I don’t believe you.’
She looked about to say something, but at that moment the answering machine picked up.
Shara looked away from him, back to the phone.
Royce grew rigid in his chair as a male voice started speaking. Although speaking was a polite word for the filth that came spewing down the phone line.
Foul language and even fouler content.
About how he had no intention of letting Shara go. About the fact that he’d rather kill her first.
Royce tried to look past the surface stuff to the deeper meaning and intent beneath the words.
What he was listening to convinced him that Steve Brady was a sociopathic bully.
Bullying was all about power and control.
Bullies also typically targeted people who tended not to retaliate, who in fact responded in such a way as to feed their negative behaviour.
Which surprised him.
Shara was not that kind of person.
Their short acquaintance demonstrated that she gave as good as she got. He couldn’t imagine her allowing herself to be bullied.
But then everything wasn’t always as it seemed.
As he should know.
He’d fallen for a woman who’d pretended to be something she wasn’t.
He knew first-hand that looks could be deceiving.
In Shara’s case he’d seen her fear a moment ago.
It had been genuine. He would bet his career on it.
The question was: why was she pretending she wasn’t?
There had to be a reason.
There was always a reason.
That was something he’d learned well before starting the Royce Agency. People always had a motive for doing something.
Royce rose to his feet.
Shara’s head shot in his direction so fast he was surprised she didn’t pull a muscle. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m going to talk to him.’
Her face showed alarm. ‘Don’t do that!’
Royce ignored her and picked up the phone. ‘Brady …?’
The tirade was cut off mid-stream and replaced with screaming silence. Royce let the quietness drag on. He was used to situations like these, and immune to the resulting tension.
He doubted it was the same for Brady. No doubt the silence was playing havoc with the other man’s nerves.
As he’d expected, Brady broke the silence first. ‘Who is this?’
‘My name is Royce. I’m a friend of Shara’s.’ He spoke calmly and confidently, although his voice hardened as he added, ‘And I’m warning you to leave her alone or you won’t like the consequences.’
His response was more silence. Uncertain silence. Obviously Brady was trying to come to grips with the sudden turnaround in events.
‘My God! It didn’t take the little slut long to move on, did it?’ His voice was vicious. ‘You’re not the first, you know. Why don’t you ask her just how many men she slept with while she was married to me?’
Royce frowned. If he ignored the content of Brady’s words for a moment and concentrated on the way he spoke he would be able to learn a lot.
One, although his tone was vicious Brady had spoken more calmly than Royce would have given him credit for, given his previous tirade. And, two, Brady didn’t wait for an answer but hung up the phone—softly.
Both of those things suggested he was very much in control.
Surely that hinted at the fact that Brady was telling the truth?
He’d seen enough musical beds in the homes of the rich and famous during his time running the Royce Agency to know that that kind of behaviour went on all the time.
It was an attitude that sickened him. Although he was no monk, and had had his share of women over the years—some might even say more than his fair share—Royce always remained faithful to the woman he was with.
For however long it lasted—which admittedly wasn’t very long.
Why would he want to tie himself to one woman when there was a world of women out there to enjoy?
Back in his parents’ day getting married and having children was the done thing. These days things were much more flexible. Some couples got married. Others chose to live together. And others remained single, either through choice or circumstance.
Royce planned on being one of the latter.
But while he was in a relationship he treated his woman with respect.
Royce glanced at Shara.
Beautiful, sexy Shara.
Maybe she had been sleeping around. Maybe that was why her marriage had turned sour.
It was possible.
But it didn’t really matter.
He was a bodyguard, not the morality police.
Nothing excused Brady’s behaviour. Abuse of any kind—whether it was verbal, emotional or physical—was inexcusable.
And what he’d just heard—both on the answering machine and during his conversation with Brady—convinced him that Shara had been abused in some way.
A wave of fury rode up his spine.
He was going to take a great deal of pleasure in bringing the other man to his knees.
‘What the hell did you do that for?’ Shara demanded as Royce dropped the phone back into its cradle.
Royce swung in her direction. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Shara jumped to her feet and then wished she hadn’t. She was so angry she was shaking, her heart beating nineteen to the dozen. ‘You had no right to do that. No right at all.’
She began to pace, her sandals making a slap-slap sound on the tiles, then fading to nothing as she crossed the Aubusson rug.
Thoughts swirled through her head, one after the other, so fast they made her dizzy.
One thought stood out amongst all the others: all her hard work had just been undone in one fell swoop.
Anger ripped through her. Grinding to a halt in the middle of the Aubusson rug, she slammed her hands down on
