questions. Of course, she didn’t get hauled into an interrogation room, and treated like a criminal. That pleasure had been reserved for him, apparently.
The cop opened the front door for him, and Gabe recoiled at the crowd of reporters clustered at the bottom of the steps. “What’s up with the mob?” he asked his escort.
Radebaugh glanced over his shoulder and then muttered under his breath, “They probably got wind of what Willa Merris is up to.”
“What’s she up to?” Gabe muttered back, not moving his lips.
“We asked her to come in to answer a few questions, but when she got here, she announced she wanted to file charges against James Ward.”
James Ward, as in the golden boy of Vengeance, Texas? Now that John Merris was dead, the Wards were the preeminent family in town, and James was the heir apparent to the family’s fortune, power and social position. Not to mention everyone loved the guy. Betting types were picking him to be the successor to John Merris’s political career. Gabe had always found Ward a little slimy in that friendly, politician way, but a decent guy, overall.
Surprised, Gabe asked, “What’s she charging him with?”
“Assault.”
Gabe’s jaw dropped. “As in he attacked her?”
“Yup.”
Well, that certainly explained the way she’d reacted when he’d tried to hug her yesterday. She’d yanked away like he’d tried to kill her instead of offer a little comfort.
“James Ward?” Gabe couldn’t help asking. He’d known the heir to the Ward fortune for most of his life, and he had a hard time believing that the fun-loving, charming young man had an angry side, let alone a violent side. James was always the center of attention and popular with all the girls. “When did this happen?”
“She says it happened a month ago. Not a shred of proof. Sheriff’s trying to talk her out of pressing charges because it’s gonna boil down to a he said-she said, and she’s gonna lose.”
“Why’s she going to lose?” Gabe asked.
Radebaugh stared at him as if the answer was so obvious, he couldn’t believe Gabe had bothered to ask the question. “Because he’s a Ward, and her father’s dead.”
“Since when does justice depend on power or social status?” Gabe snapped.
Irritated, he stomped down the steps and plowed through the phalanx of reporters who knew him well enough after the past two weeks to leave him the hell alone. He climbed into his Cadillac Escalade, grateful for its blacked-out windows. Gripping the steering wheel until his hands ached, he stared ahead at nothing. Willa Merris assaulted? The idea made him so mad he could hardly breathe. She’d been such a sweet kid. So innocent. Why the hell did life have to dump on her all at once like this? Although in his experience, life was rarely fair.
A commotion across the street drew his attention as the mob of reporters rushed up the courthouse steps. He swore as he spotted the source of the ruckus. It was none of his business, and his interference emphatically wouldn’t be appreciated. And yet, he leaped out of the vehicle and strode back across the street, swearing every step of the way.
Willa recoiled as a shouting crowd of reporters charged her, microphones brandished like swords. A cacophony of voices crashed into her. “Is it true… James Ward… what proof… publicity stunt?”
How on earth did these jackals already know that she’d filed charges against Ward? Someone in the police station must have leaked it. Wow, that had been fast. And then the gist of the questions registered.
“… provoke him… trying to catch a rich husband… how sexy were your clothes… entrapment.”
They thought she’d tried to get herself raped? Horror poured over her like a waterboarding until she choked and gagged on it. She reeled back from the vicious assault and looked over her shoulder for help from the police. But Deputy Green merely stood in the doorway observing the mauling, his gaze totally impassive.
She tried to shove through the crowd of reporters, but they weren’t about to let her slip away. They smelled fresh meat, and the feeding frenzy was on. As the press of sweaty bodies closed in on her, panic and bile rose in the back of her throat. Strangers were banging into her. Touching her. Oh, God. She felt light-headed, and then faint.
Without warning, the crowd parted, and like a dark, avenging angel, a furious Gabe Dawson loomed in front of her. He threw his arm over her shoulders, dragged her up against his side and with his free arm, commenced shoving reporters out of the way like pesky bugs.
He hustled her across the street, shoved her bodily into the passenger seat of his big SUV and slammed the door shut. In seconds, he was in the driver’s seat and the vehicle pulling away from the curb. Someone banged on the hood of the SUV and nearly got run down for his trouble.
“You almost hit that reporter!” she exclaimed.
“Sorry. Next time I’ll make sure not to miss,” he retorted.
She grinned in spite of herself. And the release of tension felt good. Even though the devil himself had rescued her, she wasn’t complaining. She didn’t want to think about how ugly that mob of reporters could’ve gotten with her. “Thanks,” she murmured.
“No problem. Pissing off journalists is a favorite pastime of mine, and I just took away their new toy.”
She nodded and subsided, remembering a conversation with her father once, where he’d confessed to loving sparring with reporters. How could he possibly have relished that kind of attention? She shuddered. The public eye was definitely not her cup of tea.
“Where to?” Gabe asked.
“Umm, home, I suppose.”
“Your place or your parents’?”
He knew she had her own house in Vengeance? He’d relocated to Dallas nearly a decade ago, and yet he still kept tabs on where she lived? “My parents’ house, I suppose. I’m staying there to keep my mother company and help her deal with… everything.”
Gabe nodded and pointed his vehicle toward the south side of town. He drove in silence, and she didn’t interrupt the quiet that fell between them. What could she say to a man like him, anyway? He was smart and confident and powerful—totally out of her league. And she’d thrown him out of the house less than twenty-four hours ago.
The SUV turned onto the road that led to her parents’ estate, and she groaned aloud. Both sides of the tarmac were lined with cars and vans—all brightly painted with the call signs of various radio and television stations. Gabe accelerated, passing right by her parents’ driveway without slowing down.
“New plan,” he announced.
“Back to my place?” she replied glumly.
“Are you kidding? If the press has this place staked out, they’ll be crawling all over your house. We were lucky no one spotted us as we drove past, but we may not get that lucky next time.”
“Where will I go?” she asked in alarm.
“Relax. I’ve got it covered.”
She frowned. That wasn’t an answer. And she didn’t like the idea of turning over any more control to this man than she absolutely had to. She knew the type; after all, her father was one of them—rich, arrogant and accustomed to everyone around them kissing up and doing whatever they were told without question.
But what choice did she have? She’d accused a pillar of local society of a heinous crime, sullied a man’s reputation and attacked one of the richest and most powerful families in this part of Texas. Now, the gloves would come off, and the reporters would take whatever potshots at her they thought they could land. It would be a free-for-all. She’d seen over the years what the press did to her father at the slightest hint of a juicy story, let alone a full-blown scandal. They attacked