Texas Heroes: Volume 1 (73 page)

So where did that leave her? What was the truth of her life? If she wasn’t Lacey DeMille in blood and bone, who was she?

Her stomach was on fire. She curled into a ball against the pain and willed herself to stop thinking.
Slow, deep breaths. Calm down. Have to calm down
.

She had no idea where she would go, where she belonged. She wanted to go back, to forget what had happened, to resume the life she’d once found wanting, but that life was forever beyond her reach. How could she possibly face anyone in her old life now? She was a fake.

One step. One thing at a time. Drive back. Get some sleep. Don’t try to figure it all out yet
.

Boneless with exhaustion, Lacey put the car in gear and headed for the place that was no longer home.

Dev was going crazy. Houston was huge, sprawling for miles in every direction. He’d been by her house three times, driven everywhere he’d ever seen her go. He couldn’t find her, didn’t know where she was or what she was doing in her ravaged state.

A chill invaded his bones at the thought that she was out there somewhere alone. He’d seen her devastation, seen the way she’d held that fragile body together by sheer will as she escaped. He wanted to hold her, to shield her, to protect her from the pain.

It was one of life’s nasty little ironies that he’d proven to be the chink in her armor. That he’d been the one to bring her down from princess to peasant, who’d been the bridge from heaven to hell. It seemed a century ago instead of only last night that she’d been naked beneath him, that he’d held her heart in his hands. That they’d been one.

Dev knew all about how a life could shatter. That he would be the instrument of her destruction was a cruel joke, but he wouldn’t lie to himself about who was at fault. It had been his desire for revenge that had first brought Lacey into the line of fire between himself and her father.

He’d never expected to fall in love with the princess years ago.

Nor wanted to find out last night that love had not died.

And now here she was, the innocent sacrificed to pay for old debts, old anger, old betrayals.

The one most hurt—and the only one blameless.

Dev’s jaw clenched as he turned to head back toward her townhouse once more. He had to find her. Had to replace the family he’d torn away with the family he knew would envelope her with love.

She wouldn’t want to see him. DeMille was right. And it was only fair that his own heart pay the price.

Whatever he must pay, even if it be Lacey’s eternal hatred, he could not rest until he’d given her back a life to replace the one he had destroyed.

It would be the worst kind of torture to be near her, knowing he could never have her, but he’d forfeited his right to her heart by his own actions, by setting the wheel in motion years ago to gain revenge without considering who might be hurt.

Revenge is a dish best served cold
. He’d heard that somewhere. But no one had ever told him what it could cost the revenge-seeker.

Charles DeMille must be laughing now. In the end, he’d taken everything Dev had ever wanted, including the only woman Dev would ever love.

She moved toward her bedroom, but stopped dead-still in the doorway. Just looking at that bed and the shambles she and Dev had made of it hurt so badly she could barely breathe.

Memory after memory rolled over her in waves. The strength in his arms, the hot, sweet passion of his touch. The feel of him inside her after so many years’ waiting—

She’d given herself to him so trustingly, welcomed him to her deepest self. How could he betray her like this? He’d known, all along, about the truth. Every second that he’d spent heating her skin with his kisses, driving the breath from her lungs with the power of his wanting—

He’d known. Known it would hurt her. During that magical date, he’d looked at her over and over, yet all she’d seen was longing.

Because that’s what she’d wanted to see?

Backing away from her bedroom as though it were a den of snakes, Lacey all but crawled to the sofa and huddled against a chill that couldn’t be explained by the sixty-odd degrees outside.

Who was she, if she wasn’t a true DeMille?

It would explain everything, if it were true. Why she’d never felt like she truly fit. Why her mother pressed so hard for her to be perfect.

Because she was a mongrel of some sort.

Two poor country kids from Morning Star
. Was that what he’d said?

Where was Morning Star?

And who did she come from? Why had she been so easy to give up?

Lacey thought she remembered Dev explaining, but her mind had been careening like a drunk. She’d missed most of what he said as the litany fired through her brain.
It’s not true. It can’t be true. I know who I am—why are you lying?

She has your eyes
.

A sister. She had a sister? For years and years, she’d prayed for one. Had imagined one at her tea parties. While playing dress-up. At night when she went to bed alone.

And had Dev mentioned brothers?

It hurt too much. She couldn’t bear it.

But she wanted to know their names.

No. She didn’t. Not if she had to ask Dev.

Why had he showered her with sweetness, set fire to her blood…shown her rapture? Why had Dev lied to her with every breath?

Revenge was a potent motive. One of the best.

Lacey’s stomach burned, but she couldn’t bear entering that bedroom again to get at a new roll of antacids. Carefully, she forced her mind to empty, her breathing to slow.

