Voices called her name. More lights flashed, but she left them behind quickly. Someone might have followed her. There were footsteps for a while, mimicking hers, but she just ran faster until the rhythmic thud behind her ceased.

Stones and pebbles sliced into the soles of her feet. She didn’t care. A few more scars could hardly hurt her now. She stopped running only when she reached the beach, and then only when she found a protective alcove of rocks to huddle beside.

God knew it wasn’t safe, a woman alone on the beach at this time, but Eve was already damaged. There was nothing that could damage her more.

Twice she’d been rejected after revealing her face to the men she’d thought she might have a future with, and both times the disappointment had crushed her.

But neither of them had taken one look at her scars and been repulsed enough to turn white. Neither of them had clutched their stomachs and pounded the wall in abject horror.

Zachary Pace, with all his vows of love and affection, all his talk of fate and future, had done what no one else before him had done. Been too nauseated by her face to even look at her. He’d closed his eyes and shut her out—completely.

Chapter Fourteen

Bree stood in her kitchen trying to get Eve to eat something. After helping her bathe and bandage her feet, she’d set toast and jam on a plate in front of her, cereal with milk, scrambled eggs and finally, in sheer desperation, leftover birthday cake.

Same with the drinks. There were glasses of water and orange juice, a mug of coffee and a cup of tea, all sitting beside a bottle of red wine.

Eve’s stomach turned at the idea of putting anything in it.

She knew she looked terrible. Frightening even. The early-morning jogger who’d lent her his mobile phone had tried not to gawk but failed miserably.

Bree had pulled up beside her fifteen minutes later, bundled her into the car and taken Eve back to the house. It had taken a while, but finally Eve choked out the full story, telling Bree everything.

Her sister’s face still shone with murderous rage.

“Can you get a message to the hotel, Bree?”

“Of course. I can do anything you need me to.”

“Phone them and ask to speak to Delilah Young. If they put you through, great. If not, just leave a message.” They wouldn’t put her through. The hotels had strict instructions to take messages for the band members, not connect the calls.

“And the message is?”

“Tell her I’ll meet them in Adelaide, at the arena. I’ll be there in time to do makeup.”

Bree stared at her. “You’re not going back, are you?”

“I have to. I signed up for a six-month tour. I have a professional obligation. Can’t back out now.”

“Er, yeah, you can. You can back the hell out, and no one will call you on it. Not a single person.”

“My…problem is with Zachary. Jonah.” Her chest closed at the mention of his name. “Not Delilah and Devine. They’ve been nothing but lovely to me.”

“They’re part of Speed, Evie. Part of Jonah’s band. You don’t have to go back. Not after what that bastard did to you.”

“I spent the first few days of the tour without any contact with him. It won’t be hard to avoid him for the rest of it.”

“You can’t evade a man for six months.”

“I won’t need to.” Eve shrugged, a world of pain in that small movement. “He’ll be dodging me like the plague.”

Bree’s hands curled into fists. She let rip with a few choice expletives that made Eve snort.

“Look, Mum.” Hannah’s excited voice echoed through from the lounge room. “Aunty Evie’s on the telly again.”

“Oh, fuck.” Bree gave voice to Eve’s thoughts.

Limbs heavy, she made her way to the TV.

“Jonah Speed’s latest love interest, Bali bomb survivor, Eve Andrews, was seen tearing out of her hotel late last night, looking none too happy.”

And there she was, racing from the hotel lobby, her mangled, tragic face visible to the whole world.

The reporter kept on speaking as images of Eve flashed across the screen. Pictures of her just after the attacks, her face and chest swathed in bandages. Images of her and Bree leaving the hospital arm in arm, a shot of Lochie’s funeral, the video footage of her and Zachary kissing, then pictures of them talking backstage at the concert last night.

And then back to her fleeing the hotel, cameras closing in on her back as she raced down the street.

She didn’t hear what the reporter said. Didn’t listen. She didn’t want to know. Whether it was the truth or not, Eve’s injuries—both her physical and emotional ones—had just been revealed to the entire world. Again.

