Love Does Cost A Thing

By the time Amelia Hart saw the black car, it was already too late. She hit the brakes. The tires screamed against the wet road, the steering wheel jerked beneath her hands, and for one brief, terrifying second she thought she might actually stop. She didn't. Crash. The sound was enormous. Metal folded. Glass cracked. Amelia's body lurched forward against the seat belt, and her phone flew from the passenger seat and disappeared somewhere beneath the dashboard. Then silence. Amelia sat perfectly still. Rain tapped against the windshield. Steam rose from the front of her car. Her hands remained locked around the steering wheel. "Please don't be dead." The words came out before she could think. She looked toward the other vehicle. The black car had spun slightly and come to rest at an angle across the lane. One of its rear lights was shattered, and the bumper was hanging loose. Amelia stared at it. Then she looked at her own car. The hood was crumpled. "Oh, no." Her stomach dropped. She had enough money to get through the week. Maybe. She certainly didn't have enough money to repair someone else's luxury car. She climbed out. Rain immediately soaked her hair and shoulders. "Please," she whispered, staring at the damage. "Please let this be some cheap car with an expensive-looking body." The driver's door opened. Amelia stopped. A man stepped out. He was tall, dressed in a dark suit, his white shirt slightly damp from the rain. He didn't look frantic. He didn't look confused. He looked at his car. Then at Amelia. His expression was so controlled that she almost wished he would start shouting. "Are you hurt?" Amelia shook her head. "No." He glanced at her car. "Are you sure?" "Yes." He looked back at his own vehicle. Something in his jaw tightened. Amelia swallowed. "I'm really sorry." He didn't answer. "I'm serious. I wasn't—" "You were looking at your phone." "No." His eyes returned to her. "You weren't?" "I dropped it." "That's different?" "I mean, I wasn't using it." He stared at her for a moment. Amelia suddenly felt ridiculous defending herself. "I lost control," she admitted. "It was raining." "That explains the accident." She waited. He continued looking at the damage. "It doesn't explain the car." Amelia followed his gaze. The vehicle was beautiful. Not merely expensive. Beautiful. She knew almost nothing about cars, but even she could tell this wasn't something ordinary people drove to the supermarket. "I'll pay for it." The man looked at her. "Will you?" "Yes." "How?" Amelia's confidence disappeared. "I'll find a way." "How much do you think it will cost?" "I don't know." "Then you don't know what you're promising." His tone wasn't loud, but it irritated her. She folded her arms. "Do you always talk to people like they're stupid?" "Only when they're standing in front of a damaged car promising to pay for repairs they clearly can't afford." Amelia's mouth fell open. He had a point. She hated that. "Fine," she said. "I'm sorry. I'll give you my details." "Your name." She hesitated. "Why?" "So I know who I'm dealing with." Something about the question made her uncomfortable. Still, she answered. "Amelia." "Last name?" "Amelia Hart." He repeated it quietly. "Amelia Hart." She didn't know why, but hearing her name in his voice made her uneasy. Then he said his own. "Damian Blackwood." The rain seemed to get louder. Amelia stared at him. Blackwood. The name had been buried in her memory for years, but it surfaced now with startling clarity. A wooden box. Her father's handwriting. An old photograph. Two men standing beside a car. One of them was her father. The other had been younger, but she remembered the face. Not clearly. Just enough. Amelia's eyes moved over Damian's face. The shape of his jaw. His eyes. The small scar near his eyebrow. She knew that face. Not from television. Not from business magazines. From a photograph her father had hidden. Damian noticed her expression. "What's wrong?" "Nothing." "You recognize the name." It wasn't a question. Amelia looked away. "Everyone knows the Blackwoods." "That's not what I asked." She looked at him again. For a moment, neither spoke. Then Damian stepped closer. "Have we met before?" "No." The answer came too quickly. His eyes narrowed. Amelia's heart began to pound. She needed to leave. She didn't know why yet. She only knew she needed to. "I'll contact you about the repairs." "You don't have my number." "I'll find it." "You don't even know how much you owe me." "I'll find out." "Amelia." She froze. There was something in his voice now. Not anger. Curiosity. "Don't go." She looked at him. And suddenly she remembered something her father had told her when she was sixteen. If anyone from the Blackwood family ever comes looking for you, don't tell them anything. She had never understood why. Her father had died before she could ask. "Amelia?" She stepped backward. "I'm sorry." Then she turned and walked away. "Amelia." She walked faster. "Wait." She ran. She didn't stop until she reached the next block. Amelia ducked beneath the awning of a closed pharmacy and bent forward, trying to catch her breath. Her heart was racing. She pressed a hand against her chest. "What are you doing?" She asked herself the question aloud. She had just run away from the scene of an accident. That alone was stupid. But there was something else. Something