by Mandy Magro
‘You might not care if the Mafia go after me, even if I’m in prison …’ Emma stood her ground, as hard as that was. ‘But you wouldn’t do that to Zane, surely?’
‘Zane’s nothing to me.’
‘But Kay raised him as her own … doesn’t that count for anything?’
‘He’s no family of mine.’ Peter snorted. ‘He’s a bastard child Kay felt the need to adopt when her deadbeat brother went to prison for murdering Zane’s mother in a drug-infused rage.’ He smiled at her shocked expression. ‘You can pick your friends but you can’t pick your family … it’s no wonder Zane’s the way he is, with genetics like that. The runt of the bloody litter, if you ask me.’
It was said nonchalantly, yet packed such a brutal punch, Emma had to grab hold of the bannister to remain standing. ‘Zane is your nephew?’ Her words were choked.
‘By marriage, yes, but not by blood.’ He leant in and prodded Emma in the chest. ‘Ironic, really, that the man you’re in love with has you to thank for killing his father.’
Emma felt the world vanish from beneath her feet and she grabbed the bannister to stop from falling. ‘What did you just say?’
Peter smiled gratifyingly. ‘Yes, that’s right, Emma, the man you killed was Zane’s father, Martin Turner.’
Hearing his name made it all the more real. Emma fought off an overwhelming wave of nausea. ‘Zane’s father was part of the Mafia?’ Her head spinning, every word was a struggle to get out.
‘No, you stupid girl. He was just some deadbeat who wanted to cause trouble, and thanks to you, he couldn’t.’
Bile rose in her throat and she fought the urge to slap him hard across the face. ‘Go to hell, you bastard.’ She spat it through clenched teeth as she bit back hot tears. Over the years, she’d tried to piece together the fragments of those fateful minutes, but this was way worse than she ever could have imagined.
‘I’m sure I will go to hell one day, but not for now.’ He sneered. ‘Only the good die young.’
‘Tell me this much, what was Martin doing breaking into the homestead that night?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’ Peter tried to act indifferent but Emma could see right through his lie. ‘Maybe looking for his son, or something to steal to feed his drug habit.’
Emma folded her arms in a bid to hold herself together. ‘So why didn’t you just let Zane call the police that night, so I could tell them it was self-defence? What was in it for you?’
‘I was merely doing a good deed and helping you out by getting rid of the body, so you didn’t end up in jail.’
‘Yeah, right, pull the other leg.’
Peter’s smirk broadened. ‘Think what you wish.’
‘So what’s stopping me going to the police now and telling them everything?’
Peter shook his head, tutting. ‘You really think they’re going to let you off with just a slap to the wrist, after hiding it all these years? Come on, Emma, think rationally.’
Emma’s head was spinning, to the point she felt as if she were about to heave her lunch back up. There was much more to the shocking story, she just knew it. She wanted to scream at him, wanted to slap the truth right out of his deceitful mouth, but she drew in a deep breath and spoke low and slow. ‘You’re even more vile than I thought you were, Peter. I honestly don’t know how you sleep at night.’
‘Easy peasy, lemon squeezy … I just lie down and sleep like a baby, knowing everything in my world is exactly how it should be.’ He sighed at her exasperated expression. ‘You see, Emma, I do the things that most can’t, simple as that.’ Staring into his glass, he swirled the last of the whisky, a sly expression plastered on his chubby face.
‘How can you be so sure I’m not going to tell Zane it was his father I accidentally killed that night?’
His beady eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Because if you do, I swear to God I’ll ruin your life, and Zane’s for that matter, and Riley will have to visit her mother in prison for the rest of your days.’
Emma felt the weight of the world land on her chest as a deadening terror gripped her. Zane deserved to know the truth, and she desperately wanted to make things right, but her baby girl was her world, her everything – she wouldn’t risk putting Riley through something as horrific as seeing her behind bars. She had no doubt Peter would stick to his word and put her there, and get the key thrown away. She heaved in a tortured breath, frantically trying to get a grip on the slippery slope she was fast sliding down. ‘Surely you wouldn’t do such a thing to Riley?’ Playing his bluff, she did her very best to remain calm, composed. ‘You know how close she and I are.’
