The Wedding Dress (43 page)

Feeny glanced down at some notes. “I have it on good authority that your stepfather took a baseball bat to a red Porsche. Do you have any comment on that?”

“I hate to disappoint you, Mr. Feeny, but if you check insurance records, you’ll find that the authorities never found the vandals. It was a random act. Perhaps we should get back to the cause we’ve gathered tonight to champion.”

But Feeny wouldn’t be shaken.

“I’ve been able to confirm that a Dr. Adam Farrington, the owner of said car, had just closed a deal to buy the local medical practice before the incident occurred,” Feeny claimed.

He approached the podium where he’d be able to see her every reaction. A fiendish imitation of the hide-the-thimble game Aunt Finn had used to keep the twins busy inside on rainy days: You’re getting hotter, you’re getting colder. Right now, Feeny was burning up. And more terrifying still, he knew it.

“Dr. Farrington announced his impending return to his hometown at the reunion. Do you have anything to say about that?”

Emma blinked, doing her best “innocent and confused.” “I can’t imagine why I would.”

Feeny regarded her with laser-beam eyes. “Sources say that people saw one Jake Stone leave the auditorium a few minutes before your boyfriend told Dr. Farrington of the vandalism.”

“Again, I’m in the dark here,” Emma said. “But Jake was a private investigator at the time. It’s only natural that he would look into any trouble that arose.”

“He has a notoriously quick trigger finger. Jake Stone. Lost his police badge for killing an unarmed suspect, didn’t he, Emma?”

Jake. So brave. So honorable. So strong. A real-life hero who’d loved her mother back to life. Emma wanted to scream at Feeny, rage. She wanted Jared’s hand to hold on to, anchoring her in this storm. Instead she drew herself up stiffly.

“Even good men make mistakes. Jake regrets his. He’s paid for it the best way he knows how, by living a life any man could be proud of.”

“A baseball bat from the gym was found the next day in the bushes near the car. How do you explain the fact that Farrington didn’t want to pursue the matter, even though the possibility of fingerprints—”

She thought she glimpsed Jared in the crowd, tall, powerful, edging toward her. “If Dr. Farrington didn’t consider the incident important enough to worry about, I can’t imagine why you would. As a doctor, he knows malpractice suits have swelled insurance costs until it’s almost impossible to practice medicine. If he chose to absorb the cost himself, more power to him.”

“Chose?” Feeny queried incisively. “Or was blackmailed into it?”

Fury jolted Emma, the people she loved threatened. “Even if what you’re hinting at is true and this man is my father, the possibility that he and my mother got carried away in a car when they were teenagers is hardly a cause for blackmail. I’d tread carefully if I were you, Mr. Feeny. A libel suit could tie you up in court for a very long time. And I would happily spend every penny I earn to see you silenced if you try to hurt the people I love.”

“A libel suit would be impossible to file in this case, I’m afraid. You see, I have a source willing to go on record. Overheard quite a conversation in a…” He checked his notes. “Trailer that serves as Dr. Butler’s office.”

Lady Maria Clark, chairman of Baby Steps in England, swept up to the podium in a whirl of indignation and pearls. “It is hardly suitable to be harassing our guest of honor,” she said icily.

But Feeny cut in. “You’d spent the night at a local pub and had too much to drink. Do you have anything to say about that, Emma?”

The other reporters scented blood in the water. Emma could see their eager, burning eyes. Panic, ice-cold, sucked her under.

Feeny knew it all. Knew about the rape. Knew about Davey’s father…a mass murderer so vile no one in England could ever forget….

Emma didn’t stagger, struggled not to shatter.

“During the time of this conversation you were speaking to one David Harrison, a student who has quite an intriguing line of parentage himself, telling him how your father raped your mother.”

“Mr. Feeny,” Emma said, her voice a hollow roaring in her ears, “perhaps we could finish this in private?”

At that instant Jared surged through the crowd, taking the microphone from her hand. “Ms. McDaniel has no more to say at this time.”

Emma almost sagged in relief as Jared curved his arm around her, guiding her toward the door, his massive shoulders keeping people away.

The horrified hostess apologized as she tried to facilitate their retreat. A cacophony of voices erupted around them, people shouting, people shoving, trying to get near Emma. But Jared held her tight, navigating her toward the private sitting room set aside for her use.

