“I was trying to catch butterflies,” she choked.
Vanessa understood what had happened.She’d stepped on a bee and dropped the jar.The sound of breaking glass, along with Emily’s screams, had triggered an intense reaction in Paul.He’d rushed to save her from an imagined threat.
Vanessa washed Emily’s foot and applied a soothing paste of baking soda and calamine lotion.Emily’s tears dried up after Vanessa gave her an ice pack and put on a movie.Vanessa monitored her for anaphylaxis, because she’d never been stung before.When no symptoms presented, Vanessa kissed her daughter on the temple and rose from the couch.She went outside to pick up the broken glass, which had stayed in large pieces.Then she returned to the cabin and stared out the window, frowning.
Paul’s reaction to the bee sting didn’t surprise her.He’d admitted to being on edge.He was recovering from a gunshot wound.He’d exhibited signs of post-traumatic stress on multiple occasions.The other day, when Emily had claimed she’d seen a snake, he’d freaked out.This time was worse, because she’d been in real danger from the broken glass.Paul’s quick response had prevented a catastrophe.
Vanessa was more concerned about the way he’d been acting before the chaos erupted.He’d been prickly, which she recognized was a defense mechanism, an attempt to create emotional distance between them.
It was odd for him to revert to this standoffish behavior now.Over the past few days, they’d been inseparable.He’d told her he didn’t want a relationship, but they’d spent every evening cuddling like a real couple.He’d told her he didn’t want a kid hanging out in his construction site, and then he’d built a lemonade stand for Emily.
None of this made sense.
She massaged her forehead, which had started to ache.She hadn’t wanted to confront her feelings about him, or to examine the incongruities between his words and his actions.She’d just wanted a good time in bed, damn it.He’d ruined that by beingnice.
Not too nice—he was still guarded, reluctant to share information.Her stomach dropped as she remembered what her father had said about him.
Jackson thinks he’s a cop.
She’d disregarded this suspicion without giving it much thought.He’d relayed Jackson’s hunch for a reason, probably because he agreed with it.She didn’t trust her father’s instincts, though they’d proven to be annoyingly accurate.Maybe she didn’t want to examine the possibility that Paul was not the man he claimed to be.
But what had he claimed, really?He’d told her very little about himself.He’d grown up on a cattle ranch.His parents had died in a tragic accident.He’d worked for his brother’s security company, which had been sold a year ago.What had Paul done since then?He’d been shot, and witnessed a death.
She whirled away from the window and went to her laptop.She entered Kyle McPherson Houston PD in the search bar.She confirmed that Paul’s brother was, in fact, a cop.When she searched for Paul Murphy, she found three different candidates in Texas, none of whom bore the slightest resemblance to the man she knew.She tried a combination of terms until she came across an obituary for Molly and Tim McPherson, who had died in a car accident five years ago.They were survived by sons Kyle and Paul.
Delving deeper, Vanessa discovered a press release about McPherson Security, which included a photo of“Kyle and Paul McPherson.”They both looked young and vibrant and alarmingly handsome.
With shaking hands, she entered“Paul McPherson”in the search bar.The first hit was a page for Houston P.D.Paul McPherson was listed as a member of a special task force, under a blank space that read“photo unavailable.”
“Son of a bitch,” she said, gaping at the screen.
Hewasa cop—and a goddamned liar.
“What is it, Mommy?”Emily asked from the couch.
Vanessa slammed the laptop shut.“It’s nothing,” she said.“Watch your movie and don’t move an inch.I’m going next door.”
Emily put two fingers in her mouth and nodded.
Vanessa stormed into the neighboring cabin, her pulse pounding with trepidation.Paul was inside with a duffel bag at his feet.He had a lockbox in his hands.While she watched, incredulously, he shoved the box into the bag.
“Is that your service weapon?”she asked.
He zipped up the bag and rose to a standing position.
“When were you going to tell me?”
“How’s Emily?”he asked.
“She’s fine.You’re about to die, though.”
His mouth formed a sardonic twist.But when his gaze met hers, it was steady.“What do you want to know?”
“Let me see,” she said, counting on her fingers.“Your real name, your actual profession, and your reason for being here?”
“My real name is Paul.”
“It’s not PaulMurphy.”
