He cringed. “They’re gonna love me in the store. Bet no one asks for my picture with them this time.”
When they got back to Wyatt’s condo, he pulled into the car wash area. Anne’s throat burned, and her eyes still watered from the fumes, but they’d made it in one piece, and at least Goober hadn’t been bitten in the attack.
Wyatt grabbed a bucket and used the hose to mix water in with the vinegar. Anne read off the instructions she’d found online and they both worked, saturating and scrubbing the dog. He shook, and she held up an arm and shut her eyes. Now the scent of vinegar filled her head.
“You okay?” Wyatt placed a hand on her arm.
“Yeah.” She blinked and nodded. “We got this.”
After another round of scrubbing with the dish detergent, Wyatt hosed down Goober and dropped his bone onto the grass next to the concrete. The dog shook again three more times, flopped to the ground, and laid his head on his paws. He had to be bushed.
Anne hoisted herself up on the open tailgate and let out a long breath. This might have been the craziest day of her life. Her arms ached, her butt was sore from sitting on the hard bed of the truck, and she had a bag full of squashed food and dirty plates still to clean.
Wyatt slowly approached, stopping in front of her at eye level. He rested his hands on the gate, one on each side of her. Raising his head, he hitched an eyebrow. “For the record, will you concede that Goober did in fact get into some trouble?”
She glanced down at her shirt because it killed her to admit he’d been right.
“Uh huh. Nothing to say?” He tapped her on the nose. “To quote my favorite movie line, ‘You can’t handle the truth.’”
She smiled and then tugged her blouse out for a closer look. Ha. All the dog washing had removed the watermelon stain. The insanity of the day bubbled up in her mind, and she couldn’t stop the eruption of laughter. A deep, belly-gut release that took her breath away.
“What’s so funny?”
“M-my shirt. It’s clean. We saved it.” She held her stomach and doubled over with laughter.
Wyatt’s chest rumbled, and he shook his head. “This day stank.”
She swiped the corners of her eyes. “I can’t breathe. Quit it. No jokes.”
“Okay, no more jokes.” He grabbed her hands, met her gaze, and blurted out, “Marry me?”
“Stop it. I said no more kidding.” She tried to pull her hands back, but he held them steady.
“I’m not kidding. I’ve been trying to ask you all day.”
Her heart somersaulted, and the little breath she had left caught in her throat. He couldn’t be serious.
“What?”
“This is nothing like I’d planned, but what the hell?” He glanced at her soaked shirt. “You’re drenched. You’re beat. You rode in the back of my truck holding my skunked dog, and you’ve never looked more beautiful to me.”
She cocked her head as blood pounded in her ears. “But—”
“I’m messing this up and doing it all backwards, because there are some things I need to tell you.” He brought her hand to his chest. “I’m turning down the USC job.”
“But what would you do then?”
He squeezed her fingers. “I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure, but I’ve been talking to University of Maryland, and they offered me an offensive coordinator job.”
Her pulse picked up its pace. “When did you talk to them?”
“This week. They aren’t as big as USC, but that doesn’t matter. Maryland has a great program. I really connected with the head coach, and he’s excited about bringing me onboard.”
A spark of hope ignited in her chest. “What about the Ravens? I mean, you’ll heal up. Don’t they still want you?”
He shook his head. “I’m done playing. The sport is brutal, and I don’t want to be so messed up that I can’t throw a pass to my kid someday.”
A shockwave rocked her body. His kid? “Wait, are you saying—”
“Until you, I never thought about having a family.” He placed a hand on her cheek, and his eyes turned soft. “But then something changed.”
His gentle touch sent shivers down her neck. “What?”
He stared at her, his eyes full of emotion. “I fell in love.”
Anne’s heart rolled, and her stomach did a free fall. He loved her? She’d hoped he would one day, but she never expected to hear the words so soon. Especially after all they’d been through. Then again, overcoming adversity had bonded them. Anyone could get through good times. The true test was when the road got rocky.
