The Summer He Came Home Part 27

"Are you deaf and dumb?" Jake frowned and took a step forward.

Dirk searched through the front pockets of his jeans for a set of keys, a smile Cain didn't much care for on his face as he jangled them between his fingers. "Doesn't matter anyway, the cat's out of the bag."

"What the h.e.l.l does that mean?"

Dirk was surprised. It was obvious. He laughed and then stopped abruptly. "You don't know? You haven't seen the pictures?"

Cain's heart sank.

"s.h.i.+t, they broke this morning and are all over the Net. Hollywood Scene published them." Dirk's face screwed and he sneered. "I've been here for longer than a week. You do the math."

Son of a b.i.t.c.h. "Get out of here."

Dirk heard the warning in Cain's voice. This time he was smart. He turned and muttered, "Whatever," and then disappeared into a gray van parked along the street.

Cain grabbed his cell. He moved a few feet away and, as the signal gained strength, was able to bring up his browser. He Googled Hollywood Scene and frowned. They were notorious for their exposes. Treated celebrities like dirty laundry and regularly hung them out to dry with their pants down for the entire world to see. He didn't know why they'd be interested in him, but was sure the angle centered around Natasha.

When the site came up, his gut churned at the headline.

"Natasha Simmons's Ex-husband and Mystery Woman Get Hot and Heavy."

"s.h.i.+t, this is not good." He shook his head, afraid to click on the link that would enable him to see the images.

Maggie was going to freak.

He glanced back to Michael and hit the link, his eyes not leaving the boy as it loaded onto his device. His world was about to crash and burn. He felt it, and there wasn't a d.a.m.n thing he could do. As he scrolled through the pictures his gut churned and his face went white. When he'd seen every single one of them, his body thrummed with anger. He was flush with it.

He'd love to put his hands around Natasha Simmons's throat and- "You all right?" Jake stood a few feet away.

What the h.e.l.l was Maggie going to say when she saw the photos? She'd be p.i.s.sed for sure. Cain shook his head. "No. I'm not."

A crow cawed in the distance, its eerie screech somehow an omen.

He turned to Jake. "Can you take Michael back to the cottage and give Dax a ride too? I have to talk to Maggie before she sees these, if she hasn't already. I have a feeling it's going to get ugly."

Jake nodded. "Sure. Call me later and, uh, good luck."

"Thanks." He stared down at the camera in his hand. He sure as h.e.l.l was going to need it.

Chapter 28.

Maggie should have known her happy place, that soft bubble of bliss, would never last. She should have known that it would inflate into a mess of gigantic proportions-one that would leave her on the floor, wrecked, and virtually frozen with fear at its demise.

But when a train derailed and came at you full tilt, you didn't always see it. And when you did...sometimes it was too late.

And that train ran you over.

Twelve hours earlier...

Maggie woke up with a tulip near her pillow and the scent of Cain all around her. The imprint of his body was like a picture on her sheets, and she closed her eyes, imagined him there beside her. It wasn't hard to do. The man's charisma was like a physical ent.i.ty. He bled into everything he touched.

Maggie nestled into the blankets and noticed a folded note beside the tulip next to her pillow. She grabbed it and read it quickly before folding the small piece of paper and sinking back into the bed. She thought of his arms and the comfort he'd offered the night before. Of his strength and desire to protect. She'd never felt so coddled or cared for. Not ever.

The sh.e.l.l that slithered along her skin, that invisible force field she used to keep everyone out, had been cracked. She'd shared some of the pain that lived inside her, and the weight of those secrets was gone.

It gave her hope that the other stuff, the dark secrets that she h.o.a.rded, would one day lessen and ease her burden.

Maggie's alarm clock glowed six a.m. in the early-morning gloom. She stretched, and though she would have liked to linger, she threw back the blankets and jumped out of bed.

It was going to be a busy day. She had two clients on the books, and according to Cain's note, he would be by around seven thirty for Michael. A bunch of volunteers was meeting at the football field in order to get the stage built, and he'd promised to keep her son busy.

He'd ended the note with a promise to keep her busy later on.

Maggie grinned and slipped into the shower. Twenty minutes later she had coffee on, and when Michael shuffled his sleepy head down the hall, it was nearly seven thirty.

