Shadow of Love by Ellen Wolf Page B

get help, her hands shaking so much she dropped the receiver twice before dialing the emergency number.
    Most of all she remembered riding with him in the ambulance, helplessly huddled on the seat while she watched the paramedics performing CPR on his blood-smeared, ashen body.
    She made an effort to pull herself free from those memories, aware of James sitting next to her, most probably wondering what was wrong with her, her terrified silence not something to be overlooked. Smiling was difficult, the muscles of her face fighting back as she tried to compose herself into an expression that was hopefully careless enough to keep him in the dark.
    Because, not in a hundred years should he find out what happened on that cold November day twelve years ago, almost to the date. Never could he realize what, or rather who, made her stepfather desperate enough to pull the trigger in order to escape his miserable existence.
    She looked up and saw Sophie coming back, a brilliant smile on her face. For the sake of her happiness, Emily had to pull herself together, silencing her conscience that was screaming that Sophie didn’t deserve love or hope for a wonderful future with the man she loved. Because when the walls of denial Emily had built around herself over the years crumbled under the assault of memories, there was no hiding from the truth peeking at her accusingly through the rubble.
    Sophie killed their stepfather, even though her finger never as much as came close to the gun that he used in the effort to kill himself on that cold, dreary day. And even though he survived for another few weeks— the intensive care unit his home until his heart and brain finally gave up their fight—it was Sophie who guided him into the hell that had become his reality.
    However hard she struggled to cover up this fact, Emily could not escape what she knew and had to live with for the rest of her life—she had been an accomplice in crime, even though there was nothing linking either her or her sister to the horrible events that shook their house on that fateful day.

THREE
     
    She remembered.
    James McMaster knew enough about people to read her face like an open book. Everything in her expressive features gave her away as he surveyed her pale cheeks, clouded eyes, and a mouth that trembled as if she were on the verge of tears. She looked absolutely shocked by his little innocent remark, confirming his suspicion that behind the serene smile and face of a Botticelli angel was a whole lot more, ready to be exposed. He had to be patient though, her response an indicator of the thin ice on which he was moving. He couldn’t scare her off, however tempting it was to push her even further. But he was in no rush. He had been waiting for that moment long enough to make sure he didn’t compromise even the slightest detail of his elaborate plan.
    He wasn’t a vengeful person, he thought as he watched Sophie approach them, her shapely body caressed by the perfectly fitting dress like the hand of a patient lover. He smiled at her, an automatic response of his brain while the rest of him remained absolutely cold. She was gorgeous; there was absolutely no doubt about it. From the tip of her elegant little nose to the slender toes peeping out of her silver strap sandals, she embodied every man’s dream of a perfect woman. Every man’s but his, the bitter taste of resentment making it hard to appear as cheerful and involved as he knew he had to be.
    Maybe, just maybe, the words of his late father were true. His late father, whom he had never met in person and only knew from the letter that came with the will making him the only heir to an empire of various enterprises. He still had the letter, glad that he had resisted his first impulse to tear it into a thousand pieces and never as much as glance at the handwriting of the man who had seduced his mother and left her alone to raise his child after deeming her unsuitable to marry into his family.
    It had not