question isn’t so much who he is but who called him out here.”
“Paparazzi?” Belle asked in a small voice, sounding shaken by the lightning-fast change from passion to violence. God, Mitch thought, if the guy had shown up ten minutes later, his shots would have been X-rated.
Obviously thinking the same thing, Belle took a deep breath and seemed to be fighting the need to cry. She gave Mitch a watery smile. “At least he didn’t get any incriminating shots, right?”
Mitch frowned, but before he could reply, his cousin stepped between them.
“What if it had been someone else? This is exactly what you’re promising your guests they’ll be protected from, isn’t it?” Reece stepped close and dangled the broken camera pieces from his index finger. “This could have been any one of our family members. While I’m sure cousin Jenny’s lakeside frolics wouldn’t make headlines like some movie star’s, it’d be pure misery for her to see them splashed across a gossip rag.”
“This is what security was supposed to prevent,” Belle snapped. “All those meetings, all our discussions. Confidentiality agreements, key codes, alarms. And yet this dirtbag still managed to get in here? This entire plan hinged on the guarantee of privacy. What the hell happened?”
“Someone tipped him off,” Mitch accused. Fury blurred his vision at the betrayal. He stepped forward and grabbed the guy’s collar.
“Who the hell hired you?” he growled.
The guy muttered through swollen lips, “The party gal.”
Shocked, Mitch almost dropped him. “Belle?”
“Don’t know her name. Just had the phone call that this was some big fancy A-lister gig with a lot of money shots. Sex, partying. I was told to come on out. She put my name on the guest list, texted me to tell me where to hide.”
No. Mitch reeled at the words. Reece grabbed the guy from his slack hands and wheeled him around.
“Bullshit,” Reece claimed. “You’re saying Belle Forsham hired you? Tipped you off? What?”
“Don’t know her name. Just that she’s the gal in charge of the party,” the guy snapped defiantly. “We talked by phone, email. I never saw her before.”
“He’s lying,” Belle called out. Horror filled her voice, tears glistening on her cheeks.
“Why would he lie?” Reece wondered aloud.
“I don’t know,” Belle cried. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“I don’t think we need to ask anyone except you, Ms. Forsham.” Reece’s words were quiet, bland. But his accusation hung in the air.
“Me? Why the hell would I do this?” Anger snapped in her eyes.
“You could be working to discredit the resort,” Reece said in his slow drawl. “Your dad’s hurting, needs money. You might have thought putting Mitch out of business would keep away some competition.”
Belle shook her head. “You might want to go back to security school, cowboy. So far you’re batting zip. First you let that camera-toting idiot in here, despite all the supposed precautions. Then you accuse me of something impossibly far-fetched. This resort is no competition to my father.”
“Sure it isn’t,” muttered someone behind Mitch. “She screwed him over once, she’s obviously doing it again. This time she’s getting pictures, too.”
Belle gasped, her eyes filling. But instead of letting the tears fall, she lifted her chin and faced the crowd that had formed around them.
Shaking off the feeling of fury and betrayal, Mitch followed her gaze and saw her glare at Lena. Mitch frowned. He glanced at his stepsister, whose grin looked evil in the glinting moonlight. Belle opened her mouth as if to say something, then she shrugged and turned to leave.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
“Away.” He could hear it in her voice, the need to escape. To get away from the whispers and judgmental eyes.
“This isn’t settled, Belle.”
She gave him a dirty look. “What’s to settle? Did you want to wait for one of your kinfolk to go grab a rope from the golf cart so you can hang me?”
“You’re overreacting,” Reece said quietly. “This isn’t a lynch mob.”
“Could have fooled me,” she shot back.
Mitch realized that his family and friends were all looking pissed enough to justify her accusation.
He took Belle’s arm and pulled her away from the crowd, up toward the ninth hole where they could talk without all the commentary.
“Belle, tell me what’s going on,” he asked when they reached some semblance of privacy. “The truth this time.”
“I told you the truth. You’re choosing to believe that guy over me.” She gestured to the photographer Reece was tossing into the golf cart. “You’re so busy obsessing over your image, over your need