The Enchanted: Council of Seven Shifter Romance Collection

by Juniper Hart

  She doesn’t belong in Apple Orchard. She’s from Los Angeles, her sound voice warned her, but curiosity did not allow for her to close the door. She reeked of Chanel, and Gena could tell instinctively that she was not a reporter.

  “Yes?” she croaked. She had not spoken in days, and her vocal chords were not used to the action. The flaxen haired woman spun at the sound of Gena’s voice, and she peered down at her, green eyes alight with some emotion which Gena could not place but did not alleviate the worry mounting in her stomach.

  “Are you Gena Averson?” she asked. Her voice was thick with a southern twang, and Gena could not stop the tickle in her brain which was reaching out to identify her.

  “Yes…”

  The vixen cleared her throat of phlegm and spat it in Gena’s shocked face. A roar erupted from the reporters, who scrambled to get a better angle for their pictures.

  “That’s for being such a homewrecking bitch!” the belle declared before storming off the porch. Paralyzed with humiliation, Gena could only stare after her, saliva dripping from her forehead as she suddenly recognized Leona Davis.

  She’s the twangy wench with all the number-one hits. And she just spat on me.

  The paparazzi rushed forward, screaming questions at her and snapping photos until Gena managed to close the door on their collective faces. With leaden steps, she turned back toward the stairs and began to climb, her knees shaking. Inside her room, she tossed herself back onto the unkempt bed and closed her eyes. She was never getting up again.

  “Mr. Morrow, there is something you should probably see on TV,” Shawna told Arden, walking into the master bedroom unannounced. Her face was taut with anger and concern, but Arden didn’t immediately notice. He swallowed his annoyance and casually slipped the file he was reading under a newspaper.

  “If it isn’t the Buckeyes playing, I really have no interest in watching anything on television, Shawna,” he informed her. “And please, I would really prefer if you knock next time you want to come into my room.”

  Shawna ignored him and entered the sitting area of the master bedroom. She picked up the remote control and aimed it at the set mounted on the wall. “Trust me, Mr. Morrow. You should watch this.”

  Curiously, knowing that Shawna’s insistence was out of character, he turned to see what she was showing him. Instantly, the news was on, and Arden felt his whole body groan with his mouth.

  “Oh, no more of this tripe,” he begged Shawna. “I don’t care what that big mouth Shari Jespers is spewing forth now.”

  In truth, he had gone out of his way to avoid all contact with the media since Shari had published the piece about him straying on Leona Davis. It was clear that she would stop at nothing to besmirch his good name, and Arden was worried he would pick up the phone himself to give her an earful. He knew that Malik was right; the best defense was complete silence. If he didn’t give her any more ammunition, she couldn’t go much further.

  Who would have thought a story with absolutely no foundation could go on this long? he wondered disbelievingly. I think I am going to slap her with a lawsuit just to wipe that smug look off her face. She deserves to be dragged through the courts and kept away from the public for a while.

  Shawna still did not speak, and Arden soon saw why.

  “Oh, good God…” He watched as footage showed Leona Davis stepping out of an airport limousine in front of Gena Averson’s house. Leona slipped past the throng of reporters and up the rickety steps, looking sorely out of place in Prada against the white peeling paint.

  “What is she doing?” Arden murmured, his heart racing. He felt like he was watching the video in slow motion, bile rising into his throat. “Oh, Leona, what did you do?”

  “It’s pretty bad, sir,” Shawna commented, averting her eyes as if she could not watch the scene again. Arden observed Leona flash the mob of reporters a tight smile as she waited for Gena to answer the door.

  Don’t answer the door, don’t answer the door, he chanted silently, like he was watching a horror flick and warning the babysitter not to enter the creepy, dark basement, but he already knew there was about to be a horrible outcome to this incident. Of course there will be; it wouldn’t be entertainment otherwise.

