Page 25 of Finding Amanda

"I don't think I told anyone else."

He heard the fridge open.

"Want a drink?"

"No, thanks," he said.

She returned with a bottle of water, which she handed to him. He palmed open the cap and handed it back to her.

"Thanks." She took a sip and set the water on the coffee table. "Let's see . . . It's not like it was a secret. And besides, to the writing community, I'm M.L. Johnson or Mandy Johnson, so even if people were talking about it . . . And why would they be, especially to . . . him?" She faltered on that last word, swallowed, and continued. "But even if they were, he wouldn't know I was M.L. Johnson. He figured that out on Friday when he saw my name tag." She shook her head. "No, it was a coincidence he wasthere." She blinked a couple of times. Her voice rose an octave. "Don't you think it was a coincidence?"

He tried to smile reassuringly, but he doubted it worked. "If he hadn't brought up the memoir, I might buy it. But the fact that he questioned you about it?—"

"Maybe he was just fishing for information," she said. "He always could guess what I was thinking, anticipate . . . He was always good at reading me."

"Manipulating you, you mean."

She blinked back tears, looking away.

He reached across the space that separated them and took her hand. "Honey?"

She looked at her lap, tried to pull her hand away.

He held it. Her tear landed on the back of his hand, where it shimmered and dripped between his fingers. "I know you're scared. I'm scared, too." He swallowed and continued. "I think it would be wise to hold off on publishing the memoir until?—"

She yanked her hand free and glared at him. "I knew you were going to say that. I knew it. You never wanted me to publish it."

He stood and paced across the room. "You're right. I don't. This guy, Sheppard—publishing this could destroy him. And I understand why you want to hurt him. I don't blame you."

He understood too well. He didn't want to just hurt the guy. He wanted to kill him. He returned to his seat, reining in his temper. "But do you want to make yourself a target?"

"I told you, he won't hurt me."

"I don't believe that, and you don't either, not anymore. That's why you're so scared."

"I'm not scared!"

"I know you. I can tell?—"

"Don't act like you know me so well. You don't know anything about me. You never have."

He spoke through clenched teeth. "I know as much as you're willing to share with me."

They stared at each other, the music from the movie upstairs hovering in the air.

Mark dropped his gaze to the floor. "I'm not saying don't ever publish it. Just wait a while, until we know what Sheppard's going to do."

"It's too late. I've already promised to send it to a couple of people."

"I asked you not to do that."

She shrugged.

"Well, then, tell them you're going to need a little time."

"I want to publish it," she said. "I need to publish it."

"Please don't."

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