“In that alley, when I got knocked out, my last thought was I might never see you again.” His thumb stroked her chin. “When I came to, and no one could tell me if you were okay, I panicked. I couldn’t imagine my life without you.”
She knew the feeling. That night had been the longest in her life, being sick with worry over him. But she had no idea it had affected him so much. “I felt the same way.”
Stunned by his revelations, her brain fought to keep up. The job, the desire for a family, and he loved her. The enormity of it all had her head spinning. “These are a lot of big, life-changing decisions that you’ve come to kind of fast. Are you sure about them?”
“I know we haven’t been dating long, but I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.” He slowly dropped to one knee, not breaking eye contact, and pulled out a ring box from his pocket.
Everything surrounding Wyatt blurred as she gazed into his eyes, her pulse racing to the point of making her dizzy.
“I’ve lived in a fantasy world, experiencing everything on the surface, with nothing solid in my life. You’re my anchor. You’ve shown me what it means to be grounded and real. You make me…feel.” He patted his chest. “That picture of Maddie and Scott? I want that for us.”
Anne’s breath hitched, and tears misted her vision.
“When we first met, you told me you wanted to take things slow. There’s no rush, but I’m ready to commit.” Wyatt opened the box lid and held it out. “I’ve probably blindsided you, but I love you and want to know this is where we’re headed. Will you marry me?”
His eyes reflected pure love, and heat radiated from her heart. She gazed at the huge pear-shaped diamond, sparkling in the sunlight. They hadn’t talked about this. They hadn’t planned this. They hadn’t mapped out this future.
And for the first time, she didn’t care. She’d throw caution to the wind to be with him. Yes, she wanted this man in her life. He stumbled and bumbled through relationship stuff, but he never gave up. Always coming back to try again. For her.
She constantly sold herself short, thinking she wasn’t good enough. What she and Wyatt had was special. He accepted her for who she was and appreciated her, making no demands. That was love.
The box in Wyatt’s strong hand shook ever so slightly. “Anne?”
Too many thoughts whirled in her head, but she shoved them to the backseat. Not trusting her voice to speak, she nodded.
His eyes widened. “Yeah?”
“Yes. I love you.” She smiled through tears.
Letting out a huge breath, with a smile brighter than the sun, he drew the ring out from the box. She held up a trembling hand, and he slipped the ring on her finger. He tugged her down from the tailgate and wrapped his arms around her.
“I love you so much.” He stroked her back.
And at that moment, it didn’t matter that she was exhausted, wet, and emotionally drained. Everything in her world was right.
Their troubles had to be over.
Chapter 31
Sitting at the kitchen counter, Devon checked his emails. A message confirmed the purchase of the glass lamp he’d mentioned to Paul earlier. Paul had almost tripped him up at the antique shop. He’d thought Paul was asking him why he’d killed Lynn, not why he’d told her about the bet.
Crisis averted. He’d talked his way out of it as usual, and Paul was none the wiser. The guy still held a torch for th
at bitch back in college and had even gone to the reunion. Pitiful. It would be satisfying to rub another loss in his face. Always felt good to come out on top.
Devon frowned. Time to check his recordings. Anne and Pearson had gone on some hike, another cheapskate date. He pressed a button and listened to Anne on her phone excitedly telling Emily about Pearson’s proposal.
Proposal? A red haze clouded Devon’s vision, and he fisted his hands. He pounded one on the kitchen counter and knocked a bar stool to the ground.
Engaged? They’d fucking gotten engaged?
Devon clenched his jaw and stalked to the wet bar. He poured a drink, downed it, and refilled the tumbler. He’d never expected this and had no tip-off because Pearson hadn’t discussed it with anyone at his condo.
In two gulps, Devon finished the second drink and slammed the glass on the counter, cracking the thick glass of the tumbler. He paced the room, panting and fuming.