Concentrate on the painting over the fireplace. Not on people. Not on what’s happened
.

With careful, steady discipline, Lacey aped the woman who wasn’t really her mother…and summoned her formidable will to the aid of her rebellious stomach.

Finally, wrung out and exhausted, she dozed.

When she awoke, she was logy, muzzy with sleep. The fire in her belly had died to embers, and in its place was a longing that mocked her. She realized that, despite everything, the only person she wanted to see, the only one she thought would understand, was Dev. He hadn’t liked her money, had encouraged her at every step to break away from the life that had stifled her.

But all along, she’d been only a means to an end. A way to get back at her father for another grievous wrong.

She didn’t doubt now that her father—that
Charles
had done something terrible to Dev’s father. Whatever it was, she was sorry for all he and his family had suffered.

But she was even more sorry that Devlin Marlowe had ever stepped back into her life—and wrecked it.

You said you didn’t fit. You said you wanted something more. Here’s your chance
, she told herself.

Lacey tried to summon the energy to feel liberated, to rejoice that she was free to choose. She should thank them all, she realized. They’d freed her. Old loyalties, old responsibilities…old dreams—all were useless. All were the past, fractured from the present like a fault line divides the land.

But all she felt was tired to the bone.

Her future lay ahead, an empty road.

But it was shrouded in mist, and Lacey had no map.

She was there at last, thank God, but she wasn’t answering her phone.

Dev was going to knock. If she didn’t answer the door, he was picking her locks. It might be illegal, but he didn’t care. He had to know that she was all right.

That she wasn’t planning something drastic.

Dev damned his palms for sweating. She’d better be angry. She’d better be spitting fire.

He didn’t think he could bear to see her so fragile again. So much like a baby’s breath could knock her down.

She might not want to see him, but he had to know that she wasn’t in trouble. He didn’t mind looking like ten kinds of fool if only he could find her inside painting her toenails.

He’d bet the farm that she wasn’t.

Lacey heard the pounding but ignored it. She had learned to ignore the ringing of the phone. She’d had to seek the antacids after all, then she’d donned her oldest, most comforting nightgown. All she wanted now was to sleep, but sleep seemed a million miles away.

The pounding stopped, mercifully. Lacey rolled over and tried to find a comfortable spot on a bed that still smelled of Dev and long, slow loving. The scent of him, the memories…

They broke her heart.

Then she heard the door open, and that same heart began to race.

Footsteps echoed down the polished wooden hallway floor. Her bedroom door burst open, and there he stood.

“A new look for you, Princess.” Dev forced calm into his voice and leaned against the doorjamb lazily, trying to still his rapid pulse. When she hadn’t answered, he’d been unable to erase the thought that he might find her lifeless, that he’d be responsible for sending her over the edge.

“Go away,” she said too quietly.

She looked like hell, but she was breathing. Blessed anger did a tap-dance through his veins. He strolled to her bedside and studied her, shocked at the damage. Her skin was translucent, her eyes dark holes in her face.

The fault lay squarely at his doorstep. He had started her down the road to this hell.

He had to find a way to bring her back.

His apologies would have to wait. She was too raw to talk about this now, even if he had any idea what to say. She needed the basics first.

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice was hollow. He’d sell his soul to hear that snotty princess-to-peasant tone right now.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he swept her up in his arms and strode across the room.

She stirred only faintly. “How did you get in here?”

“I picked your locks,” he drawled. “Wanna make something of it?” He kept striding, heading back toward her kitchen. Once there, he set her down on the counter between refrigerator and sink. “Answer me—when’s the last time you ate something?”

“I don’t know…the picnic maybe,” she whispered. Her eyes were dull and haunted.

Dev wanted to smash something. Wanted to howl out his own anguish.

“Go away, Dev.” Her voice broke.

His heart cracked right along with it. Ruthlessly, he clamped down on the urge to fall to his knees. “The phone’s over there. Call the cops. I’m not leaving.” He bent down and began rummaging through her refrigerator.

“What are you doing?”

He straightened, holding eggs, milk, butter and cheese in his hands. With two long strides, he crossed to the island and dumped his booty.

She started to get down.

“You move from that spot and you’ll regret it.” His voice went fierce.

She didn’t respond. She was scaring the hell out of him.

“I broke into your house. Don’t you care?”

She didn’t answer, staring at the floor.

Dev studied the part in her hair and wished she would scream at him, curse him—anything but this defeat.

He decided to push. “I know you’re a pampered princess, but surely you have more guts than this.”

Her head rose swiftly, the quick spark of anger the best thing he’d seen in days. “Get out of my house.”

Then he grinned, quick and crooked and rakish. “Make me.”