Page 114 of Whispers

Of course she knew. Now. But at the time she’d been much younger, less knowledgeable about the law, and hurt, wounded that Hunter had betrayed her and been involved with someone else. When he’d never contacted her it had been easier to close her eyes and turn her head, believe the worst. Besides, by that time, it didn’t matter. Not really. The baby was already gone. And somehow she’d survived those dark, debilitating nights.

That old pain, the one she’d tried so desperately to lock away, stole past her defenses to grab hold of her heart and twist mightily, squeezing until she could barely breathe. Dear God in heaven how she’d wanted that child, needed that special part of Hunter he’d left with her.

“I was young,” she admitted, fiddling with her coffee mug. “And scared.”

“And pregnant.”

The word seemed to echo through the room like the reverberations of a chapel bell, resounding through her heart.

“Yes.” There was no reason to lie; he knew too much already. Dry-eyed, she stared him down and refused to let him see the pain that was still with her after all these years. “Not that it’s anyone’s business.”

A flicker of tenderness and understanding passed through his harsh eyes, but it quickly vanished, and she wondered if she’d imagined it. Styles wasn’t the empathetic type. “Just doing my job.”

“Digging up the dirt on people. Great job.”

One dark brow quirked upward. “Not unlike yours, counselor.”

“I’m always looking for the truth.”

“So am I.” He took a swallow of tepid coffee and set the mug onto the table again. His voice softened when he asked, “So what happened to the baby?”

Closing her eyes, she said, “It’s not something I want to discuss.” Oh God, the pain. Losing the child, losing a part of Hunter. And because . . . because . . . She felt as if she might be sick.

“I know.”

“You couldn’t,” she whispered. “No one could.”

“All right, no more platitudes.” He looked so deeply into her eyes she was certain he could see past her pain, past her lies, to the truth. The seconds ticked by in silence and finally Miranda opened her eyes. What did it matter what he knew? “I lost it.”

“When?”

“The night that I lost control of the car and it ended up in Lake Arrowhead. I’m sure you’ve seen the hospital reports. There must’ve been some mention of a miscarriage.” Not many people had known. She’d been eighteen at the time, and so her parents were never told that she’d been pregnant and was suffering the loss of her baby. Miranda had been well enough versed in the law to know that she had rights and that patient–doctor confidentiality wasn’t to be compromised.

If her father had ever found out, he’d never mentioned it, and so the subject had been avoided. But somehow Denver Styles had come up with the information. How? She rubbed her arms against a sudden chill.

“How did you link up with Dad?” she asked, wondering about him. An interesting, but threatening man, one who had no past. If Petrillo couldn’t find anything on him, no one could.

“He came looking for me.”

“And how did he find you?” she asked. “Somehow I don’t think you’re listed on the Internet.”

The ghost of a smile touched his lips and his gray eyes sparked for a heartbeat. “Through a mutual acquaintance.” He finished his coffee and reached for his jacket. “But we’re not here to talk about me, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

He leaned closer to her. “You know, Miranda, you’re a smart woman. Clever. But not quite as clever sixteen years ago. Personally, I think the story you’ve peddled to the sheriff’s department about the night that Taggert was killed is bullshit. I think you and your sisters made some sort of pact that you’d be each other’s alibis, and I think, whether you want to face the truth or not, the whole damned thing is going to blow up in your face. Now you could tell me the truth, and I could keep it between me, you, and your old man. Or else Kane Moran or your father’s political enemies will grab hold of it and it’ll be the biggest scandal that’s ever hit good old Chinook, Oregon. Your job will be on the line. Tessa could end up needing more than a personal shrink, and Claire will think that little scandal with her husband in Colorado was just a teeny ripple in her life compared to the waterfall that’s going to sweep over her when all this comes out.”

“You’re wrong,” she insisted, anger surging through her, but his words scared her spitless. “And if you’re finished, I don’t think we have anything else to discuss.”

He scraped his chair back. “You’ll change your mind.”

“Nothing to change it to.”

“We’ll see.” He snagged his jacket from the back of the nearby chair, reached into the pocket, and dropped a business card for a motel in Chinook, the Tradewinds, onto the table. “Room twenty-five if you want to talk to me. My cell phone number is—”

“Don’t hold your breath.” She didn’t bother picking up the white card. The less she knew of him, the better. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t eage

r for the truth, didn’t know how she could face it.

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