Page 60 of Finding Amanda

She glared at him.

"Amanda—"

"Forget it. I don't want to talk about it."

In a sudden flash, he remembered the fear in her expression as he'd read her memoir. Why hadn't he realized it at the time? One night in particular, he'd read about Amanda's first counseling session after that monster had seduced her. He could picture her in his office after Sheppard took off her clothes. He could imagine that . . . pervert, sitting across from her, fantasizing about her as she shared her deepest hurts with him. Rage overcame him, heat filled him until everything was tinted in red. He escaped so she wouldn't see the murder on his face. That night was the first time he'd seriously considered killing the man.

Now, he saw the scene from her point of view. Had he ever told her it wasn't her fault? Surely she already knew that, but . . . looking at her right now . . .

He dragged her into his arms, ignoring her protests. "Oh, Amanda, of course it wasn't your fault?—"

She pushed her hands into his chest. "I don't want to talk about it. And it doesn't matter now."

"Of course it matters."

"Let me go!"

He dropped his arms and stepped back.

"Forget it. It doesn't matter now." She spun around and marched down the hall toward the bathroom. A moment later she emerged with a box of tissues in one hand, a single tissue in the other. She swiped it across her face to clear the tears.

"So he lost his license? But did he go to jail?"

He stood awkwardly in the middle of the floor, halfway between the kitchen counter and the dining room table. How could she shift gears like that? He tucked his hands beneath his opposite arms to keep from reaching out for her again. "Charges were dropped."

"Why?"

"We aren't sure, but Chris theorized the girl refused to testify against him."

"That makes sense."

He lifted his eyebrows. "What about that makes sense?"

Her cheeks reddened, and she grabbed a fresh tissue to hide behind. "She probably thought she loved him."

"Right," he said. "Sorry."

"Why are you sorry, Mark? You haven't done anything wrong."

His wife was weeping and refused to let him comfort her. Obviously, he'd done plenty wrong.

"Is there anything else?" she asked.

"I started looking into the names you gave me, but I can't find any connections so far. I called the conference coordinator and asked for the names and workplaces of people at the conference. They agreed to send me the list."

"You're kidding. I can't believe they'd do that."

"They didn't at first. I had to go to the chapter president. I told her the story, and . . ." He shrugged. There was no logical reason why that woman should have emailed him the list. But she had. He'd seen it in his inbox the night before. Unfortunately, with the girls at his apartment for dinner, he hadn't had time to look through it.

"Persuasive, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Women fall all over themselves to help me."

She almost smiled. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. May I?" He indicated the barstool. She nodded, so he slipped back into his seat. "So he's teaching now."

"He told me that."

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