"Gemma stop!" He yanks the truck into an empty parking lot and grabs my arm. "Stop."
I struggle against his hold. "Let me out. I have to go home."
"It's not safe. People are still after you."
"It's not safe in here!"
He swears under his breath and gently takes my shoulders, turning me to face him. His brows are pinched when he growls, "I couldn’t, Gemma. Not with you standing there. Not when I realized who he was to you."
My breath freezes in my lungs. "What?" I hate how breathy my voice is, and how my heart leaped at his words.
His thumb skims the skin beneath my lower lip. "Not after this."
Dallas releases me as if I burned him. "I'll take you somewhere safe. Then I'll finish this. You won't have to worry about looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life."
"Take me home."
"No."
"I need to check on my mother. What if someone goes after her too?"
Everything I do, I do for my family.
My father's words from earlier echo in my memory. A line he used over and over in his campaign like we were some all-American family. The postcard of happiness. My mother wasn't there tonight because she was home ill, like my dad told everyone. She checked herself into a mental health facility.
"I'll have someone check on her. Stay with her until?—"
"No." I unlock the door. My hand lingers on the handle. Then I shove it open and release my seatbelt. "I'm going home. I'll call the police and my father's security company."
"Goddamnit, Gemma. Stop."
I'm already out of his truck. I turn to shut the door, and the dome light illuminates his pained features. My heart clenches. But I'm not listening to it. "Thank you for saving me."
As I slam the door closed, I hear him say, "Dallas. I didn't lie about that."
I swallow around the hard lump in my throat and hurry across the street. There's a big hotel at the end of the block with a cab stand, and in minutes, I'm on my way home.
As the cabby nears my house in the Garden District, I turn to look out the back window. No one followed.
I'm not disappointed.
I can't be. That would be insane, right? No matter how he kissed.
The house is dark when we stop at the curb. Eerily dark.
"Are you sure this is the right place, ma'am?" the man asks.
Ice slides down my spine. Even when the family isn't home, Charles and Matilda are there. The caretakers have lived with us since before my real father died.
Maybe they went to a movie or dinner. Except I know that's not the case.
"Ma'am? That's $15.50."
I don't have any money on me. My clutch was left behind at the gala. I expected Charles to come out with his jovial smile and could pay the driver for me. "Can you wait? Just for a moment?"
He frowns at me but nods.
I step out of the car and look around. Lights glow in the mansions up and down the street. The neighbor's dog is barking, and someone's television is too loud. In the distance, I hear the cars on St. Charles. Nothing seems amiss.