Why would the bitch have accepted the offer from a loser who couldn’t even hold his own in a fight? Didn’t make any sense. Devon had showed him up, big time. Even the press had heralded him as the new hero. He was the hands-down winner.
He’d gone out of his way to hit all of Anne’s hot spots. Good with children, wanted a family, charitable, and well respected in the community. She should be chasing him, not turning down offers for dinner with him and the superintendent.
Pearson still rode on the coat tails of his former fame, but Devon was rich, connected and powerful. A much better prospect. Anne wasn’t even worthy of him. Stupid, ignorant whore. He had a list a mile long of women who’d marry him in a heartbeat.
He would not lose another wager over one. No fucking way. The liquor burned in his belly, and his head throbbed. He knocked another chair to the ground, then took a deep breath.
Focus. This game wasn’t over. He paced again. Proving his superior strength and ability hadn’t impressed Anne enough. Devon needed to take Pearson out of the picture.
His fingers itched to do to Pearson what he’d done to Louie, that incompetent goon who’d messed up Anne’s face. After Devon had killed him, he’d ripped the earring out of the moron’s ear and added it to the memento collection in the secret room beneath the antique store. A reminder of what happened to people who crossed him. Pearson’s Super Bowl ring would be another trophy. No doubt, the conceited asswipe wore it all the time.
Devon rubbed a hand across his chin and narrowed his eyes. Much as he’d love to kill the meathead, it wouldn’t work. Anne would mourn the bastard, and time would run out. Devon needed to discredit Pearson in such a way that Anne would break the engagement.
The raging hot blood in Devon’s veins cooled as he conjured up a scenario. He twisted his lips as a plan formed. Yes. This would definitely break them up, and when her world came crashing down, guess who would conveniently be there to pick up the pieces?
Chapter 32
Paul tossed his coat onto the kitchen chair and grabbed a bottle of bourbon. Sipping merlot was more his style, but the last twenty-four hours had been pure insanity, and he needed something stronger. He poured a shot and knocked it back. His throat scorched, and sweat slicked his brow.
Lynn, dead.
Devon admitting he’d sabotaged Paul’s relationship with her.
The fatal fires.
He swiped a hand across his forehead and poured another shot. Crazy as it sounded, he had to find out if Devon might be responsible for them.
Paul’s wife entered the kitchen and stopped short. “Oh, you’re home earlier than I’d expected.”
He glanced up as her gaze went from his coat thrown on the chair to the shot glass.
“What’s going on?” she asked, alarm in her voice.
He’d never mentioned the reunion, blaming business meetings for an expected late night. Didn’t matter. All they talked about was the weather, news, and where to go to dinner next. He’d stepped into the Twilight Zone now. No way he’d discuss a possibly murdered past love and potentially psycho friend.
After gulping the bourbon, he plopped the shot glass down on the countertop. His lenses fogged as the liquor flushed his face.
“Paul? You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” His wife took a step closer.
She deserved an answer, but his muddled brain couldn’t give one. He had to get to his computer to find out more about the fires. “Nothing. I’m sorry…I need to look into something.”
He walked to the study and shut the door behind him. His ready-to-explode head rendered him incapable of niceties. Her footsteps approached the door, stopped for a second, then faded away down the hall.
Tapping the mouse to life, he sat at his computer and googled apartment fires in Virginia. When he typed in the year Lynn died, several articles popped up. His stomach in knots, he scanned the information from multiple newspapers.
The stories named three people, including Lynn, who were killed in the apartment fire, with several others treated for burns and smoke inhalation. The blaze, which had started around two a.m., originated on the first floor and rapidly spread.
Investigators found evidence of an accelerant used and ruled it arson. Paul’s heart seized, and his hands shook. So, it hadn’t been an accident. At the time, there were no known suspects, and a number was listed to call if anyone had information.
For the next hour, he read every article he could find on the fire, but none of them identified any suspects or arrests. He took off his glasses and sat back, rubbing his eyes. The bourbon rolled around in his stomach, threatening to come up. No motive was ever uncovered for the fire. He knew someone with a motive all right. Sure as hell not enough of one for any normal person, but an arsonist didn’t fall into that category.
