an update at the end of Michael’s show. There were still a bunch of vans waiting outside.
Why the hell was she so popular?
Because your husband was boning a senator’s fiancée. She was paying a stupidity tax for every move she made these days. She crossed the road, then cut through her neighbor’s yard and through the gap in the chainlink fence.
A rustle in the bushes pushed her into a sprint. She really didn’t want to have it out with Daryl—the neighborhood mutt. He was part bulldog, part retriever, all interested in eating shoes.
She got to the top of the lawn and a spotlight blinded her.
“Oh, crap.” Chloe raised a hand against the light. Four more camera lamps zeroed in on her in the middle of Mr. Zulinski’s lawn. Double crap. Couldn’t be her neighbor on the other side. Nope had to be her landlord’s cranky uncle.
She stumbled back, tripping over the edgers along her neighbor’s garden.
“How’s it feel to be married to a home wrecker?”
“Did you have a quickie wedding because you’re pregnant?”
“Is your son Michael’s love child?”
“How long have you known Michael Shawcross?”
“Are you getting an annulment?”
“Are you divorcing him? Is there a prenup?”
“Did you marry him for his millions?”
Chloe pushed her way out of the circle of vultures known loosely as reporters. Another pack of them were trampling through the yard. “This is private property,” she said as loudly as she could.
And shocker of all shockers, she was resolutely ignored.
“Are you still sleeping with Nick Crandall from Oblivion too?”
Her heart stopped at that question. As did her forward momentum. Which only prompted them go at her harder with questions. They definitely smelled chum in the water.
“Keeping it all in the family? You moved onto his wife’s stepson?” The voice was shrill and female.
She whirled around at that question. “You people should be ashamed of yourselves.”
“We’d love to hear your side of things.”
“So you can twist it? I’ve been there before thanks.”As soon as she said it, Chloe wished she could snatch it back.
“Did you receive a settlement from Oblivion? Are you still fighting for it?”
“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