don’t you be a nice daughter and call off that man’s search.”
Bethany narrowed her eyes at him. How she could have ever thought of having a bond or connection with him was beyond her.
“I am not your daughter,” she ground out through clenched teeth.
“Damn right, you’re not. No daughter of mine would be sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“I was continuing our relationship in honor of Mom’s memory. But the truth is, I never understood why she loved you and why she married you. We are done.” She turned on her heels and walked toward the door.
“Be careful, little Lilly.”
There was a thinly veiled threat there, but Bethany didn’t want to explore it. Not when she was still in the man’s house.
She rushed out of there as fast as she could. She took one last look at the house.
Something needed to be done about Leonard Humphries.
Chapter Nineteen
Bethany
Bethany hailed a black cab and settled into the seat with shaking legs and trembling fingers. She made her way up the steps of the museum and went directly to the exhibit room. She was thankful that London was nowhere to be seen. If he was at the museum, she could only hope that he would stay in his office. She didn’t have the mental fortitude to deal with him.
Not after the visit with Leonard.
She kept her mind busy by taking different pictures of the room from various angles, hoping to plan out the decorations. It was busywork, and she had to focus on making sure she recalled the colors and such.
Her skin was prickling, and she chalked it up to nerves. But when she saw a man, dressed in black surreptitiously watching her as he pretended to read one of the exhibits informative plaques, she knew why she felt uneasy.
He was following her.
She inhaled deeply and shook her head. She was silly. No one was following her. Why would anyone want to follow her?
Cold filled her belly as the realization sank in.
She knew why she was being followed. This man had to be a journalist. This is how it had begun shortly after her mom’s death. A few uneasy tingles and she would notice that people were following her, snapping pictures of her that could be misconstrued or doctored to look incriminating.
Well, she wasn’t going to give the man the satisfaction.
She walked right up to him and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Bethany Russo. I’m a PR consultant who has been hired to orchestrate a benefit here. Would you like to know anything about that? I’m working with the Warwick family to gather funds for literacy charities.”
The man’s smile was mocking, and it reminded Bethany of a documentary she had watched about serial killers. There was the same cold, detached look in the stranger’s eyes. He took her hand in his and squeezed tightly.
“Miss Russo. It’s a pleasure. Though I’m not sure why you saw fit to introduce yourself.”
Without another word, the man left the exhibit room.
Bethany couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard the man laughing.
Her hand reached for her phone, and she nearly called someone. Not just anyone. London. Why her brain had decided that the person she wanted comfort from was London, Bethany didn’t know. She wasn’t willing to dig very far inside of herself to discover why. Surely there would be nothing but her idiotic crush on the duplicitous fuckboy there.
They had sex.
That was it.
London wasn’t her boyfriend.
She wasn’t his problem.
If Bethany was being followed like she feared, then she would deal with it on her own. She didn’t need to bother London with it. What would he have done anyway? They were nothing to each other, were they?
She squared off her shoulders and went about her business. She tried as best as she could to ignore the lingering feeling she had that the man was still trailing behind her. It was damn well near impossible. Bethany couldn’t focus.
The day, though it was only nearing noon, was lost. She needed her favorite pair of pajamas, a tub of brownie batter ice cream, and binge of a true-crime show.
She left the museum, hailing a cab. Had she turned to look behind her, Bethany would have seen the stalking stranger leisurely leaning up against one of the museum’s sculpted columns, watching her.
Chapter Twenty
London
London’s finger hovered over the doorbell. He knew that Bethany must realize that he knew her address. He had sent her a gift, after all. But this wasn’t a gift.
He was showing up at her place,