Storm Over the Lake Read Free Page A

face when you saw me was worth it,” he said flatly.
    She preceded him out the door to the gray Rolls parked at the curb, and let him put her inside. He went around the rear of the sleek automobile and slid in beside her.
    She felt the car shake as Frank put the luggage in the boot, and again as he got in the driver’s seat and the Rolls surged forward.
    He shifted in the seat to face her, his jacket falling open over his broad chest under the white silk shirt he wore. “A reporter,” he chided. “My God, it was the last thing I’d ever have guessed you were.”
    She stared down at the champagne-colored upholstery of the seat. “I’d like to tell you why I did it…”
    â€œI already know.”
    She glanced at him quickly. How could he have known that the magazine promised her enough money to pay her mother’s hospital expenses and doctor bills…
    â€œI had you followed,” he said darkly. “You were seen giving the money to a man, in a hotel restaurant! You damned little…!”
    â€œPlease, it wasn’t what you…!”
    â€œShut up.” He said it quietly, but in a tone that dared her to challenge him. “I didn’t bring you back to think up bigger and better lies to explain yourself, Meredith.”
    She wanted to tell him that the man she was giving the money to was her father’s attorney; that after her father’s death, everything had to go to pay off debts. There wasn’t enough to begin paying the specialists who were trying to repair what massive strokes had done to her mother. The money she earned from the magazineexclusive would have done that—although she refused the check when the story was run. She couldn’t have borne to take it after what she’d done to Adrian. But he wouldn’t listen. And even if he did, what difference did it make now whether he believed her or not?
    â€œIt was an insurance check from my father’s death I was signing over to him,” she wanted to say, “not blood money I got for selling the story that ruined you.” But it was no use.
    A large, darkly beautiful masculine hand with its ruby ring propped itself on the seat behind her. “Charlie mentioned you had responsibilities in Miami—someone you were supporting. Are you still keeping him up, Meredith?” he asked cruelly.
    She met his eyes evenly. “My private life is none of your business, Mr. Devereaux. It never was.”
    â€œThat’s the damned truth. But mine was yours, wasn’t it, little girl?” he growled. “I trusted you, dammit!”
    She swallowed. “I know.”
    They were nearing the house, now. She watched the wooded, flowering grandeur of the long, paved driveway out the window as they neared the big brownstone house in its nest of oak, pine, and magnolia trees. There were flowers everywhere. Lillian’s work, no doubt, because the thin little woman loved them so.
    Lillian met her at the door. The wiry, silver-haired woman was just as Dana remembered her—brusque and efficient, but her brown eyes were as warm as a cozy fire in the hearth.
    â€œYes,” Lillian said with a smile, eyeing the younger woman as they stood in the spacious foyer. “You’re a bit older, but you haven’t gained a pound. I’ll have to fix that. Have you eaten?”
    Dana managed a shaky smile, her ears listening for movement in the den where Adrian had gone as she stood in the light from the crystal chandelier that crowned the winding staircase.
    â€œYes, thank you,” she told Lillian. “I had breakfast on the plane.”
    â€œYou’ll want coffee, though.” Thesmile faded as the older woman took stock of Dana’s nervousness. “Don’t worry now,” she whispered stealthily. “It’s not…”
    â€œLillian!” The voice was deep, curt, like rumbling thunder in the den, and so familiar that Dana wanted to