Looking for Love (Boxed set) (76 page)

The host, an attractive African-American woman, Deborah Long, introduced the two of them.

Suddenly a voice shot out from the audience. "That man is an impostor. He's not Abby Jensen's husband."

Abby gasped and Hunter squinted through the blinding lights to see who had spoken.

"Excuse me." Ms. Long stood. Her gaze swung to Abby, then Hunter. "Is this true?"

"Er..." Hunter began.

Abby gaped at him.

Security started toward the woman, but the host held up a warning hand.

"I'm Trina Thomas from the
National Wonderer,"
the woman said. "And that man is a reporter from the AJC."

Abby's sharp gasp echoed across the stage.

"His name is Hunter Stone."

Chapter 25

The Awkward Morning After

Shock waves trickled through Abby at an alarming speed.

This couldn't be happening.

The host's gaze swung to Abby, then Harry. "Is this true?"

"Uh, yes," Hunter said in a gravelly voice that knocked the wind from Abby. "But I can explain."

The pain that knifed through her was so intense she had to be visibly bleeding. She gaped at Harry, certain he'd instigated some kind of joke, but guilt riddled his face as clear and plain as the horror that was stealing through her, sucking the oxygen from her lungs.

"Abby, I can explain," Harry—no, Hunter—said in a low voice. "Just bear with me. Please."

Bear with him!

Good heavens, she had bared her body and her soul and heart to him.

She had told him she loved him.

And he was Hunter Stone—the man who had written the dreadful articles about her in the paper. The extent of his deceit slammed into her like a sledgehammer. He had not only written about her and hounded her for an interview, when she had refused it, he had invaded her personal life, seduced her with his charm and false concern, taken her to bed, and—even worse—made her fall in love with him. He had even used his child to help pull his scam. Nausea rose in her throat, nearly choking her.

To think she had imagined him her hero, rescuing her from the other nosy reporters, from that ghastly PI, when all along he had simply been keeping her to himself so he could get an exclusive. Why hadn't she seen through his act? For heaven's sake, he'd used that ridiculous name, Harry Henderson. Suspicion snaked through her as a flashback of those sunglasses shot through her mind, and she glanced at his hands.

The manly hands that had held her. The ones that had seemed too large for the cross-dresser in line at the book signing. The orange sunglasses Lizzie had worn that seemed so familiar...

She staggered backward. "You dressed like a woman to spy on me?"

Hunter reached out to console her, but she shook her head vehemently.

"Would someone like to explain what's going on here?" Deborah Long's voice broke into her pain-glazed subconscious. Hunter opened his mouth to respond, but Abby suddenly stood.
Damn him.
If anyone was going to tell her story, it would be her.

She was tired of being victimized, of hiding behind an act, of deceiving the people she cared about—her patients. Victoria and Chelsea both stood as if to rescue her, but she shook her head.

There were no heroes left in the world. If she wanted rescuing, she had to rescue herself.

"I'd like to say something," Abby said to Deborah.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harry—Hunter—watching her every expression, but she steeled herself against her emotions, tucking them away until she could deal with them and have a full-blown meltdown later. In private.

Where she would probably hide for the rest of her life.

"Certainly, Dr. Jensen," Ms. Long said.

Abby faced the camera, inhaled a calming breath, and was surprised at how easily her confession came.

"It's true, this man is not really my husband," she said, her voice strong although her legs pinged back and forth like broken violin strings. "As I told the police"—Suarez gestured to her from the back while Barringer moved to cover the door—"I'm not sure where Lenny is at the moment," Abby finished. Although she suspected the weasel was somewhere in the crowd, slinking in a dark corner, waiting on his money.

Abby continued, her voice growing stronger. "A few weeks ago, the same day my book debuted, I received a Dear John letter from the man I thought was my husband. But it turned out that we hadn't been legally married at all. I was a victim of the Milano scam."

More gasps and oohs and ahhs filtered through the room, along with a few pitying looks. The host filled the audience in on the details of the scam, having recently interviewed a number of the victims on her show.

Abby tightened her hands by her side. "I've been a marriage counselor for several years, and I've heard people talk about the hurt and anger and shock they experience when a spouse indulges in an affair. I've listened to stories about depression and the sense of failure when a marriage ends. But I never understood those feelings the way I do now that I've experienced them myself."

She paused, sensing she had the crowd's full attention.

"I was in shock when I received the letter from Lenny. When my publicist called and wanted me to do this tour with my book, I didn't know what to do. I was afraid people wouldn't take me seriously if they thought I didn't have the perfect marriage myself." The crowd was so quiet she could hear her own breath quavering into the microphone. "I know now that was wrong. But at the time I felt humiliated and embarrassed. Despite my situation, deceiving the public was not right, but because I was in such a vulnerable emotional state, I allowed myself to get swept up in a publicity stunt." She gestured toward Hunter without looking at him. "I let this man pretend to be my husband onstage."

"Unfortunately, I was conned again. I didn't realize the man I hired was the reporter who had been hounding me for a story." She turned to the female reporter from the
National Wonderer.
"Mr. Stone has his exclusive." She did look at him then, all the pain and anger she felt churning inside her. "He's certainly earned it."

He could have his story now. He had already taken her heart and broken it.

She clutched her hands together, barely holding on to her self-control. "I do hope that whether you buy my book or not—whether you decide it's worth it or not after this publicity stunt—that if you're in a relationship you'll take the advice offered in
Under the Covers
the way it was meant, to help open the doors of communication. And please remember that honesty is the best way to maintain a long-term relationship. Secrets and lies will only destroy you."