  His breath caught in limbo, Arden watched the door creak open and Gena Averson’s profile look through. He almost didn’t recognize her as the woman he had met two weeks earlier. Gone was the sign of fire and passion in her face. In their place was a gaunt, meek seeming waif with hollowed, worried eyes. And there was something else about her…

  Arden sat forward, his pulse racing. Something else had changed in her. That can’t be…

  “Gena Averson?” he heard Leona ask.

  “Yes…” Gena replied, and Arden watched in horror as she spat in Gena’s shocked face.

  “Oh no…” he choked. “What the hell?!” Arden felt wretched and abused witnessing such an unfeeling act. He strained to hear Leona’s words.

  “That’s for being such a homewrecking bitch!”

  Oh, Leona, you emotionally unstable wench! How could you do something so vile with the whole world watching? Or was that the whole point? He didn’t know why he was as scandalized as he was by what had happened. He should have expected such a childish act of jealousy from Leona. He should have foreseen it and stopped it before it happened. He wouldn’t be surprised if Jespers herself had added flames to the fire by personally whispering lies in her ears. Why hadn’t he answered her calls? As if Gena hadn’t been humiliated enough as it was.

  Leona had always displayed a great deal of immaturity, and the voicemails she had left on his phone certainly indicated that she was livid. Still, it seemed that Arden was not as Hollywood as Malik suspected. The cut-throat, underhanded petulance of the players still shook him, especially when it hit so close to home.

  On the screen, Arden watched as any miniscule amount of life drained from Gena’s face before closing the door on the swarm of hungry reporters engulfing her for comment.

  They are breaking that girl, he thought, the expression on Gena Averson’s face sending gooseflesh up his spine. He was sure he had never seen anyone look so beaten in his life.

  “She looks very upset,” Shawna murmured, and Arden saw that the housekeeper’s face was a mask of the ill he was feeling.

  She’s not just upset. She’s changed.

  “She looks devastated,” he retorted, leaping from the table. “Where is Malik?”

  “He’s still in town getting the stuff you asked for,” Shawna answered, and Arden cringed.

  It has gotten to a point where I can’t even go out and get my own damn dry cleaning because I might be recognized. A lot of good this move did me, Arden thought bitterly. So much for staying out of the public eye. He didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself at that moment. He needed to talk to Malik. He reached for his cell and called the agent.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Malik answered. Arden could hear the wind rushing in the background, so he knew the publicist was driving.

  “Where are you?” Arden demanded.

  “I’m heading back to the farm now.”

  “Turn around and go back into town,” Arden ordered.

  “What did you forget?” Malik sighed. He had been running errands all morning, and he sounded embittered by the task.

  “I didn’t forget anything. Did you happen to see what Leona did this morning?”

  “Oh, great, what kooky, spiritual path did she go off on now?”

  “She paid Gena Averson a visit and spat in her face. On camera. At her house.”

  Malik went so silent that if not for the wind, Arden would have been certain he had lost him.

  “Mal?” The agent cleared his throat and coughed, as if trying to rid himself of the bad taste in his mouth.

  “Why would she do something that blatantly stupid? I mean, she was never the sharpest knife in the drawer, but…” Malik mumbled. “Is the Averson girl pressing charges against Leona?”

  “I don�
�t know, but I can’t watch this anymore. It’s worse than a train wreck. I have to do something.”

  Malik was silent for a moment. “What do you need me to do, Arden?”

  “Go and get her the hell out of that house right now,” Arden demanded.

  “And then what? Set her up in a hotel?”

  “Are you kidding me? Do you think there is any place in this town where she won’t be found and harassed?”

  “Okay, so what do you want me to do then?”

  “Bring her here.”

  “Do you think that’s a smart idea?” Malik protested. “I mean, the press—”

  “I don’t give a damn about the press right now!” Arden screamed into the phone. “They are sucking the life out of that girl, and we need to do something!”

  “Arden—”

  “Listen, Mal, either you can do it, or I will do it myself. I just figure that it will make it much easier for all of us if you do it.”

