“I just like things to be safe and sound, that’s all.”
Chloe let it go. She didn’t even start humming “Queen of Denial.” He knew what he was. There was no need to force him to say it, unless, of course, she had him naked and at her mercy.
She turned onto her street and heard Max breathe a sigh of relief as she pulled up to the curb in front of Mrs. Schlessing’s house. “I’ll move the truck back to the garage tonight after dark. Let’s try to get up the stairs quickly. Sometimes they won’t notice if they’re on the phone.”
“Got it.”
But something was a little off today. Before they reached the wrought-iron gate, a man appeared on the corner, camera pointed in their direction. As Max pushed the screeching gate open, the man started jogging toward them. “Max!” he yelled. “Max Sullivan!”
Chloe stumbled as she squeezed through the narrow opening. “They found out your real name.”
“Damn it.” He forced himself through, though the metal must have scraped his back, then he slammed the gate shut and started up the overgrown path after Chloe. A huge mass of fur and muscle came barreling past them, fangs bared in a vicious growl. Max yelped and pressed into one of the bushes, but the dog aimed straight for the gate, slamming into the metal and pushing his muzzle through the bars to snap at the photographer. That distracted the guy enough for Chloe and Max to disappear into the vines.
“I’m sorry,” Chloe offered feebly, mortified that he had to suffer the experience of crazed photographers screaming out his name. “I’m really sorry.”
He said, “No big deal,” but his voice had that pulled-down sound again.
The path drew close to the main house, and Mrs. Schlessing appeared on the porch in housecoat and slippers, her shotgun cradled in her arms.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Schlessing. It’s just the press again. I parked in front to try to avoid them.”
“Damn pushy vultures.”
“The gate’s shut and Brutus has it covered. You can put the gun away.”
She was still muttering when they turned to follow the path around to the side of the house.
“Is that thing really loaded?” Max whispered.
“I’m pretty sure it is.” Smiling over her shoulder, Chloe didn’t register the voices at first. Not until she saw Max’s eyes widen, his gaze focused somewhere ahead.
Chloe whipped around to make sure the carriage house wasn’t on fire. It wasn’t, but from the sound of it, a whole brigade of people seemed ready to capture every lick of flame on film if it was. Up to this point, she’d been mildly hounded. At most, three or four photographers had staked out the alleyway, trying to capture a moment of her life that would earn them a paycheck. But now… She couldn’t see them past the fence, but she could see the three video cameras that had been erected on top of a van parked in the alley. Every lens was focused straight on her. And Max. “Oh, God. What’s going on?” This didn’t make sense. It was Sunday. Surely the DA hadn’t made any announcements. She stopped in her tracks, wondering what she should do. Go forward or go back? But when Max bumped her heel from behind, she started walking again. Fast. Then faster, until she was jogging toward the stairs. “Come on,” she urged Max, waving for him to hurry.
“Max!” Someone else shouted, and Chloe cringed.
/> “Max! How did you end up with the Bridezilla?”
“Is she a friend of Genevieve Bianca?”
Chloe was halfway up the stairs. She heard the still cameras clicking and whirring. The video cameras were menacing in their silence, as always. Something about their blank, impassive lenses creeped her out. Too many bad science fiction movies, maybe.
“Chloe! How long have you been sleeping with Max Sullivan?”
She couldn’t find her keys. She’d just had them. Where could they possibly—she patted her right pocket and snatched them out in triumph, keeping her face tilted down toward the doorknob.
“Max! What does Genevieve think of your dating Chloe Turner?”
“Where did you meet?”
She turned the key so hard that her wrist yelped with pain, but that little twinge didn’t bother her, because she was finally through the door and cocooned in darkness. The first thing she’d done when she’d moved in was buy light-blocking shades. If she couldn’t see out, they couldn’t see in.
Max slipped inside and shut the door behind him.
“Oh, my God, Max. What’s wrong with them?”
He shook his head and collapsed slowly back against the door.
“It’s never…” Though she tried hard to draw a breath, her throat had squeezed itself shut “…been like…this.”