‘Exactly, Emma. She is your Achilles heel, and I will use every means possible if you make me. Trust me when I say, I’ve done much worse.’ His grey eyes narrowed even further and if looks could kill, she would have been dead on the spot.
‘I wouldn’t doubt that for a second.’ Emma backed up until she was pressed against the wall. ‘Does Michael know about all of this?’
Peter shrugged, but the look on his face told her everything she needed to know. If she’d thought she was falling out of love with her husband, she now hated him with a vengeance. Michael had watched her go through hell after that night – all those years of bashing herself up for killing a man, and not being able to go to the police about it. What were he and Peter getting out of all of this? She was sure it had something to do with money. The man was as loathsome as his goddamn father.
Peter closed the distance between them and put his lips so close to her ear it made her shudder in disgust. ‘I’m warning you, don’t underestimate me, girly. I’ve never liked you; you’re not good enough for my Michael. So you’ll pay if you speak a word of this, or the results of your test, to anyone. Ever. Do. You. Understand. Me?’
Her blood froze solid in her veins as she nodded.
‘Clever girl.’ He stepped away and smoothed his business shirt over his stomach. ‘You really should have gone with your heart, instead of your head. Zane is more your calibre.’ He chuckled mockingly. ‘As much as he tends to think otherwise, a bull rider will never get anywhere and will never amount to anything. He’s a lost bloody cause, if I’ve ever seen one, just like his father was. You two would make a wonderful couple.’
‘I’m so glad Zane is nothing like you,’ she said, her voice a low growl. ‘You oxygen thief … I hope you rot in hell, and while you’re at it, take Michael with you.’
‘Never speak about Michael like that in front of me again.’ The veins in Peter’s forehead looked as though they were about to pop. Whisky sloshed over the glass as he waved his hand at her. ‘Just keep your damn mouth shut or you’ll be sorry. Got it?’ One hand now shoved in his pocket and the other wrapped tightly around the glass, he sculled the last of his drink.
‘You’re one selfish son of a bitch, you know that?’
‘Yup, I’m as selfish as they come, and I bloody well own my shit, unlike some.’ He eyed her up and down. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself, sleeping with Zane when you were meant to be with Michael.’
She matched his fierce gaze. ‘That’s the pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think? After what you did to Kay when she was on her death bed, sleeping with that fly-by-night hussy from the pub.’
‘A man has to get it somewhere, my dear.’ He smiled like the cat that had got the cream.
‘You’re one hell of a sick man, Peter Wolfe.’ Unable to look him in the eyes any longer, for fear of gouging them out, she turned so she was shoulder to shoulder, her arms now folded even tighter across her chest. ‘I knew you were callous, but I can’t believe you’re going to blackmail me over this. You clearly have a motive in keeping me quiet about the results, whatever that might be.’
‘Oh, come on now, Emma, you’ve never liked me and I’ve never liked you, so it’s no love lost.’ He shrugged, his tone too casual for the seriousness of the situation. ‘I’m just looking out for the ones I love, and to be fair, you should be doing the same. Riley ne
eds her mother, but she won’t have one around if you go and do something stupid.’
She shot him a sideways glance, the urge to scratch his eyeballs out growing by the second. ‘Get the hell out of my house.’
‘When I’m good and ready, I’ll leave. I’ve come to see my granddaughter for her birthday, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’
‘You’re a bastard, Peter.’
‘If that’s what you think, fair enough.’ Peter offered an amused smirk.
Fighting off tears, all Emma could do was glare at him. She swallowed hard, trying to rid her throat of the lump of emotion lodged there. Janine had a lot to answer for, giving her private mail to Peter, but that was a battle she would fight once the shock of all this had waned. ‘Get the hell away from me,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘I honestly can’t stand the sight of you.’
