went on in other parts of the house.
“We’re alone,” he announced as he swept back into the room. As masculine as it was all by itself, the room seemed bigger, more alive, with him in it. It was as if he wore the space like a favorite pair of old blue jeans. He untied his bow tie and let it hang around his neck as he unbuttoned his collar. His neck was tanned and powerful, and yet again she was struck by how strong and forceful a man he was.
Every ounce of awkwardness and shyness she’d ever experienced flooded her as she stood there. She ought to say something sophisticated and smart, and all she could do was stare at him. God help her if she was drooling. If she’d ever thought she was woman enough to seduce Gabe Dawson, she knew, positively knew, in that instant that she was completely out of her league. She would never be woman enough for Gabe Dawson.
Chapter 9
The sight of Willa Merris in his living room, blushing like a nervous schoolgirl, brought Gabe to a complete halt. He could stand there and look at her all night long and never tire of the sight. She was the soul of innocence and oozed sex appeal all at the same time.
He’d never gone much for younger women, but he couldn’t ever remember desiring any woman the way he wanted her right now. He wanted to debauch her, to tease her and teach her, to take her innocence for himself and unleash all the simmering sensuality she didn’t even know she had within her.
If only he was a dozen years younger. He’d give anything to have her think of him as someone other than a safe uncle. This morning, when she’d sashayed out of her bedroom in that sassy little T-shirt and skimpy shorts, he’d thought maybe she was flirting with him. And then that backless dress...
But who was he kidding? At the moment, she looked on the verge of bursting into tears, or maybe bolting altogether. She might need reassurance that she was still desirable after Ward’s attack on her, but she didn’t want him, personally. Hell, for all he knew, Willa Merris was looking for a father figure. Lord knew her old man had failed her miserably in that department.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked her in resignation.
“Umm, why am I here?” she responded.
“So I can protect you from whoever seems determined to break in to wherever you’re staying?”
Shock registered on her face. Didn’t want to spend the night with him, huh? It might have been okay once, in Dallas, where no one would catch her and she had an entire suite to herself. But heaven forbid that she get caught with him in Vengeance. Had she honestly not known just how giant a pariah he was among her friends and associates?
He hated himself for wanting her to want him, and he hated himself for lying to her about why he’d brought her here. But hey. In for a penny, in for a pound. He added another lie on top of the first.
“Not to mention, Paula Craddock is gunning for you. She told me so herself. And after you sicced Jacquelyn Carver on her, she’s going to be madder than ever at you. I figure she’ll hang out at your house or your mother’s looking for you. If, for some reason, she comes sniffing around here, she and my shotgun have an appointment to get better acquainted.”
Willa’s musical laughter made him look up sharply from the whiskey he was pouring for himself. “Can I be there to see that?” she asked.
“Sure.”
“Promise?”
“Scout’s honor.” He poured her a glass of Licor 43, a Spanish liqueur that women told him tasted like chocolate-chip cookie dough. Personally, it was too sweet for him. But over the years, he’d dubbed
it “Liquid Panty Remover.”
“Kick off your shoes if you want. Get comfortable.” He carried the drink to her, and enjoyed how her face lit up when she tasted it. She sank onto one of the matching leather sofas while he lit the fire already laid in the fireplace.
He spoke wryly over his shoulder as he fanned the fledgling flames. “I’d turn on some music, but I wouldn’t want you to think this was some cheesy seduction scene.”
“Of course not,” she answered quickly. Too quickly.
He sat down on the other end of the couch and studied her carefully. “I can’t read you. What are you thinking?”
Her cheeks went crimson. “Umm, nothing.”
“In my not inconsiderable experience with women, when they tell you nothing’s wrong, something’s always wrong. And they’re never thinking nothing. What’s up?”
Suddenly, his shoes appeared to interest her more than just about anything else in the world. Genuinely worried now, he reached out to tip up her chin with his finger. “Willa?”
“I can’t begin to thank you for all you’ve done for me. Goodness knows, you don’t owe me or my family anything. I truly am grateful.”
“But?”
“Is there a but?” she half whispered.
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“But I don’t expect all of this from you. You don’t have to seduce me as a pity case.”
“A pity case!” he exclaimed.
“It’s sweet of you to feel sorry for me, but I don’t expect you to fix me. It’s my responsibility to get over what James Ward did, and I’m not going to force that on anyone, certainly not on you after everything else you’ve already done for me.”
“Force— Willa, you’re not forcing anything on me, and certainly not yourself. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m quite a bit bigger and stronger than you. Not to mention, nobody has made me do anything I didn’t want to for a number of years now.”
She sagged beside him. She ought to be relieved by his declaration, but for some reason, she looked...crestfallen.