He shuddered. Earlier, when he’d mentioned Lynn to Devon, his reaction had been barely controlled anger. Flared nostrils, narrowed eyes, and the way he’d turned his back, yanking out a file from the cabinet. Way over the top for a bet he’d lost back in college.
Paul tilted his head and squinted. He’d seen Devon angry several times throughout the years, but never sad, upset, or even happy for that matter. Sure, he gloated when he won a wager, or laughed at a joke, but that wasn’t the same as expressing feelings. Was he capable of having them? Paul shook his head, put his glasses back on, and started a new search.
He knew Devon had grown up in Finksburg, Alabama, and was twelve at the time of his family’s death. After doing some quick math to figure out the year, Paul found an article about the house fire. The piece stated that Devon’s parents and brother had died of smoke inhalation and severe burns. An investigation revealed gasoline had been dumped in the second story hall between the bedrooms to accelerate the fire. Owen Blackwood, an aspiring young athlete, had died trapped in his bedroom, unable to escape due to a tampered-with window.
Paul gasped. Tampered with? Someone wanted to make sure that kid didn’t survive. Devon had never mentioned anything about arson or his brother dying that way.
The back of Paul’s neck prickled. Just like with Lynn’s fire, no suspects or motives were ever discovered. He needed to find out more about Devon’s brother. A search on “Finksburg and Owen Blackwood” brought up some links.
Owen had been some sort of small-town hero athlete. Paul zoomed in on a picture of Devon’s parents next to a coach with Owen between them holding a huge trophy. Devon appeared in the far corner of the shot, almost out of the frame. His thin, pale body a huge contrast to the muscular build of his older brother. In the picture Devon’s mouth was pursed, his eyes squinted, and face contorted with what could only be contempt. Another motive?
This time the bourbon in Paul’s gut made its way partly up, choking him. Sweat poured down his back as his heart raced out of control.
Devon did it. Deep in every cell of his body, Paul knew it. Devon had murdered his family and Lynn. That’s why his eyes had flashed with alarm for the briefest second when Paul had asked him, “Why did you do it?” Devon thought Paul was asking why he’d killed Lyn
n, not why he’d told her about the wager. Now it all made sense.
The man was a total psychopath, incapable of feelings or remorse. Smart enough to create a persona beyond reproach—the philanthropist who cared about children and donated to the hospital. Only Paul knew his secrets now. How had he never seen the signs?
He ran a shaky hand through his balding hair. No point in calling the police without proof. And crimes committed so long ago would make that almost impossible to get. He had to approach it from another angle.
All the years he’d worked for Devon, Paul had always kept a blind eye to the goods imported and exported. Devon handled all of the shipments personally through his antique shop. With the amount of money he made, the stuff had to be illegal. He’d only let Paul deal with the financial end of the business. At the very least, he had proof that Devon was guilty of tax fraud.
Paul took a deep breath and slowly let it out. There had to be more crimes, and he’d make it his business to find them. Time to do some investigating.
Leaning over the desk, he turned off the light. Tears slid down his cheeks. His heart ached for Lynn. Had she been asleep when she died? Had the psycho done anything to hurt her before he set the fire?
Devon would pay. Paul would nail him even if it meant implicating himself. He’d do it for Lynn.
Chapter 33
Wyatt drove to work, still on a high since Anne had accepted his proposal last week. He’d sweated it out, and God knew the day hadn’t gone as planned, but in the end, the woman he loved now wore a diamond on her finger. He never thought any piece of jewelry could mean more than his Super Bowl ring. Wrong. So much had changed since he’d met her. She’d opened his eyes to what he’d been missing.
His phone rang with John’s ringtone. “What’s up?”
“Hey. It may be nothing, but we might have found one of the guys who attacked you and Anne.”
Love on the Line (Love Beyond Danger Book 3) Page 20
