Page 10 of Our Little Secret

She swallowed hard, thinking about her daughter before her thoughts turned to Neal. A man who trusted that his wife of fifteen years had been faithful, even if they were considering a separation to “sort things out.” Even if they’d separated before. Even if he hadn’t been as loyal as she.

Stupidly, Brooke had risked it all, tumbling with full-fledged abandon into what was probably a midlife crisis.

What had the jerk she’d rear-ended, Gustafson, called her? A fuckin’ moron?

Unfortunately, he’d been right on the money.

Another text came through on her regular phone, the message clear and imperative:

Now.

“No. I can’t,” she whispered, but the texts kept coming.

We meet now.

She had to stop this. She couldn’t go home and just have text after text come in.

We meet now. Or else.

CHAPTER 3

Or else what?

She didn’t want to think about it. Gideon did have a dangerous edge to him. Hadn’t that been part of the original attraction? But she never thought . . .

Not for the first time, she realized she didn’t know him. Everything she’d learned about him was based on what he’d told her. He could have lied. Her cursory search on the Internet had brought up nothing, revealed very little. But how deep had she dived?

Not too deep.

Because, truth be told, she didn’t want to know too much about him.

That had been part of the mystery. The intrigue.

She’d thought it would be safer that way.

Now, of course, she realized just the opposite was true.

Well, she’d have to set him straight.

No matter what.

“Idiot,” she muttered under her breath. She clicked off both phones, then dropped them into her purse. Once she was home she’d hide the burner phone either beneath the console of her Explorer or in the niche of the laundry room, a little cubby covered by half-used bottles of bleach, detergent, and rags. For now, though, she zipped it into a pocket in her bag.

From her vantage point she saw that Marilee’s lesson was wrapping up, her daughter with her backpack slung over one shoulder.

Brooke snagged her purse and headed inside, where the high-ceilinged room smelled of sweat, barely diffused by cleaning fluid. Marilee, towel around her neck, sweat on her face and darkening the neckline of the shirt she’d tossed over her leotard, shifted her backpack from one shoulder to the other. She barely glanced up at her mother when Brooke said, “Hey, I’m sorry I had to have Andrea pick you up and—”

“Let’s just go.” Marilee had already started for the door, her ponytail swinging across her shoulders. Once outside, Marilee squinted at the Explorer with its dents, scowled, and threw her backpack into the back seat. “Geez,” she said under her breath as she slid glumly into the passenger seat.

Brooke started the SUV. “I just wanted to tell you why I was late—”

“I knowwhathappened. You texted me. An accident. ‘Fender bender,’ right?” Over her air quotes, Marilee gave her mother a look of long suffering. “I saw the messed-up hood, okay?” Her lips pursed as she motioned through the windshield to the spot where the hood had buckled slightly with the impact. “I just want to go home.” Then she slid her mother a look. “And you’re okay, right?”

“Right.” Brooke slid the Explorer into reverse.

The kid in the black Honda had collected what appeared to be a little sister and, with his music still cranked, sped around Brooke to roar out of the lot.

“Jerk,” Marilee muttered under her breath.

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