  “What if she won’t come?” Malik asked.

  “Trust me. She’ll come,” Arden replied with more confidence than he felt.

  How the hell am I supposed to accomplish this? Malik wondered as he stared at Shearer Crescent. There was nowhere to move, let alone subtly get lost in the crowd. He would have no chance of approaching Gena’s house unnoticed, and he was certain she would not answer the door if he somehow managed to make the move.

  The backlash to me taking her from here is going to be astronomical, he thought woefully. It may as well be Arden coming himself. Anyone will know who I am if we try to get out of the house. Then they will follow us to Arden’s, and the rest will be history.

  Malik considered calling Arden back to explain his conundrum, but he had a feeling he already knew what his client would say: “Figure it out.”

  He had tried calling both numbers that he had located for Gena. Neither one seemed to be in service. Could he find an email address for her? Was it even worth trying? There was no doubt that she was in hiding. Malik was willing to bet that she hadn’t been online, either. Tension mounting in his stomach, he parked his car on Chestnut and began to walk through the neighborhood. To his chagrin, he noticed police presence.

  Of course the cops are here, Malik thought, exasperated. This little town has no recourse for this level of crazy. Maybe I can hire someone to knock on the door, see if she’ll answer.

  He knew it was a long shot, but soon, he chanced upon a couple of teenaged boys skateboarding outside Christie Park.

  “You guys want to make fifty bucks each?” Malik asked them. Their eyes lit up but then regarded the stranger suspiciously.

  “Maybe…” the taller boy replied. “It depends on what you want us to do.”

  “Do you know Gena Averson?”

  “Damn, of course, bro!” the smaller one piped in. “Everyone knows the chick who’s banging Arden Morrow!” Malik fought the scowl from his lips and nodded approvingly.

  “Good. All I want you to do is go and knock on her door,” he told them. “If she answers, I want you to give her this note.” He held up a folded piece of paper, and the teens eyed him skeptically.

  “Why don’t you just do it?” the little one asked.

  Malik shrugged and began to walk away. “If you don’t want to make the quickest fifty bucks of your life…” he said flippantly.

  “No, wait!” they called in unison. “We’ll do it.” Malik smiled and turned to face them.

  “What if she doesn’t answer?” the gangly one asked. Malik shrugged his shoulders.

  “Just toss the note. Here’s your money.” He handed them each fifty bucks and headed back toward his car. “I’ll be sitting in that BMW. If she answered, give me a thumbs up on the way by. If not, a thumbs down will suffice. Got it?”

  The boys nodded and scurried off while Malik climbed into his vehicle. Drumming his fingers against the dashboard impatiently, he waited for them to return. She’s not going to answer. Not if she thinks she’s going to be spat upon and abused. Poor kid. She got canned from the hospital, too. I wonder what she’s doing for money.

  The adolescents turned the corner and pointed their thumbs down. A wave of disappointment washed over Malik. He knew he only had one other option now: breaking into Gena’s house in the middle of the night. He prayed that she was not a gun owner. On the other hand, if she was, Arden would be out of the spotlight, and the girl would be considered a hometown hero for shooting the man who had climbed through her window.

  Malik dismissed his morbid thought and rammed his head gently against the rubber of the steering wheel. At the end of the day, no one can escape the crazy of La La Land forever. Not even you.

  11

  Arden could not relax. Ever since seeing Gena’s face that morning, he had been plagued with guilt and shame.

  She came to you asking for help, and you brushed her off like she was a pesky fly. Now she is a pariah, and there is nothing you can do to change that. You should have done something when you had the chance, at least tried to control this wildfire before it spread to these proportions.

  Yet Arden knew logically that no matter what he had said or done, the outcome would have been the same. Chances were, it would have escalated faster than it did.

  In his anger, Arden had picked up the phone and called Leona, furious at her actions.

  “How dare you do something so vile and cruel!” he had shouted at the country singer. “She didn’t deserve that. It was underhanded and done for show.”

