His Every Desire by Shiloh Walker Page B

really didn’t like the sound of that, or the grim look in his eyes. “Okay,” she finally said, her voice soft and hesitant. “What about?”
    His face was cold, implacable as stone—his lips barely moved as he said flatly, “About your husband. And about your lawyer.”
    “What about Aleisha?” she asked, her voice worried even as her face went rigid. “And that bastard is not my husband.”
    His lids drooped and he murmured, “That’s not how he will see it.”
    Emery swallowed, then forced the fear back under control. Restless energy filled her and she stood, unable to sit down any longer.
    As she paced, she said, “He’s in a coma, Joel. He has been ever since that day. It’s not very likely he’ll ever come out of it.”
    Joel’s eyes closed.
    A cold chill raced through her. She stared at him as his eyes slowly opened and he stared at her, those dark unreadable eyes holding so many secrets. She’d known he wasn’t telling her something.
    Emery stood still as he rose from the chair and moved toward her, closing the distance between them. His hands came up, cupping her face. She swallowed, the knot in her throat damn near choking her as she looked up at him.
    “What is it?” she asked quietly, tears blurring her vision. One fell, and it seemed to burn a path down her cheek.
    “He’s awake.”
    The strength drained out of her. As though somebody had simply opened something inside of her and just let it all flow away. Emery started to crumple to the ground and Joel’s arms caught her, pulling her against him.
    “No.” Struggling, she tried to pull away, but he just held her against him and carried her to the couch. “Damn it, let me go! You’re lying—Aleisha would have called me. The nurses, the doctors, they know to call her…”
    “Emery.”
    She saw it in his eyes. Shaking her head, she whispered, “No. Damn it, no! She was safe! She told me she was safe—he couldn’t have hurt her.”
    “He didn’t.” Emery jerked away, but she couldn’t break free from him, and deep inside she knew she didn’t want to. She needed his comfort too badly. “She was in a car wreck a few days ago. An accident, baby. Accidents happen.”
    “No,” she whimpered, shaking her head as a sob rose in her throat. Giving in to the need to cry, she crumpled against him. Harsh, bitter cries tore from her throat and she clung to him.
    For the longest time, she could do nothing more than cry. The grief inside her had left her dumb, blind and deaf to everything around. For three years, Aleisha had been her one contact to real life. Her one contact to sanity—when she was running and hiding, she worried she’d forget who she was.
    Aleisha had been her anchor.
    And now her one friend was dead.
    “W-was it fast?” she finally asked, her voice hoarse.
    “Yes. She wouldn’t have felt anything,” Joel murmured, reaching up and brushing her hair back.
    “Thank God for that,” she muttered, closing her eyes again. There was an odd niggling doubt in her head and she sat back, looking up at him narrowly. “How did you know about her?”
    “The FBI.”
    Emery’s heart froze. “They know where I am.”
    Joel sighed, his head falling back to rest against the couch. “One agent does. I don’t know about them as a whole. And I don’t know why she hasn’t tried to talk to you.”
    She felt his gaze on her as he studied her under the fringe of his lashes. “Don’t you want to know more about Grainger?”
    Emery saw something in his eyes that she had only glimpsed before. He hated Vincent Grainger. It was a gut-deep hatred, and somehow…old, she sensed. She had glimpsed it before, all the times she had run into him when he had come to the house on business, but he’d always hid it so quickly, and he never showed it around Vincent.
    Why… Hatred was a personal emotion. Hate, like love, was generally earned. What had Vincent done?
    Swallowing, she pushed insistently against his arms until he let her go. Wiping