Remy chuckled, perpetually amused by Duke’s irascible temperament. “You can stand down, soldier. I’m putting this job on hold until further notice.”
“Good. Glad to hear it. Now if it’s all the same to you, Chief, I’m off to take another cold shower.”
Remy chuckled. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
Duke muttered a dark expletive before hanging up.
Remy grinned, shoving his phone back into his pocket.
But as he stood there contemplating the shimmering blue vastness of Lake Michigan, his amusement quickly faded. He knew what he had to do, but he dreaded the hell out of it. He didn’t want to hurt Zandra, especially after the amazing week they’d just spent together. She’d told him that she loved him, sending his heart into the damn stratosphere. Now that they’d reached this incredible new level in their relationship, he could never go back to being just friends with her.
Once she learned that he’d been secretly investigating her agency, he hoped and prayed that she’d understand his reasons and forgive him.
Because the alternative—living without her—was absolutely unthinkable.
*
Zandra didn’t offer her father a drink or invite him to sit down. She barely wanted to let him through the door. Of course, once he was inside, he helped himself to a chair.
She watched as he looked around the living room, his gaze landing on her mother’s paintings. Lightly at first, then returning to linger on each one. As he stared, something like pain and regret flickered in his eyes.
He’d hated being married to an artist. He’d hated having to share Autumn with her gift, resented the hours she’d spent painting instead of catering to him. He’d hated that no matter how viciously he ridiculed and brutalized her, she’d always found solace and healing through her painting. Even when he flew into a rage and maliciously destroyed her work, he couldn’t destroy the beautiful imagination that would fuel the next piece. Autumn’s gift was the only part of her he couldn’t conquer, and he’d always known it.
After her funeral, he’d gathered all her paintings and dumped them on the front porch, then called Zandra and told her to come pick them up. It was one of the few kindnesses he’d ever shown her.
She watched now as he swallowed visibly, then dragged his gaze from the familiar artwork to look at her. His eyes were unfocused and haunted, and for a moment she couldn’t tell whether he was seeing her, or her mother.
She waited for him to remember. Waited for the hatred and anger to slide back into place.
It didn’t take long.
“Well,” he said bitterly, “I hope you’re happy.”
Zandra didn’t sit down. She didn’t want to pretend that he was an invited guest, that this was a normal visit between a father and daughter.
She folded her arms across her chest, a defensive posture. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Haven’t you been watching the news? The very thing I tried to warn you about is happening!”
Zandra’s lips twisted scornfully. “Am I supposed to care that your political campaign is in trouble? Cry me a damn river.”
His face reddened with anger. “You conniving little bitch. This is exactly what you wanted to happen.”
Zandra snorted. “Oh, yeah,” she mocked. “I really wanted to have my name and photo splashed across the news so that complete strangers can be titillated by the details of my personal life.”
“And whose fault is that?” Landis spat, raking her with a look of scathing contempt. “Running a prostitution ring. Screwing men in public restrooms. You’re a whore. Just like your mother.”
Zandra’s temper exploded. “You bastard! Stop calling her a whore! Despite the abominable way you treated her, she was never unfaithful to you! It’s not her fault you were too paranoid and insecure to handle being married to a beautiful woman. It’s not her fault that she couldn’t even make eye contact with another man without sending you into a jealous rage!”