Michael had just sat down to eat his breakfast when there was a soft rap at the door. Her heart lurched and her cheeks flushed.

Cain.

"I'll get it." Michael almost tripped in his effort to get to the door, and Maggie stared after him, antic.i.p.ation rolling inside her when she heard Cain's voice.

The two of them entered the kitchen, and her heart swelled. Cain was dressed "blue collar"-white T-s.h.i.+rt, old worn jeans, and work boots. His hair was damp, his chocolate eyes warm, but the smile that greeted her-that lazy, slow smile-was hot. Her heart leaped as she settled on his mouth.

Michael chatted animatedly, his arms moving violently as he described a scene from latest X-Men comic.

"Did you hear what I said, Cain?"

He nodded to Michael. "Sure, buddy. Wolverine kicked a.s.s." His eyes remained focused on her.

Michael sat down and grabbed his spoon. "No." He shook his head. "I was talking about Gambit." He giggled. "But that's okay, I know you're making those weird faces at my mom."

Cain chuckled and ruffled Michael's head and then helped himself to a cup of coffee. He sat down, and the three of them chatted about their plans for the day and the upcoming weekend. There was an easy, comfortable flow that settled around Maggie's shoulders that maybe cracked that facade a bit more.

It felt like...they were a family.

Cain insisted on giving her a ride to her first client's house. Mr. and Mrs. Felkes lived in small, brick bungalow not far from Rebecca Hayes. They were a sweet older couple who shared their s.p.a.ce with three cats and two litter boxes.

They were also curious about the large SUV she arrived in. When Maggie admitted that Cain Black had given her a ride, Mr. Felkes decided to spend the majority of the morning regaling her with stories of Cain's high school days. Felkes was a retired English and history teacher and had taught all four of the Bad Boys.

It was funny, really, how they were referred to in this way. It was as if they were legendary, like Butch and Sundance, or Billy the Kid and his gang.

Maggie finished up at the Felkeses' and caught the bus to her afternoon client. The Monroes were away on vacation, so it was a quick run-through, really-dusting, and vacuuming and mopping the floors. By three thirty she was locking up and heading home. It was a bit of a jog to the bus stop, and as it turned out, she had lots of time. It ran every half hour, and she missed the four o'clock by minutes.

Figures. Now she was stuck waiting until four thirty.

She'd just exited the bus downtown when her cell rang. Maggie wanted to hit the grocery store on her way home and pick up a few essentials-she was out of milk, eggs, and bagels again. Funny how a man in the house put a dent in the food budget.

"Maggie, where are you?" It was Raine.

"I'm downtown, why?"

There was a pause at the other end, and Maggie frowned. Something was wrong. She could feel it.

"I... What are you doing downtown?"

"Getting a few groceries."

Again with the silence.

"So, you're in the Super Saver? Like right now?"

"Yes, I just walked in. What the h.e.l.l's going on, Raine? Why are you being weird?"

Maggie perched the phone on her shoulder and moved out of the way of a few shoppers. She was in the dairy aisle and needed breakfast fixings. She grabbed a carton of eggs and a block of cheese. She didn't the need the cheese, but it was on sale, and she was, if anything, a super saver when it came to shopping.

Janice Hopkins, mother to one of Michael's cla.s.smates, stared at her from the milk section, and when Maggie smiled, the woman looked away as if embarra.s.sed and fled toward the produce aisle.

Maggie stared after her, and that's when she noticed Rebecca Stringer pointing her way, giggling behind her hands as she chatted with a woman Maggie didn't know.

"Maggie, I know this is going to sound strange, but can you just leave the store and I'll meet you in front?"

What the h.e.l.l is going on?

"You want me to leave the store." She was getting weirded out.

"Yes."

"As in, drop whatever I have and just leave the store."

"I know it sounds crazy, but, uh, yes, I need to talk to you before..." Raine's voice trailed off, and immediately Maggie's internal radar roared to life. She heard it inside her head, pounding out an alarm that was in sync with her fast-beating heart.

"Before what?" Maggie turned her back to Rebecca, suddenly convinced every single person in the store was either staring at her or talking about her behind her back. She was uncomfortable and filled with inexplicable fear that her world was about to crumble.

She lowered her voice and hunched her shoulders. "Raine, seriously, what the h.e.l.l is going on? And don't say 'nothing.'" She chanced a look at Rebecca once more and winced at the venomous glee that was in the woman's eyes as she continued to stare.