Abby turned and shook Ms. Long's hand. "Thanks for letting me be here today."

Then she turned and walked offstage, shoulders squared, head high. Surprisingly, the audience burst into applause, but she was too relieved to get away from the camera and Hunter to care.

Her sisters rushed to her. "Are you okay?" Chelsea asked. "I can't believe that actor was a rat."

"I'm so sorry," Victoria said, hugging her.

Abby embraced them both, searching the area for Lenny. She gripped Victoria's arms. "I'm going to hunt for Lenny."

"We'll go look, too." Her sisters scattered in opposite directions while Abby ducked backstage and worked her way through the vacant studio rooms. She hoped Detective Suarez had already caught him.

Near the back entrance, she froze in shock. Lenny was trying to sneak out the back door, but Hunter Stone snatched him and dragged him into a holding room.

She grabbed a folding chair for support. Apparently Hunter was going to get a quote.
Damn him.
He would probably also get the pictures to add to the story he had under wraps.

The panty-pervert PI darted into the room behind the two men. Had he been working with Hunter all along?

* * *

Hunter had never felt lower in his entire life.

He ached to go after Abby, but he'd spotted Lenny Gulliver lurking behind the scenes and he had to catch him. He couldn't let the jerk get away after the way he'd hurt Abby. Maybe turning him over to the police would be the first step in proving to Abby that he really cared about her.

The pain in her eyes when she'd discovered his deception had been excruciating. He didn't know if she
could
forgive him, even if he wrote the most complimentary story about her imaginable, but he had to try.

His heart pounded like a runaway freight train as he pushed Gulliver against the wall. Mo Jo Brown slunk in behind him, arms crossed, waiting his turn.

Hunter adopted an intimidating stance. "Okay, Gulliver, the game is up."

"Not yet." A cynical sneer lifted the comers of the red-haired man's mouth. "I have something I think you'll be interested in seeing."

He doubted it, but he'd play along. "What is it?"

Gulliver removed a manila envelope from a briefcase and offered it to him. Hunter took the bait, his instincts telling him he wasn't going to like the contents of the envelope. Slowly he peeled open the top and reached inside. His hand contacted slick photo paper, and he pulled out several photos of Abby.

Nude shots of her in erotic poses.

"Got those on my honeymoon," Gulliver bragged.

Brown inched forward to sneak a look, but Hunter shoved the pictures back into the envelope, his fury mounting. Dammit, he didn't want Brown or anyone else to see them. "Does Abby know about these?"

Gulliver laughed, a smarmy sound that sickened Hunter.

"Yeah, she was supposed to bring me some cash today for them, but that tabloid chick ruined the show." His smile faded. "Now I figure you might pay more. Some Internet sites would get a kick out of these."

Gulliver had been blackmailing Abby. No wonder she hadn't told him everything.

Fury boiled through him. He crumpled the photos in his fist. He was going to kill the man with his bare hands.

"What the hell are you doing?" Gulliver asked.

Hunter grabbed him by the throat, making sure his first punch connected with the man's nose. "That one's for Abby." Bones crunched, a mild sense of satisfaction filling Hunter at Gulliver's babylike yelp.

"Let me go!"

"And this one's for me." He had just pulled his arm back to hit him a second time when Mo Jo Brown stepped forward.

"Let me have him, Stone."

"What for?"

"I know someone who's looking for him. And when this guy gets done, his face won't be the only thing smashed."

The mob. So Hunter had been right. Vinelli would take care of him.
Tempting...

But two officers raced in, saving Hunter from having to choose between his conscience and his need for vengeance. "Thanks for nabbing him, guys, but this is a police matter now."

"What?" Gulliver whined.

"Yes, Dr. Jensen phoned us yesterday, Gulliver." The male Latino reached for his handcuffs. "You're busted, you scum."

Brown sputtered an argument, but Hunter tossed Gulliver toward the cops like the sack of garbage he was. Then he stuffed the envelope of photos under his arm and strode from the room, determined to talk to Abby.

* * *

Her love life was over, her career was over, her life as she knew it was over.

Over.

Blinded by tears, her body racked with sobs, Abby hailed a taxi home, well aware the cabby thought she was a lunatic.

It was a far nicer word than the one most Atlanta residents would be calling her once they witnessed her debacle. If she ever wrote another book, she'd title it,
Most
Embarrassing Moments.
She could fill the pages with her own experiences.

The cabdriver dropped her in front of her house, and she tossed him some cash, then ran up the steps. Inside, Butterball was sleeping, so she locked the door, turned off the message machine, then headed to the bedroom. She couldn't wait to throw herself on her bed and cry until she passed out. Maybe she'd sleep for the next month. Or at least as long as it took for most of the gossip to die down.

But the sheets where she and Hunter had lain this morning, where they had made love—no, where they'd had sex—still lay rumpled on the floor.

He had trashed her in the paper. Lied to her. Used her. And done it all for a lousy story! He'd probably earned a promotion or a big raise out of her humiliation.

Hatred, mixed with anger and hurt, mushroomed inside her. She ripped off the sheets, grabbed a pair of scissors and shredded them, then shoved them into a garbage bag. Next went her comforter. Then the pillow that reeked of his scent. Feathers flew everywhere, dotting the floor with white, but a stretch of solid black peeked from her bed like a scorpion. Hunter's boxers.

She grabbed them and ripped them with her bare hands until they were nothing but strands of broken thread. Feeling marginally better, she brushed at the tears streaming down her face, picked up her journal, and let it all out.

Hate men. Lenny Gulliver is pond scum. Hunter Stone is cockroach pond scum.

Career in jeopardy.