Page 139 of Unexpected Heroine

I need to process this. My initial reaction feels exceptionally knee-jerky, even for me. This is nothing like the other times my free will or privacy was thwarted, yet it feels oddly similar.

A violation.

Suddenly wishing for more distance between us, I shift off his lap.

He lets me go.

Even as I slide out of his arms, I long for him to pull me back. I’m so fucked up.

If he’s in the business of gathering information, it shouldn’t be this shocking that he did a little research on me. No big deal.

So why does it feel like a big flipping deal?

Although I know I should focus on the whole situation with him and Papa, my ADHD squirrel has other plans for the conversation. “When did you research me?”

Dammit.

Off track again.

Once I’m done writing that letter to the Dekalb County School Board, I need to write to whatever company manufactured my filter. It’s flat-busted. I doubt it’s under warranty. Maybe I can talk them into a replacement.

Tomer’s eyes scan the room, looking anywhere but at me. “Sugar bear, that’s another one of those questions.”

My stomach bottoms out. “What do you mean?”

All traces of the emotionless facade are gone. Before me is a wounded man, teetering precariously on the edge.

His answer is barely a whisper. “You don’t want to know. Not now. Don’t ask, sweetness. Please don’t.”

The agony in his tone and every tight line of his face siphon the warmth from my chest. In my heart, I know the two questions battling for dominance in my mind—when did he research me and how does he know my father—are not only intertwined, but they hold the potential to rock me to my core.

I can’t stop this train from barreling down the tracks.

“When did you research me?” I demand, more insistently this time.

My nails dig into my palms as the seconds tick by.

“Last chance, Violet,” he warns, his voice like gravel.

No.

Turning.

Back.

“When?”

He glances at the bedroom door, then drags his hand down his face, muttering quietly, “At least you won’t be alone.”

Huh?

Oh, that’s right. Stella and Freya are here.

Is that why I’m suddenly so determined to face this? Am I only strong enough to stand when I have others holding me up? And if so, does it make me weak?

Terrific time for an existential crisis, dear squirrel.

The flopping sound of the back of his hand hitting the bed shakes me back to the moment. Palm up like it was earlier. Right between us. One hand reaching toward me, with his long fingers extended.

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