‘Likewise, so it would be my absolute pleasure.’ He plonked his empty glass down beside where her hands still gripped the railing. ‘I warn you not to start a fire you can’t control, because if you flick the match, there’ll be no going back. So be very, very careful.’ He turned on his heel and walked away from her, his double chin jutted out and his chest puffed like an ape needing to assert his manhood.
Spotting her grandfather trudging across the back lawn, Riley’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. With Zane’s help, she jumped down from her pony and ran for him, arms outstretched. Peter picked her up and spun her around, showering her cheeks with kisses and deliberately ignoring Zane in the process. Emma wanted to scream at the godawful man, tell him to keep his filthy hands off her daughter and to have the common decency to acknowledge Zane. Little did Riley know how much of a detestable man her grandfather was. Emma hoped that when Riley was old enough, she would see for herself – she wasn’t about to try to ruin their relationship for her own selfish reasons.
Out of Riley’s line of sight, Zane gave Emma a glance as he pulled his wide-brimmed hat down, turned, and headed in the opposite direction, pony in tow, away from Peter. The hurt and rejection written across his face tore at her already shattered heart. How was she meant to keep something like this from him? And here she’d been, worried about possibly having to break the news that he was Riley’s father. It just went to show that things could always get worse. What a goddamn mess, and she was helpless to fix it. As much as she wanted to stand up to Peter and do the right thing by Zane and Zane’s father, Emma knew her father-in-law was not a man to cross.
A sudden wave of nausea overwhelmed her. She quickly ducked inside, her hands covering her mouth as she ran for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before her lunch came up. Her back against the wall, she slid down to the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees, her gaze glued to the envelope she’d thrown to the floor – whatever it said, didn’t change a thing. Regardless of what the results proved, her past was going to have to stay where it was, no matter how much it hounded her, or how much she ached to tell the truth. What Peter had just told her would have to be buried deep down in her soul, and she would have to learn to live with that torment, because as long as the vile man was alive, the truth could never be set free. And if that meant she had to cut ties with Zane to be able to deal with the secrets she was keeping from him, as much as that was going to tear her to shreds, that’s what she would have to do. Riley needed her – she wasn’t about to risk not being here for her daughter because she was thrown behind bars.
CHAPTER 3
Kissimmee, Florida, United States
Present day
Zane looked down at his World Champion belt buckle and was filled with a familiar sense of pride that he’d done it. Five years ago, he’d achieved his bull-riding dream. Nevertheless, that hadn’t stopped his drive to win, to keep setting new goals in the toughest sport on dirt. Although surrounded by other bull riders, from all four corners of the globe, he still felt a sense of loneliness, of somehow not belonging. Shrugging the thought aside, he put it down to being the oldest of the group. At thirty-four, he was well aware he was reaching the end of his bull-riding career, but with nothing or nobody else to switch his focus to, he was hesitant to throw in the towel.
Groaning, he pushed his gear bag under the wooden bench. For some damn reason, before every ride, Emma was the one he thought of – maybe thinking of her gave him strength, maybe the heartache of their last encounter gave him all the more reason to not care if he lost his life in the arena. Either way, he wished he could just forget about her, as she had him. But after years of trying, he knew that wasn’t possible. It was seven years since he’d seen her and heard her sweet voice, and to this day, he could still picture every freckle dusted upon her cheeks, and the fierceness in her hazel eyes as he’d stupidly tried to kiss her on the night of Riley’s birthday party. Her slap had stung, as had her words when she’d told him enough was enough, and that they needed to put a stop to whatever it was between them.
And so he had.
His chaps buckled on, he straightened and rolled his left shoulder, tensing against the pain that knifed through it – a souvenir from a rank bull he’d got hooked up on last month. The first and only steadfast rule for a bull rider was to stay alive, and so far he’d done a good job of it … as much as he could; it was also up to fate, or God, or whomever a man put his faith in. Zane put his faith in himself, because he’d learnt over the years that no amount of prayers worked – he had to put the hard yards in himself. Effort equalled rewards. It was as simple as that – he didn’t need complications. That was the main reason why he’d walked away from his wife of four years.