“W-wait,” Emma said as he swung open the door. “I have to meet with Feeny.”

“Talk in private with that scheming bastard? Are you mad?”

She pulled out of Jared’s arms, glared up at him, more desperate than she’d ever felt in her life. “You think I don’t want to run?” she cried. “But I can’t. Did you hear what he said?”

“He can go to hell!”

“I have to do damage control. Maybe I can keep the focus on—on me. At least shield Davey and maybe dodge the question of the rape. If I bolt, Feeny is in charge of the story. He’ll make it as horrific as possible. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not! I—”

“You can’t stuff a secret back inside a bottle. Not once you’ve been fool enough to let it out. I have to do the best I can to shield the people I love.”

Jared shot her his warrior’s glare. “I’m staying with you.”

“I want you to. Just—just don’t make it worse. He’ll be trying to get a reaction out of you. Please, Jared. Help me. I need you.”

A few moments later, a discreet knock sounded at the door. The badly shaken hostess of the dinner ushered Feeny into the room.

“Ms. McDaniel,” she stammered, “I’m so very sorry.”

“None of this is your fault,” Emma said quietly. “Now, if you would be so good as to leave us alone?”

The woman bowed out of the room, looking painfully relieved to be escaping the scene to come, while Feeny swaggered toward Emma, the journalist gloating with triumph, the tape recorder whirring in his hand.

“You can’t use any of this information,” Jared growled at the man. “You were trespassing on site property. Emma had expectation of privacy.”

“Nice try, Doc. You might even have a case if I was the one who heard the conversation. But I didn’t. One of your students did.”

Jared swore. “Who the hell was it?”

“I can’t tell you. A journalist is honor-bound to protect his sources.” Feeny shrugged. “The student had every right to be at the dig site and reported the door to Dr. Butler’s office was wide open. Hardly expectation of privacy.”

Emma fought to drag air into her lungs, afraid she was going to pass out. She reached deep for inner strength she feared might fail her, managed to raise her chin.

“There are some points I’d like to clear up for the story tomorrow,” Feeny said. “Can you give me some details, Emma? Was your mother injured in the rape?”

“She put it behind her years ago. I’m begging you, Feeny. Don’t print this. You’ve got a big enough story, unearthing my father’s identity after all this time. I’ll give you an exclusive. Answer whatever you want if you’ll just keep the rape out of the story. Stay focused on me.”

“The focus
is
on you,” Feeny said. “Anything the public can get their hands on about the rich and famous Emma McDaniel. You should know that by now.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s right. Have a little human decency. I’ve got a little sister. You’ll turn her life into a living hell.”

“A necessary risk of a free press. Unless you believe in censorship.”

“You arrogant bastard—” Jared grabbed the tape recorder out of Feeny’s hand, smashed it beneath his heel. “If you think I’ll stand by and let you—”

“You just made this an even better story. Exactly who are you trying to protect, Dr. Butler?”

Jared shoved his way between them. “Get the hell away from her!”

“Have it your way, then, Dr. Butler. I’ve got a few questions for you as well. Records reveal this boy you’ve been mentoring—this David Harrison—he spent some time in a mental hospital. Were you aware of that?”

Jared swore, murder in his eyes.

“Suicide attempt,” Feeny pressed. “Nasty business, that.”

“Leave Davey out of this!” Emma cried. “I’m begging you. He’s just some poor kid who had the rotten luck to know me.”

“That’s not quite the whole story, is it Emma? The kid is the son of the Fulsom Street murderer. But you tried to save him by baring all your own wounds. The public will eat it up.”

Bile rose in Emma’s throat. “Please, Feeny. I’ll pay whatever you’d get for the story. If you’ll just keep it out of the press…”

“But that would be extortion. Even we reporters have lines we won’t cross. Unlike David Harrison’s father. Quite a burden the lad carries, doesn’t he? His mother’s face slashed by a broken bottle when the boy’s father went on a rampage? Eight people crushed to death on the pavement. David’s father yelling out in court that his son would grow to be just like him. Dr. Butler, would you care to comment on that? Have you noticed any tendencies toward violence in the boy?”

Jared cocked back his fist, but Emma grabbed his arm, held on with all her might.

Feeny didn’t flinch. “Hit me, Dr. Butler. A few bruises on my face will make the story sell for that much more.”

