A wave of nausea stumbled her back a step. The image of her and Wade—
She cupped a hand over her mouth and tried to block it from her thoughts. No way would she let that animal turn something beautiful she’d shared with a deserving man into the dirt and grime he crawled from.
“My cock’s getting hard just thinking about—”
She snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the couch as though it were a grenade about to explode. Her desire to run from it underscored the feeling. Her heart raced, her hands went clammy, and as she glanced over the dark shadows of the room, she went dizzy with disgust and confusion.
What was Wade Griggs doing here? Why wasn’t he in jail? And if he was released, why hadn’t anyone called to tell her?
And then the big question: What did he want from her?
She and Wade were through. They were through the moment the cops had shown up at her house and informed her that the body shop she and her husband owned was a front for a car theft ring. That her husband was being indicted for grand theft auto. That she was considered an accessory until proven innocent. And that everything they owned was being seized by the county, the state and the Internal Revenue Service.
He’d lied to her from the start, her trust in him landing her in a pile of trouble so deep it took every last cent she had to get out of it. As such, she was left with nothing more than a quick divorce and a bad credit rating.
He’d drained her of everything, and less than twelve months later he was back—wanting what?
The phone rang again, and she reluctantly picked it up, her fingers trembling and tears threatening at the backs of her eyes.
This can’t be happening. Not now.
She pressed the phone to her ear in time to hear the end of “…used to love it when I talked dirty—”
“What do you want?” she snarled.
“I told you, Sugar Beane. I came to find my wife.”
“I’m not your wife.” How many times did she have to repeat it?
“Now, that’s where you’re mistaken, honey cakes. You see, that divorce you set up never got finished.”
She blinked, her nausea easing into simple confusion.
“What are you talking about?”
“You and I are still blissfully wed, Sugar Beane. And that means everything that’s yours is mine.”
She stood up and stepped back to the window, this time to find Wade standing casually at the rear bumper of a red Honda Accord parked directly across the street.
“You’re wrong.”
Though he was one story down and across the wide street, she could see the rough-edged smile on his long, narrow face. He was tall and more bulky than she’d remembered. His jeans bagged around his boots and the button-down shirt made him appear more kept than usual, even though his right shirttail hung over his leather belt.
He’d apparently dressed himself up for the reunion.
“Check your papers, darlin’. You don’t have anything signed by me.”
Of course, she did. Though not recalling offhand exactly where the papers were allowed an inkling of panic to creep in.
She remembered specifically having them drawn up, signing them in her lawyer’s office and having them couriered to the county jail. She remembered that day as if it was yesterday. She’d signed them. They’d been notarized. Wade had signed them, too.
Hadn’t he?
“Things got a little hectic back then, what with Old Lady Hawley up and dying like that,” he drawled.
She squeezed her eyes shut. No, no, no. This was Wade playing games with her. He signed those papers. She knew it as well as she knew her own name. “The lawyer called and said you’d signed,” she contended, though a tremble in her voice watered down the affirmation.
“You sure about that? Are you sure you aren’t thinking about the call you got from that lawyer telling you old Granna Hawley left you all her money?”
Her eyes shot open and she glared at him through the window.
“Half of which is mine, you realize.”
Shaking her head, Jessie thought about the time, through a fever of distress and ire. The lawyer did call. She’d gotten the package in the mail. She was sure of it.
Wasn’t she?
A slow swell of bile rose up her throat. She’d signed those papers the day before Granna Hawley died. Sure, she’d been devastated by the loss. Gran was the only person Jessie could ever count on. And then there’d been the funeral arrangements and the impending feud between her father’s side of the family and her mother’s—the former insisting the latter had no business anywhere near the cemetery. It had been a mess, with Jessica slammed right in the center.
But in the middle of it, she knew Wade had signed those divorce papers. The lawyers told her so. The package came in the mail.
She was sure that it had…
The bile hit the back of her mouth and she nearly choked. All these doubts, this was Wade and his games. He’d gotten out of jail and come here just to screw with her. He was only feeding his own sick sense of humor, hoping to get her back for dumping him the moment she’d learned the truth about him.
“We’re divorced,” she said again, this time with more velocity than the last.
“My lawyer says you got almost a hundred thousand dollars from the old woman after taxes. Plus half of that ten thousand you just borrowed.”
Her mouth fell open.
“Yeah, as your husband I know all about your finances.”
“Then you know I don’t have any of that money anymore.”
“No. And you don’t have the five hundred dollars you’d stashed in that black velvet box, either.” He patted his back pocket. “Consider it your first installment.”
He’d been in her apartment?
And if he’d rummaged through the place, how much had he found? She had Granna’s jewelry and Grandpa Hawley’s watch.
Georgia had a diamond ring that belonged to her mother. She cherished that thing. Had Wade found that, too?
She nearly doubled over. If her friend lost anything thanks to that snake, she’d never forgive herself.
“I’m disappointed, Sugar Beane. I came all this way looking for my wife and my money only to find you broke and in bed with another man. Now, what do you think a husband should do about that?”
Clutching the phone so hard she thought it might snap, she repeated through clenched teeth. “You’re not my husband.”
“Oh, yes, I am. And as your husband, you owe me somewheres in the neighborhood of fifty thousand dollars.” He pushed off the fender of the Honda and stood straight, the smile drained from his face and his eyes black as sin. “Get me the money, Sugar Beane, and you can have your divorce.”
“I already have my divorce, and even if I don’t, I don’t have that kind of money. It’s gone. Sunk into my business.”
“Yeah, your momma told me all about that movie star who’s gonna make you famous. I’m looking forward to sharing half your wealth.” Then flashing a grin she could see all the way from the street, he added, “Now, why don’t you come down and share a little of