Searching for Beautiful (Searching For 3)

The final photo sealed her fate.

David's broken face reflected back on the page as he exited the church to a blinding array of flashing bulbs, surrounded by reporters thrusting microphones in his face. His eyes looked dazed, as if she'd ripped his heart out and stomped on it.

The world spun. Gen forced herself to skim the article. Phrases leaped out at her in mocking glee.

Renowned surgeon left at altar by his own resident.

Brokenhearted and abandoned, family rallies, refusing to speak to reporters.

Bride climbed through the window and escaped via a guest and her supposed friend. Another lover?

Her body shut down. Hope for the future shriveled like ashes, leaving dark stains and a bitter taste that choked. She'd done the unthinkable, and now it was time to pay.

Gen lifted her gaze. Her voice sounded wooden to her own ears. "Take me home."

He clenched his jaw. "Are you sure? We can still stick to the plan. Get in the car and go."

"Not anymore. It's over, Wolfe. Take me home."

He muttered a vicious curse. Then finally nodded.

She climbed into the car and they sped into the night, her fingers still clutching the paper.

ten

HE'D LOST HER.

Wolfe glanced over. She stared out the window, expressionless, completely removed from the present. He knew where she was, too--an in-between void of numbness and dark space that emptied the soul and left only a husk for earth.

He mourned more than the loss of her presence. In only three days, he'd remembered the joy of being with her, sharing her friendship and laughter, and the person he became around Genevieve MacKenzie.

He didn't try to bring her back. Plenty of time for that later. Instead, he let the music play loud, and closed in on home.

She'd made the necessary calls with his phone, agreeing to meet at her parents' house first thing in the morning. If it had been earlier, they would've waited up, so he was glad she'd be able to have a few more hours alone. Thank goodness David hadn't answered. Her awkward voice mail message made Wolfe wince. He had a gut instinct the man was playing some game with Gen beyond that of a heartbroken dumpee. The only thing Wolfe could do was keep an eye on Gen and make sure she was protected. He drove past the Welcome to Verily sign and crawled down Main Street toward the bungalow. Kennedy and Nate had rented it for a while before deciding to move to a bigger place, so thankfully it was empty. Wolfe wouldn't be surprised if Kate was waiting at the door though. That woman was hard-core mean when it came to protecting her best friend.

The streetlamp flickered as he pulled up to her cheerful yellow house, which looked as happy as she used to be.

"Ready, sweetheart?"

She nodded and climbed out. Grabbing their bags from the trunk, he walked up the curved pavement.

She froze in the doorway. He peered over to study the scene.

The place looked empty. Sure, it was still fully furnished, with the aqua blue sofa and throw cushions, bright watercolors on the walls, braided rugs, and the sturdy pine table that reminded him of Mama Conte's. The curvy metal spiral staircase leading to the tiny loft/attic gave the place a quaint charm. But the space pulsed with a hollow gloom, and a fine sheen of dust covered the surfaces. It had been empty only for a few months, but damned if he didn't get the impression of sadness, as if the place needed human inhabitants in order to be happy.

"I never thought I'd be back here," she said faintly. "I have nothing. No clothes. No laptop. Not even my toothbrush."

He gently pushed her through and shut the door behind them. "That's easily fixed in the morning. Besides, I'm not minty fresh myself. I'll run into town early and get what you need."

"David wanted me to put it on the market. I refused. Not sure why."

He didn't say the truth because they both knew it. She'd sensed something wasn't right between them, and selling her home gave her no exit plan. Wolfe checked the closets and found a set of sheets and blankets. He quickly made the bed while she stood and watched, so exhausted she seemed to sway on her feet. He took her hand, pushed her gently onto the edge of the mattress, and knelt before her. Untying her sneakers, he removed them, giving each foot a quick squeeze, then urged her under the quilt. Her face reflected a childlike trust that made his gut clench and a fierce sense of possession rush through him. Damned if he wouldn't battle anyone in order to protect her. He'd let her go once to another and her heart got trashed.

