Free A Billionaire's Redemption by Cindy Dees

look like?” he snarled.
    “Some actual evidence might be nice. Even a few cuts and scrapes would lend a little credibility to her story. Assuming she fought back, of course. For all I know, she liked it rough, and is just suffering a case of buyer’s remorse.”
    An urge to bury his fist in the obnoxious woman’s face surged through him. Not that punching a reporter would be anything other than a disaster. Instead, he asked smoothly, “Are you sure you’re actually human, Ms. Craddock? You have all the compassion of a rock.”
    The cameraman nearly dropped his camera as he tried unsuccessfully to stifle his laughter. The reporter scowled. Not only was she not getting the sound bite she was looking for, but she seemed to realize she was losing control of this interview.
    She pointed the microphone at him again. “Yes, but what do you think of the charges against James Ward? Are you with everyone else in believing that Willa Merris made up this alleged rape in a desperate, and frankly pitiful, attempt to use her father’s notoriety to get attention for herself?”
    “Is that what everyone else believes?” he asked blandly.
    “Absolutely. I gather, then, that you concur?” She shoved the microphone under his nose expectantly.
    “I think you’re a pushy hack who doesn’t give a damn about reporting the truth, and who’s looking to claw your way past anyone who gets between you and fame. If we’re talking about pitiful and desperate, let’s take a closer look at you, shall we?”
    The cameraman guffawed with laughter, and Paula growled at the guy to stop filming. She turned on Gabe, glaring venomously. “I can make your life a living hell, you know. I can dig up plenty of dirt on you.”
    He stepped forward until he was chest-to-chest with the woman. “There’s one small flaw with your big threat, darlin’. I don’t give a tinker’s damn what anyone thinks of me. Say whatever you want about me because I. Don’t. Care.”
    She took an involuntary step backward, and the cameraman made an amused sound behind her. If possible, the reporter’s gaze became even more enraged. Gabe brushed by her and stabbed the key in the front door lock.
    He half turned and commented casually, “By the way, you’re trespassing on private property. I’m going inside and fetching my shotgun. If you’re still on my porch when I return, I’ll assume you mean me harm and will shoot you where you stand in accordance with Texas homestead laws.”
    He stepped inside the dim interior and closed the door gently. He did, indeed, cross the living room and take his grandfather’s shotgun down from its brackets over the rough-sawed cedar mantel. Gabe had learned long ago never to make any threat he wasn’t prepared to follow through on. Otherwise, it made people think you were weak.
    He opened the front door, shotgun in hand, and was gratified to see Paula scuttle the rest of the way to the KVXT van in an undignified scramble of legs, microphone wires and stiletto heels. She was still scowling furiously at him as the vehicle peeled away from the curb in a hurry.
    No doubt about it, that woman was going to be trouble. But it was nothing he couldn’t handle. A billion-dollar bank account gave a man the power to get rid of pests like her. He didn’t usually make a practice of throwing his weight around, but he could make an exception for her.
    An ugly and unfamiliar feeling crept past his irritation, though. Shocked, he identified it as fear. Obviously, the reporter had set her sights on breaking down Willa’s story of being raped. Probably thought she could weasel a Pulitzer out of it for herself. Who cared if she destroyed the life of a victimized young woman who’d just tragically lost her father?
    Yup, Paula Craddock was going on the list with James Ward of people to teach a lesson to.
    * * *
    Willa rubbed her eyes and took a sip of the now-cold coffee sitting beside her. She’d been in her father’s office for hours, combing