came upon her. So angry she could hardly keep her fists still at her sides, she gritted out, “How long did it take you to perfect that injured innocent routine? Are you practicing it to deliver it to a jury?”
His wide blue eyes gazed at her, injured. “Willa, I would never lay a finger on you. Why would you make up such a horrible lie? What did I ever do to you? I only asked you out in the first place as a favor to your father. I wasn’t interested in you in that way at all. Why in the world would you go to the police with a cockamamie tale that no one believes? Are you that desperate for attention? Maybe you should talk to someone, honey. A counselor or something.”
The bright lights of a television camera crew were closing in on the two of them, and she had time only to grind out, “You and I both know what happened, and you know I’m telling the truth.”
He had the nerve to look at her in what could only be described as utter bewilderment. If she didn’t have firsthand memory of his attack, she might wonder herself if she hadn’t lost her mind.
So that was how it was going to be, huh? She saw now exactly what his defense in front of a jury was going to be. He was going to paste on that wounded look and swear on a stack of bibles that he’d never touched her. Cold dread settled over her. He might just get away with it, too. His act really was convincing.
No surprise, Paula Craddock was the reporter in front of the camera when it pulled up beside the two of them. The woman looked back and forth at Willa and James Ward as eagerly as a dog begging for a bone. “Well, what have we here?” she drawled. “Lover’s spat, perhaps?”
James took the initiative, turning those innocent blue eyes of his to the camera. “We were never lovers. I categorically deny ever laying a hand on this woman, let alone doing any of the things she has accused me of. My momma and daddy raised me never, ever to harm a woman.”
“So, you’re calling Miss Merris a liar?” Paula purred.
“As sad as it makes me to say it,” James answered soberly, “I am.”
The fist that shot out of the darkness beyond the camera’s blinding light connected with Ward’s jaw solidly, snapping his head back and laying the guy out flat on the floor. The camera light wobbled and then fell to the floor as something or someone jostled the cameraman in the eruption of chaos to follow. The camera light went off. Paula Craddock added to the chaos by yelling at her cameraman to get the damned film rolling because he was missing all the good stuff.
As the spotlight went dark, Willa abruptly was able to see Ward’s attacker. Gabe Dawson stood there, flexing his right hand as he glared down at Ward on the floor. James struggled up to an elbow, and Gabe snarled, “Stay down unless you want me to break your jaw next time.”
Ward subsided.
Willa’s bodyguards muscled through the mob to her then, and just as she made eye contact with Gabe, her mouth opening to thank him for defending her honor like that, the two bodyguards each grabbed one of her elbows and practically lifted her off her feet. They hauled her out of the room at a near run and didn’t stop until they’d rushed her through the hotel kitchen, out the loading dock and into the SUV, which promptly sped away from the hotel.
She didn’t even get a chance to speak to Gabe, darn it. If only she’d known he would be here. Maybe she could have found him and apologized for overreacting yesterday. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised that he had backed her father’s opponent in the election.
Chagrin rolled through her that he had come to her rescue, even after she’d shunned him and acted like a jealous, immature idiot.
The SUV had made it about halfway back to Vengeance when she couldn’t stand it any longer. She leaned forward and said to the driver, “Could you take me back to Dallas?”
“Back to the fund-raiser?” the guy exclaimed. “I can’t recommend that, ma’am. The press will tear you up.”
“Not back to the fund-raiser. To a private residence. A penthouse with crazy security.”
If the driver knew who lived at the address she gave him, he made