"Maggie, I'm almost there. Can you please just drop whatever you have and meet me out front?"

Rebecca had a magazine clutched between her fingers, and her friend grabbed it from her and opened it wide. The cover was bright crimson, the headline bold black and white.

She read it clearly from where she stood: "Natasha Simmons's Ex-husband and Mystery Woman Get Hot and Heavy."

The blood drained from her face. Oh G.o.d.

"Maggie, are you there?"

"I..." She couldn't speak. It felt like a box of cotton b.a.l.l.s was stuffed down her throat.

"Maggie, you're not near the cash registers, are you?" Panic filled Raine's voice, but Maggie wasn't listening. She pushed her cart to the side, abandoned it, and walked toward the front of the store, her cell phone still held against her ear. People moved out of her way. Some stared. Some didn't. Some opened their mouths to speak and then closed them rapidly when they got a good look at her.

Did she look psycho? Deranged? Unhinged?

She reached the magazine section and nearly lost her lunch. Hollywood Scene stared back at her, the bold headline big enough for a person half-blind to see. The cover sported a picture of Maggie and Cain, bodies close as they danced together at the Coach House. Her face was upturned, mouth open for his kiss. His hands were in her hair and on her face, and he held her as if she belonged to him.

It spoke volumes.

She nearly dropped her cell and heard Raine's frantic voice as she tossed it into her purse.

Maggie grabbed the magazine and made her way over to the self-serve register. After scanning the item, she paid for it and, ignoring the whispers and eyes that followed her, walked through the exit to head blindly into the parking lot.

She didn't stop walking until she crossed the length of it and stood beneath the shade of an oak that bordered Main Street. There was a bench a few feet away, and she sank onto it, the magazine between her fingers as she fought to keep her nausea at bay.

Carefully she opened it and flipped through the pages rapidly until she came to the center spread.

Her breath hitched. She choked. It was so much worse than she'd even thought possible.

There were several photos, ranging from candid beach shots to a few more of them dancing together inside the Coach House. But the largest photo drew her eyes-h.e.l.l, there was no way to ignore it. The text beneath it was salacious and made her sick.

Natasha Simmons's newly divorced ex, rocker Cain Black, has been hiding out in his hometown of Crystal Lake, Michigan, since his tour ended abruptly last month when Black punched bandmate Blake Hartley onstage in Barcelona. Cain Black returned home to attend the funeral of an old schoolmate, a soldier who was killed in Afghanistan. He's said to be devastated. Looks to us like Mr. Black's new girl toy has done a lot to ease his broken heart. Wonder what his ex, Natasha Simmons, thinks of this mystery lady? Wonder what his girl toy thinks of the fact Simmons has expressed interest in reconnecting with her husband, claiming "he's the man for me. He just doesn't know it yet. He'll figure it out and come back."

She clutched the magazine tightly and stared at the photo. It was an intimate shot. Cain was s.h.i.+rtless, his back to the camera as he looked up at her. His face was in profile, and it was obvious that it was him. She was in her skimpy black bra, her hands on his shoulders as she gazed down at him.

Her hair hung loose, and the expression on her face was one of longing, antic.i.p.ation, and l.u.s.t.

Two things were very clear. First off, she was identifiable. No question there. And secondly, the picture had been taken from her backyard, with a lens pointing in toward her bedroom.

Heat flushed her cheeks, and she bit her lip. She remembered that night. She knew exactly what had happened after the picture was taken. The ick factor alone-that someone had taken photos without her knowledge-was enough to make her sick, but the thought that they'd spied and seen things... Seen her and Cain together? She couldn't comprehend that.

Maggie closed her eyes as she tried to calm her nerves and the fear that was growing inside her. Hollywood Scene was a major trash magazine and was in every grocery store from coast to coast.

Oh G.o.d, they have a show...a half-hour recap on television every night at six.

Maggie stood, dropped her purse in her haste, and scooped it up quickly, throwing the magazine inside as she glanced down the street. Bus stop. She needed to get to the bus stop. She had to get home so that she could think.

So that she could plan.

There was no question that Michael's father, Dante, would see the pictures. The only question was, how much time did she have before he came after her? Days? Weeks? Or was it already too late?