But then, one day, I ran into Jethro Davis. 

The rumors I'd heard about him weren't only about him being my father.  A lot of them were about the man himself.  The things he did.  He was a criminal.  A drug dealer and some said worse, that a few people who'd crossed him hadn't lived long to regret it.

He'd served some time in prison.  For what exactly, I couldn't say.  Assault and battery, some said.  Armed robbery, I'd also heard. 

I was familiar with the story of my supposed father long before I ever set eyes on him, but when I did see him, at the grocery store, randomly, I knew who he was right away.

I was in the peanut butter aisle, grabbing a few things off Gram's grocery list.  Her housekeeper usually did all of the shopping, but she'd recently come down with a bad case of the flu, so I'd taken over the duty.  

I'm not sure why I was so sure right off the bat.  The way he was studying me maybe or that combined with the tilt of his eyes, the stubborn line of his jaw.  It wasn't his features so much as the way he moved them.  There was a strong resemblance, but there also wasn't. 

He was a gorgeous man.  Just stunning, his face perfectly symmetrical, and it wasn't vanity, but I couldn't help seeing some of myself in him. 

And all of my fantasies about some heroic father who would have wanted me had he known . . . flew right out of my head for good.

He seemed as startled to see me as I was him.  "Hey, I know you," he drawled. 

"No, you don't," I contradicted haughtily. 

He sure as hell didn't know me.  He'd never have the privilege, I swore to myself.

"I do too," he said, unfazed.  "You're Scarlett Theroux.  I hear all kinds of stuff about you.  Quite the little charmer, I hear.  Raising hell since you was li'l.  Not much diff'rent than your mama." 

He smiled.  He was beautiful, but I hated his face on sight.  "Not much diff'rent than your papa, either."

"Both of my parents are dead," I said, for lack of anything better.  They were certainly dead to me. 

He laughed.  "Oh, you think so?  I think you're full o'shit.  You know damn well who I am, don't you?" 

I glared at him, but I didn't answer. 

"I'm your daddy.  You knew that, right?  You're prolly not too keen to hear that, but it's the truth.  I can see the Davis blood in you, too.  I hadn't heard about that.  Folks only been tellin' me how you're the spittin' image of Renee.  And I can see that.  But I see me in you, too, no denyin' it.   

"But I guess you don't care 'bout that, huh?  You done all right for yourself, I hear, livin' up at old lady Durant's fancy mansion."  I hated the way he spoke, slow, each word drawn out insinuatingly.  Also, he sounded like a hick.   

"What do you want?" I asked him.  Clearly, if he'd actually wanted to be my dad, he wouldn't have waited for an accidental grocery store run-in to introduce himself. 

He grinned, and I hated that it looked strangely familiar to me.  "You're in high school, right?  That can come in handy for me.  You interested in making some money, girl?"

I started to leave without another word. 

He stopped me with a grip on my elbow.  "Now, now.  It's good money.  You wouldn't have to beg the Durants for charity no more.  Don't you want a bit of cash of your own?  I'd make sure it was all cake work.  I'd just need some things, small packages, delivered to your classmates, yeah?"

"Get your hands off me, you piece of—" I snarled at him.

"Hey, now.  It's Daddy to you."  

Just when you don't think you can hate yourself any more—and then you find out you come from even worse white trash than you thought—yeah, that's where I was sitting.

His smile turned unpleasant.  "Got a little attitude on you.  I shouldn't be surprised.  You know who else had one?  Your mama.  Didn't turn out too well for her, I hear." 

That stopped me in my tracks.  "What is that supposed to mean?  Do you know where she is?" 

He laughed and it was mocking.  "Can't say I do, but I have heard things.  Maybe if you were a little nicer to your old pa, I'd tell you some of the things I've heard about your mama." 

I tugged my arm free of his hard grip.  "What are you suggesting?" 

"How about you come up to my house with me?  I have a nice little plot of land, and seeing as you're part of the Davis clan, I think it's time you come have a look.  When we're there, I'll tell you what I know about where Renee, your mama . . . ended up."   

I was not nearly as dumb as he seemed to think.  No way in hell was going anywhere with him.  Ever. 

I opened my mouth to tell him that when I was interrupted. 

"Jethro Davis, how about you leave this nice young lady alone before I find something to arrest you for?  I'd guess I wouldn't have to look much farther than your pockets if I wanted to get you for possession, yeah?" 

I shuddered.  This day was getting worse and worse.

I'd just been saved from my lowlife father by the only person I could possibly want to see even less than him.

Jethro couldn't get away from me fast enough after that. 

And then I was left with Detective Harris.  He gave me his deceptive smile.  "What a coincidence.  How'r you holding up?  That had to be a shock, what your—Is he still your boyfriend?—did to that homeless guy.  I hear he's managed to find a way out of it, though.  Congratulations.  It's amazing what money can do, especially when you're dealing with a D.A. who's hoping to have a long political career ahead of her."