Climbing the steps, Zane headed behind the chutes and hoisted himself up on the railings. With blue sky as far as the eye could see, and only the occasional cloud drifting about, it was a spectacular winter’s day. The rough-stock events were in full swing and the crowd was amped up. Having grown from the humble beginnings of a gathering of ranchers in 1941, Silver Spurs Rodeo was now the largest rodeo east of Mississippi – cowgirls, cowboys, cowpokes and broncobusters had descended in their masses to the legendary bull bash, keen either to win a piece of the prize money or to watch from the state-of-the-art grandstands. Stock contractors were busy tending to their prized bucking bulls roaming the holding yards, the one-tonne brutes clearly eager to do what they were bred for, and the lip-smacking scent of briskets and ribs cooking low and slow on smokehouse barbeques drifted on the gentle, late-afternoon breeze.
From his steel perch, sitting between other jean-clad, adrenaline-fuelled cowboys, Zane’s mouth watered as he thought about tucking into a rack of sauce-covered ribs later, along with a charred corn cob and coleslaw, followed by a couple of beers at the after-party down at the local honky tonk. Having skipped breakfast, and lunch, his stomach growled in protest, the anticipation of his imminent feast spurring him on and making him downright ravenous. But first things first, he needed to buck it out in the arena one more time. It was the final round, and with his recent divorce costing an arm and a leg, he was banking on walking out a winner.
Scanning the crowded Silver Spur grandstands, filled to the brim with over eight thousand spectators, he smiled to himself. As always, the atmosphere of the rodeo grounds was beyond electric, the adrenaline almost dripping from the railings of the stadium. Speaking in his southern drawl, the compere built the hype and urged on the crowds, their collective roar virtually lifting the roof. In between rides the speakers blared overhead; the combination of seventies rock and good old-fashioned country tunes set the tone for a bucking good time. The music muting, the next rider would be announced, the compere calling out the rider’s name, hometown and place on the leader board.
Like Zane, every bull rider here was ready to risk it all – life and limb – to climb up the leader board. Preparation and fitness were on every serious cowboy’s agenda leading up to each event, but as soon as that gate flung open, fate and chance came into play. The bulls couldn’t be choreographed, rider injuries were frighteningly real, and the shadow of death w
as always lurking. But Zane knew that fear of a bad injury, or worse, always took a back seat as instinct and groundwork took over. It was what a bull rider had to do to survive yet another round on the back of that mass of muscle. Fear wasn’t part of a successful bull rider’s equation.
The mammoth bull in the centre ring was bucking like the pro it was; the young rider’s form was okay but needed some work. Zane gave the kid kudos for hanging in there. The buzzer rang out, and the stocky nineteen-year-old leapt from the back of his bucking brute, his smile from ear to ear. With the bull hot on his trail, he scooted for the railing and hightailed it over, grinning cheekily as he barely avoided a horn to the rear end. Out of harm’s way, he then gave the bull the finger. The crowd loved the shenanigans. Zane chuckled. What a way to spend a Sunday. A shiver of exhilaration sent a flood of goosebumps all over him. This, right here, was his idea of living the high life. He’d never tire of the charged atmosphere that came with a good old-fashioned country rodeo. He didn’t need to be rubbing shoulders with the elite to feel worthy – unlike his father and brother back in Australia, who he’d tried to forget. He had his adoptive mother to thank for his love of anything country. Kay had been a champion barrel racer, and Zane had spent what years he’d had with her, before her cancer, at events just like this. Lured by the bigger pay cheques of the professional bull-riding world, which comprised of bull riding alone – events such as this one that encompassed team roping, steer wrestling, barrel racing, bareback riding and bull riding – was where he felt more at home. He enjoyed watching the other events while he waited for his time to buck it out atop a one-tonne bull in the arena. Having spent the last sixteen years driving the US rodeo circuit, this wasn’t his first time here.