rage stir. Anger had been his constant companion throughout his life. He hadn’t understood its source until two months ago, when he had fully remembered the night it had started.
He was angry at Benedict, the man who had pretended to be his father. He was angry at fate. Most of all, he was furious with himself, haunted by the helpless guilt he felt for being unable to save his mother.
“Anthony?”
“She’s dead. He murdered her.”
“When? Can you give me more details?”
“Yes, I can give you details. It was summer, a hot night, and she was wearing a ruffled sundress. He’d beaten her, so there was blood on both of them. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. The veins on his arms bulged like snakes as he strangled her with his bare hands.” Anthony leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face, trying to contain the rage. He couldn’t let himself be drawn into it now. “It was twenty-eight years ago. I was three at the time. He never knew I saw it.”
“Oh, my God. That was the murder you said you witnessed.”
“Yes. I had blocked out the memory of it until—” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I went to the house in Wyatt where it happened. It came back to me then.”
“Why were you in the house, Anthony?”
“I used to live there. Deanna had six children. Two sets of triplets. I’m the firstborn.”
Melina set her pen down. She looked at him for a while, her gaze brimming with sympathy. “You saw Titan kill your mother.”
“Yes. Afterward, he left the country and assumed a new identity to avoid the law.”
“Then that means Titan is…”
Anthony shook his head fast before she could complete the sentence. That was something else he’d only found out two months ago. The one piece of good news. “He isn’t my biological father. He’s sterile. No blood of his runs in my veins. My siblings and I were fathered by a donor. I have the files that prove it.”
“Oh, Anthony. You were so young when your mother was killed. What happened to you and the other children?”
“I don’t know where the younger triplets ended up. My two brothers and my youngest sister were infants at the time. My other two sisters, Danielle and Elizabeth, and I were taken into the foster care system. Some social worker changed our last name to Caldwell so Benedict couldn’t trace us.”
The terse statements were accurate, but they didn’t come close to describing the devastation that had been wrought to what had been a close family. Like the murder, Anthony’s memory of the younger triplets had been blocked out for most of his life, too. Losing his infant siblings on top of losing his mother had been too much for his mind to handle.
“I can’t imagine how awful that must have been for you.”
“Benedict Payne is going to pay for his crimes, whatever he decides to call himself.”
“Yes. He will. Absolutely. But after all this time, why would he want to find you and your sisters if he isn’t your biological—”
“That’s all I’m going to tell you, Melina. I kept my half of our bargain. I told you who Titan is and where he came from.” No longer able to restrain himself, Anthony stood and walked to her side. Gripping the back of her chair with one hand and the edge of the table with the other, he leaned down to bring his face to hers. “Now it’s your turn.”
“Anthony…”
“Tell me.” His muscles hardened. His voice dropped to a rasp. “Tell me where to find the son of a bitch.”
Chapter 3
The lights in the dining room flickered, then brightened. Melina felt her skin prickle, as if a surge of electricity had passed through the air. She rubbed her arms and looked at Anthony.
Had she thought she wanted to know what secrets he hid? Had she been curious about what he kept leashed beneath the surface? She was no longer so certain. The control he usually maintained over his gaze had slipped. What she saw made her pulse pound.
There was anger. Of course, there would be. He had just described in detail his mother’s murder at the hands of Titan. Benedict Payne, she corrected herself. That was his real name. She should be delighted over that piece of information. What a scoop revealing Titan’s identity would be. She had no doubt that Anthony was telling the truth. Whether it was her reporter’s instinct or another gut feeling, she was certain he was sincere.
Yet along with the anger in Anthony’s gaze, there was pain. A deep, tearing anguish that went straight to her heart. His grief struck a chord in her. To lose a parent was painful at any age. She had been twenty when she had lost both of hers, and she had been left so vulnerable, she had been driven to make some horrible mistakes. But for a toddler to witness a murder and then to lose half his family…
What had that done to him? What scars had it left?
She wanted to hold him. It had nothing to do with those sexual impulses he’d stirred before. This was a yearning as basic as the desire for simple human contact. She wanted to reach up and stroke the tightness from his jaw and cradle his cheeks in her hands. She wanted to pull his head to her breasts and comfort him. “Anthony, I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your sympathy, Melina,” he said. “I want you to keep your word. Where is the bastard?”
Oh, God. What could she say? She hadn’t deliberately lied. She had never actually told him that she knew.
“Melina?”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I can’t answer that.”
His gaze burned into hers. The lights flickered again. “You said you didn’t want to play games, so don’t.”
He was leaning so close to her that she could see a rim of gold inside the green of his eyes. A lock of hair had pulled loose from his ponytail. It swung against his face, the soft strand an unexpected contrast to the harsh rise of his cheekbone.
She touched her index finger to the loose hair. It was as soft as it looked. Silky, almost sensuous in the way it curved against her nail. She brushed the strand from his cheek and tucked it behind his ear, then ran her fingertips around the curve to his earlobe. The gold earring flicked gently against her thumb. She slid her thumb down the side of his neck, trailing her fingers over the line of a tendon. His skin was warm and taut, the texture intriguingly male.
He straightened abruptly.
Melina was left with her hand in the air. She looked at it blankly for a moment, then twisted to face the table and groped for her notepad.
It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize again. She didn’t. Because, for the life of her, she didn’t know what to say. How could she explain that mindless caress? How could she excuse it? She would be lying if she claimed she didn’t want to touch him.
Dammit, this was so awkward. Why was this happening? He was a source, that was all. He was a potential gold mine of information. With his help, she could build the article she had begun about Titan into Pulitzer Prize material.
But to do that, she had to get Anthony’s cooperation. “Your story moved me,” she said. “I didn’t mean anything by—” she lifted her hand and let it drop “—by what I did just now.”
Anthony returned to stand beside his chair. He put his hand on the jacket he’d draped over the chair back, as if he was debating walking out.
Awkward didn’t come close to describing the situation, Melina thought. She wished she knew what was wrong with her. “I don’t know where Titan is—I mean, Benedict Payne. Not for certain. That’s why I can’t tell you. But I do know where I’m going to look. Hear me out, okay, Anthony?”
He sat.
Melina