She wondered, for a moment, if he was right. Were the threats coming from the same person, as Virginia feared, who’d locked her in the sauna at the gym? That dizzy, spinning feeling as she realized she was trapped, and as the heat sucked her breath and her hope from her, was one she’d never forget.
Rossi glanced over at her, but his gaze was more analytical than casual. “Having second thoughts?”
“Of course not.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“I don’t talk to kidnappers.” She crossed her arms and slid down in the seat.
“Virginia’s right. That place you’re staying is too open. You need to move.”
“To a Virginia-approved apartment? What do you know about the place, anyway?”
“You don’t have an alarm system. You have that door off the hall, no proper lighting in the back. That backyard’s the size of a postage stamp. You go out there at all hours, water your plants, dressed in a hell of a lot less than anyone should wear outside. You leave the bathroom window open. The screen of the patio door in the bedroom has a hole in it. Anyone could just reach inside.”
She shivered as she heard her apartment and her habits so adroitly described.
“How long have you been spying on me?”
“It’s not spying. Virginia was paying me to keep an eye on you. That’s all I’ve been doing.”
“Without my knowledge.” Now she was doubly pissed. “Why couldn’t you have told me?”
She raised her voice, and he matched the tone. “Because you would have raised hell, okay? Get off my back.”
“You could have at least tried talking to me.”
“I did, remember? You told me to go to hell. You got yourself damn near killed in your gym, photographed wearing not much more than a towel, and now your mother gets a note all but threatening your life.”
She felt cold all over, reached to turn down the air conditioner.
“What can I do? She wants to pack me off to Europe again. That’s what she did when the shit hit the fan before. Do you know how lonely it is to be scuttling around Paris with a broken heart, scared to death, just so you can avoid the media?”
Some of the anger left his face, and he seemed to be thinking. Finally, he said, “No, I can’t imagine.”
Was that actually a note of concern in his voice? She looked out again. They must be getting close. The air smelled cleaner, the way it did when nearing the ocean. Her body ached from all of the hours she’d spent cramped in his truck.
“This time you might be risking a hell of a lot more than exposure to the media,” he said.
“Why me?” Remembering Paris, the sauna, the last miserable year, brought tears to her eyes. “It’s not fair, everything I’ve been through, and now, finally a chance at instauration.”
“At what?”
She recited from the word-of-the-day definition. Damn, she missed Marshall. Missing. Hating. They balled together in a tight knot in her stomach.
“Instauration,” she said. “A chance at something decent, and now it’s all starting up again. The talk shows won’t leave me alone, but all they want are the gory details.”And to look at my thighs,she thought.
“Do you have any idea who set you up at the gym like that?”
The question that had been driving her crazy. No answer made sense. “Rochelle, maybe. Maybe even her husband, Jesse.”
“What makes you think it’s one of them?”
“Jesse McArthur talked to Princess Gabby and me both, remember? He offered us representation if we’d step out of the running for the position. Besides, we’ve both had bad things happen to us, and nothing’s happened to Rochelle, not a frigging thing.”
She tried to wipe away her tears, but more took their place. So much pain inside of her; it would take years to cry it away.
Rossi drove with one hand, the other spread across the seat, the way farmers drove their pickups. This pickup he called Blackie was a farmer’s truck, if she ever saw one.
