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“Did you use it for drugs?”
“Why haven’t you left Carson?”
“How many people were hurt at Warning Sign’s show tonight?”
Chloe hunched her shoulders at the barrage of questions. She scanned for a hole in the wall of reporters. Snake’s case had been thrown out of court almost as fast as he’d started a petition. Watching him shut down after that had been hard enough, the fact that he’d died so soon after had nearly killed her.
She’d lived through the media frenzy for that as well. Suicide? Accident?
Baby on the way.
Now she was right back in the middle of it.
The first time had died down within a few days. Not this time. Everything seemed to have doubled since she’d married Michael Shawcross.
The sirens in the distance didn’t have any effect on the hoard of reporters circling her, or the fact that they were currently trampling Mr. Zulinski’s prized rose garden.
She made a circle, trying to find a way out. She could only imagine what she looked like under the harsh lights of a camera in the dead of night. The sprinklers at the show had ravaged her curls and makeup, and sweating in that tiny venue had done the rest.
Oh, and the absolute lack of sleep from tossing and turning after having sex with Michael.
Yeah, she couldn’t forget about that part.
She probably looked like a bedraggled and cliched single mom from the projects right about now. And only her backbone with a truckload of pride kept her on her feet instead of curled up in a fetal position.
The questions kept coming, but now it was just a confusing jumble of words.
Finally, her name came from the distance. Her father on the front porch of their little duplex holding his shotgun.
Three cruisers, full lights blazing—no sirens by some miracle—put what was left of her neighborhood on alert. Porch lights flickered on, and people came out of their houses in their robes.
All of the curious there to see just how incredibly awful her life had become.
Awesome. She was officially an episode of Cops.
Mr. Zulinski’s lights were blazing in the house and two of the police officers went up to his door. Chloe was left with the rest to disperse the reporters. Her saving grace had been the invasion of private property. They were no longer on the city street across from her house.
In fact, there was probably going to be a bit of destruction of private property if she didn’t miss her guess.
“Miss Adams?”
She raised her hand. “Here.”
“Ma’am, I need you to come with me.” Two female cops pushed through the crush of people, hands on their batons.
“Gladly.” But instead of helping her make a path, one of the cops clamped a hand on her upper arm. “Hey. I’m the one being harassed here.”
“You’re actually the one that is trespassing. The homeowner would like you charged.”
“What?!” She twisted. “What about the twenty reporters that cornered me?”
“We’ll be dealing with that as well. For now we’d like to take a statement.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Seriously. What the hell was she supposed to do now?
“If you could just come with me ma’am.”
“Are you arresting me? I have a child. I can’t be arrested.”
