Page 112 of Ruthless Intent

I also need the world to think I’ve fallen headlong in love with her.

It’s like living in a sitcom … except it’s not fucking funny and it’s not fictional.

“When you go inside, if your mom is there, you say nothing.”

“She’ll see the ring.”

“Take it off, and give it to me.” I reach out a hand, and a second or two later, she drops the ring onto my palm. “Pack clothes, tell her you’re staying with me for a while. You can invite her to mom’s place for the MO-TV interview tomorrow.”

“What are you going to tell them?”

“Who?”

“The channel.”

“The truth.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

ASHLEY

When the car comes to a stop outside my mom’s house, I don’t move. I don’t want to go inside and lie to her.

“What are you waiting for?”

For a moment, I consider appealing to him once more. To beg him to end this insanity. But I know it’s a waste of time. The video of my interview didn’t sway him, nor did pointing out the fact Detective Holson knew about Louisa’s pregnancy. Why would anything else make a difference?

With a shaking hand, I reach out and open the door, try to get out, then realize I haven’t released the seatbelt. By the time I’ve fumbled with that, Zain is standing on the sidewalk waiting for me.

“You don’t need to come inside.”

“You don’t get to make that decision.” He curves a hand around my arm and leads me up the steps to the front door. “Do you have a key?”

“No. You took my phone, and that’s got my key in it.”

He releases my arm and dips his hand into a pocket. When he pulls it free, he has my cell. Flipping open the case, he takes out the key and hands it to me.

My attention locks onto my cell.

“Has anyone contacted me?”

“Haven’t checked. Open the door and let’s get this over with.”

I twist the key in the lock, and silently pray that my mom isn’t home.

“Ashley, is that you?” Her voice comes from the direction of the living room, and my heart sinks.

“Hi, Mom.” I shoot a quick glance at Zain, then walk down the hallway and into the room. “I’m just grabbing some clothes, then I’m going out.”

“Oh?” She turns to look at me over the back of the couch. “Oh.”

I don’t have to turn around to know that Zain is framed in the doorway behind me.

“Mrs. Trumont.” His voice is cool.

“I didn’t expect to see you, Zain.”

His hand is burning through the T-shirt where it’s resting on my shoulder. “Why not?”

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