Page 73 of Betrayal

At work, not home—and that had to count for something—the sender didn’t know her address.She upended the envelope.The large glossy photos spilled across the table, one sliding past him and onto the floor.The photos showed a woman, mid-twenties, badly battered.Her face was covered in bruises, her shirt half-ripped off her shoulder showed more.The shots were taken from several angles.

He picked the escapee up from the floor, studying it for a few moments in silence.

“Your ex-girlfriend?”Anna asked, when the silence had grown painful.

“Yeah.And I beat her up one night when she pissed me off.”

“That’s what the message said.”Anna put her elbows on the desk and bent her head, splaying her fingers into her scalp.At his continued silence, she looked up, linked her fingers to create a bridge, and rested her chin on it.“The message also made clear the photos were especially for me.Digital but published previously by the victim.”

“I’ve got nothing to say.”

Anna licked her dry-with-fear lips, while scanning his face for clues.“Talk to me.”

He’d closed down.Locked her out, and his unyielding expression terrified her.Forget being lovers, he was putting their friendship on the line as well.

Anna picked up another photo, a closeup of ugly bruises on the woman’s cheek.When she’d seen that one, she’d gagged, nearly losing her lunch.She slid it across the table.

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”Hunter’s face was grim, his eyes bleak and implacable.

“No, you don’t.”

She scooped up the photos, tucked them back into the envelope, then back into her bag.Pushing to her feet took every ounce of energy and courage she could muster.

“Are you leaving?”

“Yeah.”She gave him back his own monosyllable.Crazy moment to realise she loved him.How stupid was she?

“Do you think I did that?”He looked at her, then glanced away as if wanting to withdraw the question.

“What I think now isn’t relevant.”She hadn’t believed—didn’t believe—he’d hit a woman, but he’d trashed the friendship they’d created.“Remember rule number one, talk to me.If you won’t talk to me, won’t explain the photos, won’t honestly tell me what you’re thinking and feeling, we have nothing.”Grabbing her bag, she remembered her other concern.“Have you stopped work on the childcare centre because of me, us?”

He stood to eyeball her.“I don’t operate like that.”

“You want me to take your word for that?”Except she did.Even with evidence of his lack of trust in her.“Goodbye.”

She turned and walked away, keeping her back ramrod straight.The tears running down her cheeks were because she was an idiot.

* * *

Hunter waited untilhe heard the front door close.She hadn’t slammed it, but the soft snick of the lock hit like a bunched fist.He’d had a split second to adjust when she arrived, to figure out Nick’s attack was a pincer move.Multiple scenarios and conversations flashed through his head in seconds.The result hadn’t changed.So, he hadn’t explicitly denied that he was responsible for Gina’s bruises, because in a cack-handed way, he was—for not ending his relationship with Gina sooner, for not warning Gina about Nick.

Moving the people he cared about out of harm’s way, out of Nick’s way, had become Hunter’s modus operandi.Tonight, it seemed like moving deckchairs on theTitanic.Fucking useless.He hadn’t protected Anna.She had removed herself.

Anna’s quiet exit when he’d refused to talk spoke of devastation rather than the rage he’d hoped to inspire.He’d hoped she’d shout, stamp her foot, and have his tantrum for him.Call him out for his cowardice in not telling her the truth.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.He had a killer of a headache coming.

She didn’t know what Nick could do to her.What Nick’s note had threatened to do to her.

God—he loved her loyalty and wanted it for himself.

Still, he’d used bloody-minded silence to kick her out.

Slowly, Hunter reopened his own envelope, spilling the contents across the table.

Anna was naked, as she’d told him weeks ago.She hadn’t mentioned the wig was strawberry blonde, a mass of curls, and a bad impersonation of Marilyn Monroe.The fake cake was behind Anna, her arms were upraised, her body elongated, intended to be titillating.Holding the photo, he was reminded of Nick’s parties from Hunter’s teenage years.He could almost smell the fried finger food, spilled beer, and the cloud of alcoholic spirits signalling a crowd already out of control.Hunter had pushed those memories deep, but maybe he could find a weapon there, if he focused.

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