  “It was done because that hussy was sleeping with you before we were broken up!” she screamed back. “I will not apologize for defending my own honor. If your girlfriend’s feelings got hurt, that is too damn bad!” Leona had hung up in his ear, feeding Arden’s rage, but he truly had no recourse.

  No one would believe him if he denied the affair. It wouldn’t make Gena’s life easier—she had already been put through the ringer from all angles, her life thrown for a loop, and why? Because she’d made the mistake of answering his phone, a phone she’d returned, unused and unscathed.

  No good deed goes unpunished, Arden thought, pacing through his bedroom. He resisted the urge to pick up the phone and call Malik, not understanding what was taking the agent so long for an update. The last time they had spoken, Malik had explained the problem with getting to Gena.

  “I think I need to wait a few days—”

  “No, Malik, God dammit!” He took a deep breath, not wanting to explain to Malik that something else was happening with Gena, something beyond the troubling gossip. “Waiting is what got us to this point in the first place. Get her the hell out of there before something terrible happens to her!”

  Or she does something terrible to herself, Arden finished silently. Reluctantly, Malik agreed, warning Arden that he might have to resort to desperate measures. Arden did not bother to ask him what that meant.

  “I don’t give a damn how you do it, just do it!” he had told his agent.

  It was two-thirty in the morning, and Arden had not heard from Malik since eight o’clock. The minutes were dragging by, each second grating on Arden’s already thin nerves.

  I really hope he didn’t get himself arrested, Arden thought ruefully as he paced the room. It wasn’t like Malik couldn’t find a way out of a rural arrest if that was the case, but still, it was a worry.

  Finally, he could wait no longer and picked up his cell to call Malik. He had to know what was going on.

  There is no way I am going to get away with this, Malik thought over and over like a chant in his head, but he did not pause to reconsider. Sliding underneath the house, he listened carefully for footsteps or talking. Holding his breath, he pulled himself out again and glanced around. Probably raccoons, he thought, returning to the windows of the sun porch.

  He had waited patiently until most of the journalists had gone for the night or retired to their vans. He knew there would always be the die-hard story grabbers, pumped on Red Bull, raring to go at the first sign of movement, regardless of the
time.

  In the inky darkness, Malik stole into the neighbor’s backyard and climbed the fence, much the way Gena had to escape the same enemy. His coffee-colored skin and dark clothes made him but a shadow under the most intense scrutiny. In her tiny, muddy back lawn, Malik hopelessly tried the door and the windows. They were easy enough to remove from the panes, and he knew he had found his entry. That had never been his main concern. There were dozens of ways to break into a house, especially one which had been neglected by both time and money.

  The worst was about to come.

  I still don’t understand how he expects me to pull this off, he grumbled silently. She doesn’t know who I am. Even if I somehow convince her to trust me, the strange man who broke into her house at night, why would she agree to go to Arden? She must be as angry at him as she is at anyone. This entire plan is foolish.

  He gently pried the window out and slipped into the kitchen, stepping on the tail of an animal which hissed and screamed. Malik’s heart was in his throat, and he jumped at the noise.

  Sorry, cat! Sorry, my bad, he called silently to the irate animal.

  He crunched his nose at the fetid stench of rotting food in his midst. Dishes were piled in the sink, food caked upon them. The smell of an uncleaned litterbox overpowered all. He crept along the floor of the house, wincing at every creak made by his soft-soled Gucci shoes. Up the stairs he continued, measuring his breaths and trying to find the right words to speak to Gena Averson. He could hear no movement on the second floor, and he assumed that she was asleep.

  Good, that buys me a few more minutes to figure out a speech that doesn’t sound creepy and threatening. “Hi, Gena, don’t be scared. I’m not really as intimidating as I look standing in your bedroom in the middle of the night, uninvited. I came to rescue you!” That is going to go over really well. Damn it, Arden. You better not be retiring now. You owe me large for this.