Page 84 of Betrayal

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Anna watched the lightsof the ride share disappear around the corner of the park.If Hunter wouldn’t even talk to her, she’d call another time.Five nights tossing and turning alone.

I’m downstairs.I’d like ten minutes of your time.She pressed send.

Lights came on in the stairwell, and the door was pushed open.She strolled across the road, her casual sashay a lie.Her stomach did an old-fashioned jitterbug that threatened to bring up the one meal she’d managed to keep down today: dry toast and flat lemonade—Kate’s staple through early pregnancy.Anna’s nausea had a different source.

“What do you want, Anna?”he growled.Teddy bears did scary-gruff as well as grizzlies.

“Ten minutes of your time”—she glanced around—"without witnesses.”

“Come in.”Not a great welcome, but she’d get a hearing.

She passed him in the entrance, sought out his sage-smoky scent in the confined space, and regretted the legacies people carried that never let them breathe freely.Inside his living room, she stopped.He’d been reading a book or maybe watching TV or listening to music or all three simultaneously—having as much trouble as her settling to a single activity.Choosing the dining room rather than the lounge, she moved toward the far side of the table and sat down.Upright chairs, some distance between them, a table to lay out the evidence.But first things first.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”He pushed his hands in his pockets.“There’s no point in rehashing what we said the other night.”

“You destroyed something in me the other night.”She placed her bag on the table to one side, aware he’d flinched.Your body keeps your secrets or betrays them.He was hurting too.“I hate lies—big, small, kind, cruel.There’s always a trap.So, I tell the truth to the people I care about.”She shook her head, still bewildered.“I thought if I always told the truth, people would believe me.You cured me of that.”

“Anna—"

“My photos came from Mr.Anonymous, only I’d put money on Mr.Anonymous being your narcissistic arsehole of a father.”Stacking the photos in a pile gave her something to do with her hands.“Although I shouldn’t tease.I confirmed my source was”—she paused for the equivalent of a mental drumroll—"Nick Richardson.”

“Men beating up women and children makes you sick to your stomach.”He dropped onto the chair opposite.“You received photos of me beating up my ex-girlfriend.Nick knows how to target his attacks.”

“That’s not strictly accurate.”

“So, I’m not in the pictures.”He was watching her, wary, but his eyes looked bruised.“The note named me.”

“That kind of crap evidence wouldn’t get you far in a court of law.But you’re right.Violence, physical, mental, or emotional makes me sick to my stomach.Identifying the perpetrator can be tricky, but it’s a pretty essential part of the exercise.

“Nick’s not as smart as he thinks.Liam’s assessment was car crash injury, but a few photos appeared in a social media feed, then were withdrawn.Seems Gina—”

He jerked at the name.

“Gina published the photos on her Insta feed, then regretted her action, and took them down.Too late to stop the bullshit commentary.”Anna shook her head.“I can’t believe anyone finds Nick charming.I didn’t find Nick charming a decade ago,” she said.“He’s like the portrait of Dorian Grey.His face shows every obscene act he’s ever committed.”

“What’s your point?”

“Gina, your ex-girlfriend, was pushing for marriage.You explained you’d rather be stung by a box jellyfish than get married.She threw a tantrum.You were booking a taxi when Gina took off with your car keys and smashed your car.For good measure, you paid all the medical and rehab bills.”

“Who told you that?”He pushed back from the table, and she waited for him to withdraw—again.

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