“Dude, it’s a free country. I’m just out taking shots of”—he sneered—“the scenery. No biggie.”
“Give me the camera, now.” He spit the words out.
Dirk took a step back, and the pencil-necked douche’s eyes narrowed as he glanced behind Cain. “Cute kid. Secret love child?”
Cain’s temper exploded, and he lunged forward. Dirk was surprised. In all their previous encounters, Cain had never reacted this way.
But then, he’d never had a child to protect.
His hand closed around the camera, and he yanked it easily from Dirk’s fingers. Dirk tried to twist away, but he was no match for Cain. Cain’s fingers dug in, and he had him by his shirt.
“Hey, you can’t…”
“I can and I will.” Cain was inches from his face. There was no mistaking the level of anger that he felt. “I suggest you get your ass out of town and don’t come back.”
“What’s going on here?” Jake asked, his voice light. Deceptively so. The soldier’s muscles bulged as he flexed his arms. “We got a problem, Cain?”
&
nbsp; A squeak escaped Dirk’s lips as Cain applied a touch more pressure, and a flash of satisfaction rushed through Cain. “I think we’re good.” He pushed the paparazzo away and studied the camera in his hands. After retrieving the memory card, he asked, “Does this have an internal hard drive?”
Dirk shrugged, his thin face screwed up something fierce as a wave of red colored his sunken cheeks.
“You know what? Doesn’t matter. I’m taking this.”
“You can’t—”
“Don’t push me. That kid’s face is not going to be plastered all over some trashy mag because you think you have the right to take his picture.” Cain leaned forward, and Dirk stumbled backward.
Smart man.
“Call Natasha. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to replace your equipment.” There was no surprise, and Cain knew he was right to surmise Natasha’s involvement. Hell, she’d probably sold them out on their damn honeymoon for the publicity alone.
Dirk glared at him and opened his mouth, but Jake interrupted. “If you were smart, you’d be gone already.”
Dirk’s gaze dropped to the camera Cain held, and it took everything inside of Cain to refrain from smashing the damn thing in his slimy, sweat-slicked face.
“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 hell 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.
“Shit, 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 bitch. “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 exposés. 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.”