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She lowered her voice and hunched her shoulders. “Raine, seriously, what the hell is going on? And don’t say ‘nothing.’” She chanced a look at Rebecca once more and winced at the venomous glee that was in the woman’s eyes as she continued to stare.
“Maggie, I’m almost there. Can you please just drop whatever you have and meet me out front?”
Rebecca had a magazine clutched between her fingers, and her friend grabbed it from her and opened it wide. The cover was bright crimson, the headline bold black and white.
She read it clearly from where she stood: “Natasha Simmons’s Ex-husband and Mystery Woman Get Hot and Heavy.”
The blood drained from her face. Oh God.
“Maggie, are you there?”
“I…” She couldn’t speak. It felt like a box of cotton balls was stuffed down her throat.
“Maggie, you’re not near the cash registers, are you?” Panic filled Raine’s voice, but Maggie wasn’t listening. She pushed her cart to the side, abandoned it, and walked toward the front of the store, her cell phone still held against her ear. People moved out of her way. Some stared. Some didn’t. Some opened their mouths to speak and then closed them rapidly when they got a good look at her.
Did she look psycho? Deranged? Unhinged?
She reached the magazine section and nearly lost her lunch. Hollywood Scene stared back at her, the bold headline big enough for a person half-blind to see. The cover sported a picture of Maggie and Cain, bodies close as they danced together at the Coach House. Her face was upturned, mouth open for his kiss. His hands were in her hair and on her face, and he held her as if she belonged to him.
It spoke volumes.
She nearly dropped her cell and heard Raine’s frantic voice as she tossed it into her purse.
Maggie grabbed the magazine and made her way over to the self-serve register. After scanning the item, she paid for it and, ignoring the whispers and eyes that followed her, walked through the exit to head blindly into the parking lot.
She didn’t stop walking until she crossed the length of it and stood beneath the shade of an oak that bordered Main Street. There was a bench a few feet away, and she sank onto it, the magazine between her fingers as she fought to keep her nausea at bay.
Carefully she opened it and flipped through the pages rapidly until she came to the center spread.
Her breath hitched. She choked. It was so much worse than she’d even thought possible.
There were several photos, ranging from candid beach shots to a few more of them dancing together inside the Coach House. But the largest photo drew her eyes—hell, there was no way to ignore it. The text beneath it was salacious and made her sick.
Natasha Simmons’s newly divorced ex, rocker Cain Black, has been hiding out in his hometown of Crystal Lake, Michigan, since his tour ended abruptly last month when Black punched bandmate Blake Hartley onstage in Barcelona. Cain Black returned home to attend the funeral of an old schoolmate, a soldier who was killed in Afghanistan. He’s said to be devastated. Looks to us like Mr. Black’s new girl toy has done a lot to ease his broken heart. Wonder what his ex, Natasha Simmons, thinks of this mystery lady? Wonder what his girl toy thinks of the fact Simmons has expressed interest in reconnecting with her husband, claiming “he’s the man for me. He just doesn’t know it yet. He’ll figure it out and come back.”
She clutched the magazine tightly and stared at the photo. It was an intimate shot. Cain was shirtless, his back to the camera as he looked up at her. His face was in profile, and it was obvious that it was him. She was in her skimpy black bra, her hands on his shoulders as she gazed down at him.
Her hair hung loose, and the expression on her face was one of longing, anticipation, and lust.
Two things were very clear. First off, she was identifiable. No question there. And secondly, the picture had been taken from her backyard, with a lens pointing in toward her bedroom.
Heat flushed her cheeks, and she bit her lip. She remembered that night. She knew exactly what had happened after the picture was taken. The ick factor alone—that someone had taken photos without her knowledge—was enough to make her sick, but the thought that they’d spied and seen things… Seen her and Cain together? She couldn’t comprehend that.
Maggie closed her eyes as she tried to calm her nerves and the fear that was growing inside her. Hollywood Scene was a major trash magazine and was in every grocery store from coast to coast.
Oh God, they have a show…a half-hour recap on television every night at six.
Maggie stood, dropped her purse in her haste, and scooped it up quickly, throwing the magazine inside as she glanced down the street. Bus stop. She needed to get to the bus stop. She had to get home so that she could think.
So that she could plan.
There was no question that Michael’s father, Dante, would see the pictures. The only question was, how much time did she have before he came after her? Days? Weeks? Or was it already too late?
The fear she felt for Michael was paralyzing. She let it claim her soul, but only for a moment. She needed to remember what it felt like. She’d become too soft, too complacent. She needed to feed from that fear.
Maggie wiped away the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes and walked rapidly toward the bus stop. She checked her emotions and froze them in place, her body going into battle mode in much the same way it had when she fled Savannah a year earlier.
Minutes later she hopped the bus, kept her head low, and sank into the seat just behind the driver. They pulled away from the curb as her cell phone chimed once more. She grabbed it and saw Cain’s number, and her heart shifted, the pain so intense, a whimper escaped from her lips. Everything had changed in less time than it took to wash her kitchen floor.
