Page 129 of Fraud
“Yes,” I answered, glancing at the table.Was I still brave enough?“But let’s do it over here. I’ll grab some fruit to go with our bagels.”
Slightly shocked, she nodded. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
My heart raced as I walked into the kitchen to grab plates and fruit. Every damn memory of him flooded back.
His smile.
His touch.
The sound of his voice.
I felt the desire to slip back to my old self. To run from the memories and perhaps find somewhere new to live so the pain wouldn’t hurt so much. I was good at avoiding. I’d been tiptoeing around my parents’ deaths for years.
I could do the same with this.
But I wasn’t that same scared little girl anymore.
I was stronger, and no matter how much this hurt, it was something I had to face.
Head-on.
Joining Jane in the dining room, I took the same spot I’d occupied the night before, remembering the look of pride in Killian’s eyes when I battled the ghosts of my past.
“He’s a journalist,” I said. “He came here to expose me.”
Her mouth fell open. “How did he even know?”
“From an editor who handled the manuscript,” I explained.
“He’s known since the beginning? Kate, that was over a year ago.”
“I know.”
“Did he explain why?” she asked, starting to take notes. Jane loved taking notes.
“I didn’t exactly give him a chance to,” I said.
She pulled an envelope from her pocket and slid it across the table. Looking down, I saw my name in dark black script.
“I found this on your welcome mat. I assumed it was from him, so I put it in my pocket, waiting to see how you were handling everything.”
“And?”
“And, as much as I want to find the bastard and show him just how wicked I can be, I thought you might want to know the whole story.”
“Have you read it?” I asked, my eyes never leaving the envelope.
“Enough to know that there’s more going on here. A man intent on exposing you wouldn’t have taken the time to write that letter.”
I remembered his pleas to tell me the whole story. But my heart couldn’t take it.
I still wasn’t sure it’d survive.
But I deserved the truth, no matter how difficult it might be to swallow.
“Can you give me a few minutes?” I asked, placing my fingertips on the edge of the envelope.
Her hand grasped mine. “Of course. I’ll be in the kitchen, making some phone calls. Let me know when you’re ready, and we’ll figure this out. No matter what you decide.”