she couldn't explain. She had heard the name Blackwood, and every instinct inside her had told her to leave. She pulled out her phone. Nothing. Her hand went into her coat pocket. Empty. She checked again. Still empty. Her wallet wasn't there either. Her keys. Gone. Amelia went cold. Her purse. She had left her purse in the car. "Dammit." She turned around. The photograph was inside. The photograph she'd kept for years. The one thing she had never shown anyone. She started back toward the accident. She had to get it before Damian found it. The street was still crowded when Amelia reached the corner. She stopped behind a delivery van. Her car was still there. So was Damian. He was standing beside his vehicle, talking on the phone. Her purse sat on the hood. Amelia exhaled in relief. Then Damian ended his call. He picked up the purse. Her relief disappeared. "No." She watched him open it. He removed her wallet. He looked at her driver's license. Then her phone. Amelia pressed a hand against her mouth. Please. Just leave it alone. Damian searched through the purse again. His fingers stopped. Amelia knew exactly what he had found. The photograph. He pulled it out. For a moment, he simply stared at it. Then something changed in his face. The arrogance disappeared. So did the irritation. He looked confused. Almost frightened. Amelia had never seen that expression on a man's face before. Damian turned the photograph over. She couldn't see the writing from where she stood. But she remembered it. Her father's handwriting. She had found the photograph two weeks after his death, hidden inside a box beneath some old documents. There had been only one sentence on the back. If anything happens to me, find the Blackwoods. She had never understood what it meant. She had been too young. And too afraid to ask questions after her father died. Damian read the sentence. His face hardened. He turned the photograph back over. The two men stared up at him from fifteen years ago. One was his father. The other was Amelia's father. Damian looked at the photograph again. Then at the purse. Then toward the road. His eyes began searching the crowd. Amelia ducked behind the van. Her heart was beating so hard that she could hear it. She waited. Nothing. Slowly, she looked again. Damian was still holding the photograph. His thumb moved along its edge. Then he noticed something. A fold in the corner. He carefully opened it. Amelia's breath caught. There was another line beneath the first. A line she had never seen. Damian read it. His expression changed completely. He whispered something. Amelia couldn't hear him. Then he read it again. His hand tightened around the photograph. She knows what happened to your brother. Damian went completely still. His brother. Amelia's father had written about his brother. Which brother? The Blackwoods had two sons. Everyone knew the older one, Damian. The younger one had disappeared years ago. There had been rumors. An accident. A k********g. A family dispute. No one ever knew the truth. Amelia had never known her father had anything to do with it. Damian slowly lifted his head. His eyes swept across the street. Amelia stepped backward. She needed to leave. Now. She turned. A voice stopped her. "Amelia." She froze. She hadn't realized he'd seen her. Slowly, she turned around. Damian stood beside his damaged car, the photograph still in his hand. They stared at each other across the rain. His expression was no longer that of a man demanding payment for his car. It was the expression of someone who had just discovered a door to a past he had spent years trying to close. "Come here," he said. Amelia shook her head. "Give me my purse." His eyes dropped to it. Then returned to her. "What did your father know about my brother?" Amelia's blood ran cold. "I don't know what you're talking about." "You do." "I don't." "Then why did you run when you heard my name?" She had no answer. Damian took a step toward her. Amelia stepped backward. "Don't." He stopped. For several seconds, neither moved. Then Damian held up the photograph. "Where did you get this?" Amelia looked at it. Her father's face. The Blackwood name. A secret she'd never understood. And suddenly she realized something terrifying. Whatever had happened fifteen years ago wasn't buried. It had only been waiting. Waiting for someone to find the photograph. Waiting for her to crash into Damian Blackwood. Waiting for them to meet. She turned and ran again. This time, Damian didn't chase her. He simply stood in the rain, watching her disappear. His eyes remained fixed on the photograph. Fifteen years ago, his younger brother had vanished. His father had called it an accident. The police had closed the case. The family had moved on. Damian had never believed the story. And now, in his hand, was proof that Amelia Hart's father had known something. Something important enough to leave a warning behind. He looked toward the direction Amelia had disappeared. Then at the damaged car. The accident suddenly seemed almost irrelevant. He had thought he'd met a careless stranger. He was beginning to suspect he'd met the woman who could finally tell him what happened to his brother. And somewhere across the city, Amelia Hart was running with one thought repeating in her mind. She should never have heard the name Blackwood again. But now the Blackwoods knew her name too.