Page 92 of Finding Amanda

"Where is her book signing publicized?"

"On her website, probably on fliers at the bookstore itself. I mean, if that guy—Sheppard, right?—if he wanted to find her, all he has to do is check her website."

"Right." Mark paced back to the open door of his truck and tossed the notebook on the seat. He raked his free hand through his hair and pictured Sheppard reading Amanda's blog, possibly contacting her through it, maybe pretending to be someone else.

Roxie continued. "But the guy knows where she lives, right? So why would he bother to go to New Hampshire?"

"Why did he go to New York? Maybe to make sure I wasn't with her. Maybe to catch her off-guard. I don't know."

"All right. I'll talk to Baxter?—"

"No, don't tell him we talked. If he is Sheppard's link, then we might be able to use that connection to feed him information. I don't want Sheppard to know we've figuredhim out."

Roxie's voice rose. "So I'm supposed to let this guy keep working for me, even though he's probably a . . . a sleaze bag using me to get to Amanda?"

"We don't know that yet. This is speculation. Please, act normal until we have more information."

She sighed. "Yeah, okay. I'll try."

"I didn't tell Amanda I was calling you, so she might be surprised when you talk to her. Tell her whatever you want. Like I said, I'm not trying to keep anything from her."

"Okay. Listen, Mark, keep her safe, okay?"

"That's what I'm trying to do."

Mark finished the phone call. His fingers were numb, his bare arms frozen in the cold wind, but he hadn't noticed until that moment.

In the shock of Annalise's sudden appearance and the crumbling of his marriage, he'd forgotten about Amanda's scheduled trip until the moment he'd asked Roxie about it. Obviously she wouldn't want him to go with her now, which meant she'd be alone, unprotected. Maybe she'd be safe at the inn, but at the book signing in Concord, she would be vulnerable. How could Mark protect her if she refused to speak to him?

Amanda had stoodin the entryway after Mark dropped her off, too shocked to move. How dare Mark go crazy with jealousy because she'd invited Alan over for dinner when he'd slept with his ex-girlfriend?

She pounded into the kitchen, glared at the mess from breakfast, and set to work cleaning it. While she was unloading the dishwasher, a plate slipped from her hand and smashed on the tile floor, scattering along the baseboards. Fingers shaking,she grabbed her short-handled broom, fell to her hands and knees, and swept the shards into the dustbin.

Stupid plate. Stupid dishwasher. Stupid shaking fingers. Angry tears landed on the back of her hand, and she wiped them on her shirt, crawling on the floor to get every last shard.

She finished with the mess, then put each plate carefully away in the cupboard. She turned back to the dishwasher and tried to lift the silverware basket out. It held fast, stuck somehow, so she pulled harder. When it dislodged, the basket lifted with such force, silverware flew all over her floor, skidding across the tile. Amanda let out a stream of obscenities that rivaled her earlier display on the beach. She picked up the silverware and tossed each piece in the sink with a clatter.

She couldn't do this right now. She couldn't think. She had to move. She headed for the front door, yanked it open, and stalked outside. She pounded up her driveway toward the main road. When she reached it, she turned around and walked back, then repeated the circuit.

It had been years since Mark slept with Annalise. For their entire marriage and longer, he'd been lying to her about his ex-girlfriend. After everything they'd been through together, he'd never told her the truth. Never even hinted at it!

She kicked a pinecone out of her path. Instead of sailing into the woods like she'd hoped, it skidded on the pavement and rolled to the edge of the driveway. Amanda stopped, approached the offensive item, and kicked it again.

And then the jerk had the nerve to accuseherof being unforgiving! He'd actually compared her to his mother, said she was going to turn out like her—a bitter old shrew. Well, he hadn't met bitter yet.

She was walking toward the road when a car turned into her driveway, startling her. She froze, watched it stop, back out, and drive back onto the road going in the opposite direction.Probably someone missed a turn on her winding street, but the event jolted her out of her anger long enough to remember she wasn't supposed to be outside by herself. Well, if Sheppard got to her now, Mark would never forgive himself.

Would she really put herself in harm's way just to hurt him? She stopped short. As much as she'd love to get back at Mark for what he'd done, even that wouldn't be worth enduring Gabriel Sheppard.

She ran back to the house and locked the door behind her.

Her anger began to dissipate. She had to find something to do. No way could she work on her book. She considered cooking, but she'd already made a mess of the kitchen. She filled her coffee mug with the cold remains of the breakfast pot and popped it in the microwave.

Numbness replaced her anger. She welcomed it, fearing what hid behind it.

Warm coffee in hand, Amanda settled on the couch and turned on the TV. She burrowed beneath a blanket. When Mark lived there, whenever she turned on the TV, she found it set on ESPN. In the last two years, Mark had watched more TV than he ever had before. She'd learned to drown it out, pounding away on her keyboard or hiding in the kitchen. He'd drowned her out by turning up the volume.

She flipped through the channels. She hardly ever watched TV, and never during the day. She found daytime talk shows, news, and endless decorating and home shows. Mark hated the fixer-upper shows. Apparently, he got enough of that at work.

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