head toward him, he asked her, “Who’s the cowboy?”
“Who’s the asshole?”
Chapter 5
T here was barely a heartbeat between Van Durbin’s question and Dent’s comeback.
Bellamy answered neither of them and instead demanded of Van Durbin, “What are you doing here?”
“Free country.” He looked beyond them at the building’s glass facade. “So this is the family business’s headquarters.”
“Is that a question? If so, I believe you already know the answer.”
He flashed his smug grin. “What gave me away?”
Her repugnance plain, she sidestepped him. “Excuse us.”
But he was persistent. “I only need a moment of your time. Pretty please? It’s been a few weeks. We have a lot to catch up on.”
The night she’d fled New York, an international rock star had been found dead in his Manhattan hotel suite, the apparent victim of a drug overdose. Speculation over whether it had been a suicide or a tragic accident had dominated the scandal sheets like
EyeSpy
for days.
That story had shortly been followed by a supermodel’s claim that an “unnamed member” of the British royal family had fathered her twins. The allegation was exposed as a publicity stunt intended to jump-start her flagging career, but it had kept the Van Durbins of the world busily hopping between continents to hound their prey.
Bellamy had thought that while he was occupied covering these stories, his interest in her would have waned if not altogether died. His showing up here today demonstrated that he wasn’t finished with her yet.
Trying not to give away just how upsetting his reappearance was, she said coldly, “We have nothing to talk about,” and stalked past him.
Dent followed more slowly. He was eyeing Van Durbin with distrust and disdain, and Bellamy hoped he wouldn’t do or say anything to fan the columnist’s curiosity. She was relieved when he fell into step beside her without incident.
However, Van Durbin wasn’t about to give up that easily, especially not after tracking her all the way to Texas.
“There’s going to be an update about you and
Low Pressure
in my column tomorrow,” he said. “Despite your inexplicable shunning of publicity, the book is still topping the best-seller lists. Care to comment?”
Over her shoulder, she said, “You know my policy regarding your column. No comment.”
“You sure?”
The taunting note in his voice was enough to bring her around to face him. He was tapping a pencil against his notepad with an air of self-satisfaction.
“True or false?” he said. “You returned to Texas to nurse your father through his final days.”
She started to lash out at him for asking such an insensitive question. But she reconsidered, believing that if she gave him something, he might be satisfied enough to leave the subject alone.
“My father is undergoing treatment for a malignancy. That’s all I’m willing to say on the subject, except for this: While he’s ill, I hope you’ll respect my family’s privacy.”
“Fine, fine,” he said, making a notation on his pad.
“Now beat it.” Dent hooked his hand around Bellamy’s elbow and steered her toward the parking lot.
“Just one more question?”
They kept walking.
“Did they send the right guy to the pen for murdering your sister?”
Bellamy came around so quickly she stumbled against Dent.
Van Durbin leered. “I’m gonna pose that question in my column tomorrow. Care to comment?”
“Olivia?”
She disconnected her phone and turned toward Howard’s hospital bed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I was talking loud enough to wake you.”
“I wasn’t really asleep. Just resting.”
He fought sleep because he feared he would never wake up. He wanted to escape the pain and desert the body that was cannibalizing itself, but he wasn’t ready to die quite yet. Before he let go, there were troubling issues he wanted settled and disturbing questions he wanted answered.
“Who were you talking
“Who’s the asshole?”
Chapter 5
T here was barely a heartbeat between Van Durbin’s question and Dent’s comeback.
Bellamy answered neither of them and instead demanded of Van Durbin, “What are you doing here?”
“Free country.” He looked beyond them at the building’s glass facade. “So this is the family business’s headquarters.”
“Is that a question? If so, I believe you already know the answer.”
He flashed his smug grin. “What gave me away?”
Her repugnance plain, she sidestepped him. “Excuse us.”
But he was persistent. “I only need a moment of your time. Pretty please? It’s been a few weeks. We have a lot to catch up on.”
The night she’d fled New York, an international rock star had been found dead in his Manhattan hotel suite, the apparent victim of a drug overdose. Speculation over whether it had been a suicide or a tragic accident had dominated the scandal sheets like
EyeSpy
for days.
That story had shortly been followed by a supermodel’s claim that an “unnamed member” of the British royal family had fathered her twins. The allegation was exposed as a publicity stunt intended to jump-start her flagging career, but it had kept the Van Durbins of the world busily hopping between continents to hound their prey.
Bellamy had thought that while he was occupied covering these stories, his interest in her would have waned if not altogether died. His showing up here today demonstrated that he wasn’t finished with her yet.
Trying not to give away just how upsetting his reappearance was, she said coldly, “We have nothing to talk about,” and stalked past him.
Dent followed more slowly. He was eyeing Van Durbin with distrust and disdain, and Bellamy hoped he wouldn’t do or say anything to fan the columnist’s curiosity. She was relieved when he fell into step beside her without incident.
However, Van Durbin wasn’t about to give up that easily, especially not after tracking her all the way to Texas.
“There’s going to be an update about you and
Low Pressure
in my column tomorrow,” he said. “Despite your inexplicable shunning of publicity, the book is still topping the best-seller lists. Care to comment?”
Over her shoulder, she said, “You know my policy regarding your column. No comment.”
“You sure?”
The taunting note in his voice was enough to bring her around to face him. He was tapping a pencil against his notepad with an air of self-satisfaction.
“True or false?” he said. “You returned to Texas to nurse your father through his final days.”
She started to lash out at him for asking such an insensitive question. But she reconsidered, believing that if she gave him something, he might be satisfied enough to leave the subject alone.
“My father is undergoing treatment for a malignancy. That’s all I’m willing to say on the subject, except for this: While he’s ill, I hope you’ll respect my family’s privacy.”
“Fine, fine,” he said, making a notation on his pad.
“Now beat it.” Dent hooked his hand around Bellamy’s elbow and steered her toward the parking lot.
“Just one more question?”
They kept walking.
“Did they send the right guy to the pen for murdering your sister?”
Bellamy came around so quickly she stumbled against Dent.
Van Durbin leered. “I’m gonna pose that question in my column tomorrow. Care to comment?”
“Olivia?”
She disconnected her phone and turned toward Howard’s hospital bed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I was talking loud enough to wake you.”
“I wasn’t really asleep. Just resting.”
He fought sleep because he feared he would never wake up. He wanted to escape the pain and desert the body that was cannibalizing itself, but he wasn’t ready to die quite yet. Before he let go, there were troubling issues he wanted settled and disturbing questions he wanted answered.
“Who were you talking
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