“Em,” said Michael. “Don’t.”
She didn’t listen. She plowed inside the house, Michael and Nick on her heels. Sure enough, the brick still lay on the floor. Ripped paper clung to the missile, fastened by a couple of lengths of twine. It had been wrapped up like a malicious present. Against the white paper, the red lettering blared.
Whore.
She couldn’t bear to look at it. She raced back outside toward the driveway, gulping fresh air in an attempt to lighten the tightness in her chest. However, as soon as she thought about all the work that had been done on the house, her grandmother’s home, her hands began to shake with anger. So much money, so much pride, and lots of energy spent by theHandymencrew. Now she’d have to deal with police reports and insurance claims on top of everything else.
Michael and Nick followed her out. Michael touched her shoulder.
“Why would anyone do this?Whowould do this?”
“Do you really need to ask?” He turned to Nick. “Did anyone see anything? Where the hell is Blake?”
Lacey walked over. “Blake arrived right after we did. He called it in to the police. He’s just finishing up with them on the phone.” She called out to the assembled members of the team. “The police will want to have a look inside. Everyone, grab a coffee. We might be waiting a while.”
As they dispersed, Emily touched her forehead. It was clammy. Not good. As if in agreement, her stomach lurched.
Michael put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, shielding her from the sight of the window. He hugged her tight, his breath coming hard. “I’ll kill him.”
She extricated herself from his grip. “Surely you don’t think Trent…?”
“Em, come on. Who else?”
She wanted to give him alternatives but couldn’t think of any.
Their security guard Blake appeared from around the corner, cellphone against his ear. He waved at Michael, a signal to join him.
“The police need to know about your situation with Trent,” said Michael. “If you won’t tell them, I will.” He stormed off to talk to the security guard.
Emily couldn’t move, couldn’t think. The idea the man she used to love might stoop so low almost knocked the wind out of her. Never mind Michael killing him, she suspected Chris would want a go as well. She could almost see the two of them, wielding pitchforks, at the head of a mob of angry villagers.
No. She couldn’t attribute this level of malice to her ex-fiancé. They’d had their issues but Trent would never call her a whore. He might be an idiot and a narcissist but he wasn’t a gangster.
Eli appeared at her side. “Take a load off, Em. Why don’t you wait in the truck where you can sit down?”
What he really meant was she should sit where she didn’t have to stare at the window. She didn’t argue and let herself be led back down the driveway. As they passed Lacey on the driveway, Emily heard the director mutter to one of the crew.
“It’s been nothing but drama with this shoot. Disappearing fiancés, a romp with the leading man, and now this. Talk about playing havoc with my schedule. Our DIY show has become a bloody soap opera.” She shot off a mean-spirited look at Emily and marched down the sidewalk, cigarette dangling from her red-tipped fingers.
Whore. The word burned in Emily’s side like a brand. She could almost smell the burned flesh. Or was that the stench of her violation? Her stomach churned but not with hunger pangs. When she swallowed, her saliva tasted of acid.
“Don’t listen to her, Em,” cautioned Eli. “She’s the biggest drama queen of them all.”
Revulsion, pure and insidious, wormed its way up from Emily’s core, burning her throat. She tried to swallow the bile but it wouldn’t be contained. She raced to the edge of the driveway, hurled herself over one of Eli’s new shrubs, and vomited.
Not Trent. Anyone but him.
As her shame spewed forth in hot, greasy chunks, she heard the sound of heavy boots pounding the pavement. Two large hands appeared on her shoulders, massaging her trembling frame. “I’m right here, Dimples. Right here.”
She spat the remains of her breakfast, grimacing and gagging. Michael helped her stand straight.
One of the makeup ladies brought over a wet cloth. “Here you go, honey. The police will catch him, you’ll see. What was that about the fury of a woman scorned? If you ask me, men are the loose cannons.”
Everyone thought Trent did this.
Michael took the cloth and wiped her face, cradling her cheeks with such gentleness. “After we speak to the police, I’m taking you home and I’m going to run you a hot bath.”
“No. You heard Lacey. We’re already behind schedule.”