Suddenly weary to the bone, Eve collapsed onto the couch. Devastation and lack of sleep overwhelmed her. She couldn’t keep her eyes open. Didn’t want to. Didn’t want to think, not for one more second, about Zachary Pace.

Bree hoisted her up, helped her to the spare room and tucked her into bed. Eve was asleep before Bree had closed the blinds.

When she opened her eyes later that afternoon, she felt no better. Exhaustion still dogged her, and her body ached as though she’d been hit by a truck. She threw the covers off, made her way to the bathroom, and once there, took the time to run a comb through her hair, a toothbrush over her teeth and a facecloth over her face.

She didn’t bother with makeup. No amount of preening would make her feel better. And besides, Eve wasn’t in the mood for covering up her scars. Not today. She didn’t even wince when she looked in the mirror. They were a part of her. It was time to accept that.

Looking and feeling a mess, she went in search of her sister.

She didn’t find her. What she did find, looking almost as bad as she felt, was Zachary. He sat on the couch she’d collapsed into earlier, his face as pale as hers.

His hair was a mess, and a smudge of blood had dried beneath his nose. He looked at her through one eye. The other was an angry red and in the process of swelling shut.

She blinked, looked at him again, just to be sure it really was him sitting there, then turned her back and walked to the kitchen.

Her stomach still wasn’t ready to accept food. If anything, it felt worse now, after seeing Zachary, than it had earlier. But her throat was parched, her mouth dry, and the orange juice she’d refused before now seemed very appealing.

Frankly, anything seemed appealing, as long as it was in another room, far away from him.

Her arms trembled as she poured the juice, and she had to lift the glass with two hands to ensure she didn’t spill any of it. The drink was cool as it slid down her throat, and the tart sweetness washed away the bitter taste in her mouth.


Zachary followed her to the kitchen without a word. He didn’t follow her inside, just leaned against the doorpost, grateful for its support.

She was okay. Unharmed and okay.

For the first time since he’d seen her real face, Zachary felt a measure of peace.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” He suspected anything louder than a whisper would startle her. Or maybe startle him. “You vanished so completely, I couldn’t find you.” He’d searched, frantically. Had every bodyguard and member of hotel security searching for her too. They’d scoured the hotel and marina, checked every road in a five-mile radius and come up empty.

Eve did not acknowledge his comment in any way.

“I-I thought something terrible had happened to you.” Something terrible had happened to her. “And when…when there was no sign of you, anywhere… The fear…” Jesus, it had almost crippled him.

Eve poured herself another glass of juice and drank it down.

“We looked everywhere, Tiny.” Everywhere. And doing it without the paparazzi noticing had been impossible.

“I headed over here at first light.” The phone call in the middle of the night had proved fruitless—and had scared the living shit out of Bree. She’d hung up on him when he’d told her why Eve had run.

Eve placed the bottle back in the fridge, closed it and walked over to the sink. She didn’t turn to look at him, and she didn’t respond to his words.

“Your sister tried to run me over as she left the house to get you.” He almost snorted at the memory. She’d been climbing into her car as he’d approached, and when she saw him, she’d gunned the engine and reversed out of her garage so fast, Zachary had been forced to jump clear of her bumper. “She very nearly succeeded.”

Eve washed her glass and set it on the stand to dry.

“Anthony wasn’t quite as aggressive. He just ordered my ass off his property and told me never to blacken it again.”

She stared out the window, then stepped back, shaking her head in disgust, obviously noticing the crowd that had gathered outside: news vans, photographers and reporters holding mics. They’d followed him here the second time around.

Maybe one day she’d get used to it. He hoped to God she would, because if she stayed with him, she’d be hounded by them continually.

“I left. But only because I knew you’d be in good hands. And only long enough to get back to the hotel and call off the search. Then I came back.” With Brayden and Jake, at Luke’s insistence. “To get you.”

But neither Bree nor Anthony would let him anywhere near the front door, and he’d been forced to sit in the car with the bodyguards, biding his time. Forced to ignore the constant knocking on the window from the story-hungry reporters who’d followed him here. Forced to drive around the block a hundred times over.