Black Listed(30)
The black list wouldn’t only condemn her father. In the wrong hands, the information written in that journal would land her and her brothers in prison—or even worse, in the hands of those who sought a different kind of revenge against them for the wrongs they’d committed. If it was only about her, she’d go to prison. But Asa had a family now. He’d changed. She’d already hurt him enough. She wouldn’t be responsible for ruining what he’d worked so hard to build.
Her decision wasn’t easy, but it was the only one she could make. “For the same reason I hadn’t seen you in years. I can’t talk about it.”
He blew out a breath that sounded like frustration, but to give him credit, he didn’t push her. “You said your father was a bad man. What did you mean by that?”
A chill went down her spine as if her father’s ghost had floated into the room. Even dead, he terrified her. She turned to Sawyer and caught his gaze, needing him to say the words she couldn’t. “What do you think I mean?”
His jaw ticked. “He’s the one who hurt you. The one you told me about the night we met.”
“Yes.”
He actually looked pained, his skin pale and his hands trembling. “Did he . . . ?”
“No,” she reassured him. It had never gotten that far. Although after her mother died, she had been frightened by the way he stared at her sometimes. Not like a father looked at his daughter but like a man looked at a woman. “But when he had a bad day—which was often—he’d use me as his punching bag.”
Sawyer swore softly under his breath. “And your mother?”
“You mean, did she come to my defense?” She shook her head, remembering. “When I was young, she’d dress me up and braid my hair. But by the time I turned seven, my mother grew bored of me like I was an old toy. She was never very motherly, but after that, the only time I got any attention from her was when she was hitting me.”
“Jesus, why didn’t anyone report it?”
She lifted one shoulder. “I’m sure people did, but we moved around so much, no one could find us.” Noting the absolute horror written on Sawyer’s face, she laid a reassuring hand on his arm. “It wasn’t all bad. Asa and I were close. He took care of me when I didn’t have anyone else.”
He pivoted his body toward her to tenderly cup her cheek. “Then I’m sorry for the way I treated him. I came in here and saw you holding his hand . . . I sensed your closeness. I got jealous.”
Her heart gave a painful squeeze. All Sawyer wanted was for her to let him in.
Why did he have to want the one thing she couldn’t give him?
She seized the opportunity to change the subject. “Why did you come early? I told you I’d call you when I was ready to leave.”
His thumb skimmed across her bottom lip. “Would you believe I missed you?”
“Should I believe you?”
His eyes filled with mischief. “I was curious. I wanted to see where you spend most of your days. Not that I got to see much of your condo, especially since everything was destroyed, but other than the books, there didn’t seem to be anything of you in it. I thought maybe I’d get a better glimpse into Annaliese Hunt here.”
She swept her gaze over her office, seeing it through his eyes. She’d purposely left the walls bare of artwork, telling herself she hadn’t found the right ones yet. He was right. The space lacked any personal touches except for the shelf that held some of her most valuable books.
“But you’re forgetting. Annaliese Hunt doesn’t exist here,” she reminded him . . . and herself. “This office belongs to Lisa Smith.”
A tiny notch formed between his brows, and she ached to kiss it. “Is there a difference?”
Was there? If she chose a painting for her wall, would it reflect Lisa’s taste or Annaliese’s? Were they the same, or was Lisa merely a figment of everyone’s imagination?
“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “I’m doing something I love. Something that I created and built from the ground up. That’s all me, whoever I am.”
“Your office is very neat and organized. But it’s kind of sterile.”
She nodded. So was Lisa. On the other hand, Annaliese was passionate and wild. There was none of her in here or anywhere else in her life. But her inability to choose artwork that reflected her tastes wasn’t the only reason for the lack of personality in her office. “I’ve always got one foot out the door. I never saw any sense in decorating when I might have to leave everything behind.”
At the reminder of her tendency to bolt, Sawyer’s expression grew somber. His hands dropped away and he slipped off the desk, putting space she didn’t want between them. “I started working my way down the list you gave me. Two of your old marks are dead from natural causes. A couple of them have been traveling on business by car, so it’s not out of the realm of possibility that one of them made a detour to Michigan. I’ll check their credit card statements to see if I can track their whereabouts.”