Mayor Barrow squeezed her hand. “Thank you for all you’re doing for our city. The fundraisers you’ve organized have raised hundreds of thousands of dollars already.”
“I just want everyone who lost their homes to have one again.”
He nodded, and she said good-night to the investors. Then she retrieved her wrap and headed down the stairs. The maître d’ called her a cab, and within minutes, she was slipping inside her house on Saint Charles Street.
Darkness bathed the inside, and she reached for the lamp, but suddenly someone grabbed her from behind.
She tried to scream, but he shoved a hand over her mouth and pushed her toward the den.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmured in her ear.
His voice sounded vaguely familiar, yet fear seized her. If he wasn’t going to hurt her, why had he broken in?
Prepared to offer him her purse and whatever else he wanted in the house, she nodded against his hand.
He eased her toward the sofa, then flipped on the lamp, and she spun around, ready to tangle.
But her heart stalled in her chest. Her attacker was Mack Rivet.
Her former lover and husband. And the father of her son.
MACK’S HEART POUNDED so hard that he had to take a deep breath to calm himself. He thought he’d lost Lily years ago, and now here she was alive, in the flesh.
And looking like a knockout in that skintight black sheath. Just touching her stirred a deep ache in his soul.
And in his groin.
Her long blond hair was captured in a chignon with jewel combs holding the silky strands in place.
A reminder that her father had money and that she was too good for him.
Still, it hadn’t stopped him from wanting her—and having her—eight years ago.
It wouldn’t stop him now.
“Oh, my God,” Lily said in a choked whisper. “I thought…you died in the flood.”
“No.” Mack narrowed his eyes at her. “But I thought you were dead.”
Emotions flickered in her eyes. “You looked for me?”
“Of course I did,” he said with a muttered curse. “Dammit, I loved you, Lily. You were pregnant with my son.”
Lily paled. “I don’t understand. It’s been years.”
“I know it has,” he said sharply.
She raised her gaze to his, those damn emerald eyes drawing him in. “Father said he checked the listings and a guard said you died.”
Anger gnawed at Mack. Landry had lied to both of them.
Which made him even more certain that he was aiding the mayor in his scheme.
“Why did you wait eight years to come to me?” she asked.
Mack’s defenses rose as she turned the tables on him. “I did look for you, for months,” he said, his heart in his throat. “I kept checking the lists, the police departments and hospitals, and I called your father, but he told me you didn’t make it.”
Lily gasped and sank onto the sofa. “What…No…” She knotted her hands in her lap. “Why would my father say that?”
“You tell me.” Mack gritted his teeth as he realized her father had gotten what he’d wanted—he’d torn them apart.
Denial flickered in her eyes. “It has to be a mistake. Maybe he checked and couldn’t find out anything about you so he made up that story.”
“He spoke to me, so he knew I was alive. And he told me that you were gone, and obviously he knew you weren’t,” Mack said.
Lily frowned. “You were watching me tonight?”
“I was watching your father and the mayor,” Mack said. “Then I saw you on the veranda and was shocked to discover you’d survived.”
Lily dropped her head into her hands.
His chest squeezed. For the life of him, he wanted to believe that she had no part in her father’s or Barrow’s illegal actions.
But dammit, she had believed the worst of him. That still hurt.
“Where have you been?” she asked in a pained whisper.
“Living in the bayou, helping other folks find missing loved ones. Trying to find evidence to clear my name from those bogus arrest charges.” He didn’t tell her that he suspected her father had set him up.
“The charges you believed, Lily.”
Lily began to pull the combs from her hair as if she needed to do something with her hands. The silky strands fell around her shoulders, and she finger combed them, making his hands ache to do the same.
“That was because Lee Barnaby showed me proof,” Lily said, her voice rising an octave. “He had documents, evidence that you were taking bribes and selling drugs.”
Memories bombarded him. That night he’d been waiting on her call, worried she might go into labor.
Instead Lee Barnaby had slapped handcuffs on him and ruined his life.
“I know what you saw, Lily, but Barnaby fabricated all that evidence.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “You know what happened to my father, how I grew up. I would never take a bribe or sell drugs.”
Lily shot up from her seat. “What about that photo of you with your girlfriend, Mack? That looked pretty real to me.”
“My girlfriend? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Angelica, the woman with the sultry body and chocolate eyes,” Lily said. “I believe you call her Angel.”
Another shock wave rolled through Mack. “Good God, Lily, you can’t believe that I was cheating on you.”
Her beautiful pouty lips formed a frown. “He showed me pictures of you with her, Mack. The two of you cozy in a dark bar, in an alley, in a car.”
Mack hissed between his teeth. “Angelica was not my girlfriend. She was my C.I.”
Lily stared at him, the tension stretching between them, war raging in her eyes.
“I was working undercover with a federal agent named Ray Storm. He had evidence against Barnaby that would have put him away for corruption and drug trafficking. Two years before that, I arrested Angelica for dealing. She was an addict, but I persuaded her to slip me information.” He scraped a hand over his chin. “If we looked cozy, it was part of my undercover work, Lily. I swear it.”
Lily’s lower lip trembled. “You…really weren’t with her?”
“Never,” Mack said emphatically. “I loved you. And I did not accept any bribes.”
“Oh God, Mack,” Lily whispered. “I can’t believe my father lied to me and that Barnaby set you up.”
“His arrest should validate my story,” Mack said. Although, getting Barnaby was only the beginning. There were others on the take, bigger fish to fry.
For the first time since he’d entered the place, Mack’s gaze scanned the room. A second later, he saw what he was searching for. A photograph on the built-in bookshelves by the fireplace.
A photo of a little boy who looked so much like him that his throat swelled.
He picked it up, his heart pounding. The little boy had dark black hair like his, the same stubborn jaw and intense brown eyes. And that cowlick.