“He’s right, Jared,” Emma said in utter defeat. “There’s nothing we can do. Nothing we can say. No way to stop it.”

Jared whipped around to glare at her, argue. But what could he say? Emma felt the truth slice through him. The horror. The futility of fighting. This man who’d battled Davey’s demons, thought he’d destroyed them, watching them spring back to life like a mythical army from dragon’s teeth. A foe not even the knight of the sea could keep from devouring the boy he loved, stripping Davey’s worst fears naked before the world.

And why? Because of Emma. Because Jared had been reckless enough to love her and Davey had been naive enough to trust her. Like her mother had the day she’d told Emma about the rape.

“We’re getting out of here,” Jared growled. He grabbed Emma, swept her past the gloating Feeny and out of the room, then down some back stairs to the car that had been waiting since the end of the program.

“Floor it,” Jared ordered the chauffer. With a dismayed look at Emma’s stricken face, the man peeled away from the curb, obviously sensing the urgency of the situation. Jared glanced back through the tinted rear window, saw the reporters scrambling for cabs and cars of their own to chase after them.

“Turn right,” Jared ordered, and the driver complied, the tires screeching in protest. “Now left.” The instant Jared was sure they were out of sight, he ordered the driver to stop. Jared flung the door open before the vehicle had slammed to a complete halt. Jared helped Emma out, then turned to the driver. “Keep driving north,” he instructed the guy. “Lure them the hell away from her.”

“Right, sir.”

He hustled Emma into the aperture between two buildings, hiding them as other cars began to squeal down the street in search. Fearing someone might glimpse her pale skin or the blue of her dress, Jared sheltered her from view with his big body as he moved her deeper into the shadows.

His blood boiled with the lust to kill any reporter who dared come near her or was coldhearted enough to print anything about Davey. But what the hell could he do? Emma was right. Nothing on God’s earth could stop the story from breaking now.

He curved his arm around Emma, hurrying her toward the sliver of street light on the opposite side of the building, hoping when they emerged they would be far from the hunting reporters.

But before he could test his theory, she stumbled. Her knees struck the concrete with a force that must have scoured the skin off of them, the blue gown pooling on the filthy ground around her. Horrible sounds rose from her throat as she braced herself on hands and knees, shaking so violently it terrified him. He knelt down beside her and caught her hair back, murmuring futile words of comfort to her as she retched. Exhausted at last, she leaned against him, shattered, her face damp with cold sweat as he gently wiped her mouth with the handkerchief from his tuxedo pocket.

“Oh, my God, Jared…” she choked out, searing him with anguished eyes. “What are we going to do?”

He swathed Emma in his jacket, trying to warm her. “I’m going to find whoever contacted Feeny from the site. Then I’m going to throw them off Craigmorrigan land bodily.”

“But it won’t matter,” Emma mourned, clinging to the front of his shirt with one clenched hand. “It’s too late. By tomorrow it will be all over the news. We’ve got to get to Davey before the story breaks. The press will be all over the site. I’m sorry! So sorry.”

But sorry didn’t matter, Emma thought in despair. Tomorrow her mother’s rape would be front-page news, Davey’s past exposed to the whole world. Her head filled with images—Davey’s scarred wrists, Jared’s knife wound, still healing. Her mother, trying desperately to explain the unthinkable to innocent little Hope before the jeering began, the kids in her classroom teasing, the grown-ups in Whitewater gossiping.

Emma had betrayed them all, even if she had told Davey the tale for only the right reasons. She’d wanted to heal the boy, soothe his fears, his feeling that he was the only one who knew that kind of pain. But she’d ended up wounding him far deeper than his brutal father ever had.

She shuddered, even Jared’s arms small comfort as Davey’s anguished words echoed in her mind.
I’d rather die than have anyone else know what kind of man my father was.

I’d rather die….

Jared sneaked them into the back entrance of the hotel, then up to their room. He helped her shed the designer gown, abandoned it and his tuxedo jacket on the floor. She dragged on black leggings, Jared tossing her his blue sweater before he tugged on his leather jacket, the nondescript clothes disguising them at least a little. Taking nothing but his car keys and her giant black carry-on bag, they climbed down the stairs to the parking garage in an effort to avoid being sighted. Jared Butler with his honor and his in-your-face ways hiding, sneaking, slinking away from the ugly glare focused on her.