Page 114 of Perfect Pursuit

Of that I’m sure.

Lowering the tip of the pizza into her mouth, Fallon reaches for her phone. She fiddles with it for a minute before dropping it on top of the box. After she chews, she glances at it pointedly before she presses it. “You have five minutes, Mr. Kensington. Then I want you to get the hell out of my life and stay out.”

I scramble to find words that will convince her to let me stay longer than her five-minute timer. “You could have come to me, Fallon.”

She immediately shakes her head. “No, I couldn’t.”

My brows snap together. “Why the hell not?”

“That’s between me and my mother.” When she doesn’t offer any further reason, I just gape at her. She snaps her fingers beneath my nose to get my attention. “Tick tock. Your time is running out.”

“I can’t apologize enough, Fallon. You were trying to tell me that night the money you were making at Devil’s Lair was for your mother and…”

Bitter laughter escapes her sweet lips. “And what? Nothing’s changed.”

I emphasize, “Everything’s changed.”

“Really? Tell me why?”

“Fallon, you were telling the truth.”

“I tried to tell you the truth the night you showed up, but you wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise. What does it matter?”

I’m flummoxed. She drops her half-eaten piece of pizza in the box and lashes out at me. “What did you think, Ethan? I’d be so devastated over my mother’s death I’d open my arms and accept you back into my life with your worthless excuses and half-assed trust??”

“The only thing I thought about was apologizing to you.”

She slams her hand down on the phone to stop the timer. “Then fucking apologize.”

“I’m sorry, Fallon.”

“For what?”

“For thinking you were one of them?”

“One of who?” she snarls.

“One of the people we’ve been investigating inside Devil’s Lair!” I thunder.

It’s so quiet in her mother’s kitchen I think I hear the grease popping on the still scorching pizzas. I go to clarify my remarks, but Fallon holds up her hand to stop my words. “Let me get this straight.”

I nod, a tiny knot of terror forming in the pit of my stomach.

“You were investigating Devil’s Lair?” Before I can say a word, she demands, “Yes or no answers, please.”

Oh, shit. “Yes.”

“And you knew I worked there?”

“Not at…”

“Yes or no,” she snaps.

“Yes.”

“Instead of asking me about it, you tried to make me bleed by eviscerating me.” Before I can provide affirmation, she sneers. “Sorry if the fact I’m still standing offends you.”

“Fal…”

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