From now on, any guy would have to get through him first.

Wolfe refused to analyze the emotions beneath the thought. He pulled the tie from her hair so it was loose, and pushed the unruly waves back from her forehead. "Sleep, sweetheart."

He turned to leave but her whisper stopped him.

"Will you stay with me? I'm sorry--I'm such a baby, and a mess, but I'm just--scared."

She blinked furiously, her lower lip trembling. Hell. He didn't like sleeping with anyone because of the nightmares, but he wouldn't leave her alone. Not like this.

Wolfe nodded. Toed off his shoes. Then settled himself on top of the quilt and drew her against him. Her scent swamped him, the sweet scent of daisies, and the pureness of soap. Fresh. Clean.

So unlike him.

She wiggled her butt, settled in, and slowly, her muscles relaxed. He tightened his grip around her waist, soaking in the closeness and body heat that simmered like a campfire. Cursing under his breath, he concentrated on his breathing and tried not to get aroused. He'd kissed many women. Slept with even more. Yet the honest passion she gave him during that one kiss would haunt him forever.

But Gen was his friend. His confidant. His everything.

He'd never ruin it with sex.

Sleep came slowly.

THE NOISES WERE BAD tonight.

Vincent increased the volume and wished he had one of those awesome headsets that canceled out noise. The cheap earbuds and used iPod usually did the trick, but the thin door leaked a constant groaning, thrashing, and creaking of furniture. He knew there was more than one out there tonight. The sound of two males, grunting and yelling phrases at his mother like "Suck it, whore" and "Take it this way" rattled his eardrums and made him sick.

But he'd learned his lesson the last time not to show his face. Even if it was for hours.

He should've escaped into the woods, but it was damn cold and he hadn't been prepared. Usually the men came later, but right after school one had been munching on his cereal, checking him out in that familiar way.

His mother had been getting worse. The powder was now replaced with needles. Her eyes turned mad when she craved her fix, and the men seemed to know they could push her harder. He wasn't sure how long before he might need to run. He had only been able to hide a little over a hundred dollars so far. That wouldn't get him far. He'd heard terrible stories about foster care from his mother, who always warned him to hide their secret or he'd never see her again.

&n

bsp; She had no one else to watch over her. He had to stay. When he got bigger, he'd get them both out, but right now he needed to bide his time.

His skin crawled from the screams. Finally, footsteps came out to the kitchen.

"You said I could get some if I did that," his mother whined. "I did what you wanted. Give it to me."

"Greedy bitch. I'll say when."

Something crashed against the wall. "The night's young. We got more to do."

"Just a little hit. Please."

Low laughter. "Be a good girl and you'll get what you need. Where's that boy of yours?"

"At a friend's."

"Is he in that fucking closet again? Let's get him out to party."

Vincent's heart beat wildly but he remained completely still. Fists pounded on the door. The lock rattled but held. "Hey, boy, come out and play. I got some stuff for you."

"Told you he's not here. Leave him alone, you have me."

A few more minutes of harassing, pounding, and threats. Then a clatter of needles hitting the table. "Ticktock, little boy. One day you're gonna be a man and get your ass out here to help your mother. You hear me, boy?"

His mother said something he couldn't make out. Then there was blessed quiet as they shot up and went back into the bedroom. The noises started up again.

Vincent concentrated on the music, rocked back and forth, and wished he was dead.

He was eleven years old.

eleven

GEN SHOT OUT of bed.

The door banged repeatedly in a nonstop rhythm, getting more and more demanding. What if they were reporters? She glanced over at the empty bed. Where was Wolfe? Had he left for the store? What should she do?

Gen hunkered down, crawled to the living room, and peeked out the side window.

Kate, Kennedy, and Arilyn peered back at her.

"Babe, it's us, let us in!"

She fumbled with the latch, flung open the door, and was engulfed in a tight circle of hugs.

Unfortunately, the numbness and walls she'd built up over the past few days crashed down with a tumble.

She burst into tears.