Page 130 of Wicked Sin

Ah. The pieces are falling into place. A sick lack of surprise twists in my gut. “You were undercover there.”

“Something like that.”

“What happened?”

A cloud passes behind her gaze. Enough of a clue that I know I don’t want any part of her revenge plot, whatever it is.

I shake my head. “Still no comment. I’m sorry I can’t help you. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“I’m not,” she says firmly. “Gerome Lively has a long track record of abusing women. Young women. Girls, even.”

She’s not wrong. But I’m done showing people my hand and getting nowhere for it.

“If you ever change your mind. If you ever want to tell any part of your story—on your terms, I promise—my inbox is open.”

“How can you promise that? My terms only? You don’t know what those terms are. You don’t know if you can trust me to be honest with you.”

“I think I can.”

“Why?”

“Because you went to ground. And even when your car exploded, you did everything in your power to keep that quiet. You don’t want to be found. So if you decide to speak up, I’ll know it’s for different reasons than before.”

Would it, though? The bitter, angry nugget deep inside me feels the same. And how could I tell any story about Gerome without talking about my mother, who has now been scrubbed from my life, but not my past.

And forever more I will have to lie about her. How she died, where she is.

With a painful jolt, I realize I resent what I’m caught up in now more than I ever suspected, just as I resented my life then. “Don’t assume anything about me, Melinda. I will absolutely disappoint you.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case. Your story could be quite inspirational.”

I shake my head. “Either way, it’s not good for me. I don’t need to put myself front and centre for judgment or false validation. I’ll get both, neither will feel right, and it will destabilize any progress I’ve made toward a healthy, real life. You get that? I’m just living now, and it’s great. I don’t want any part of the performative bullshit you people trade in.”

She sticks her tongue into the corner of her mouth. Thinking. “What if it were anonymous?”

“What?”

She shrugs. “What if the story is exactly what you just said? Once upon a time, there was a scandal. The details don’t matter. They can’t be shared, anyway, because the woman at the centre of the scandal very much wants to stay out of the public eye—forever. She’s had a bitter taste of it, and now spends her days wrapped in a cloak of privacy. And inside that cloak, she’s found happiness. But there was another scandal. A secret one. Way back when, when she was a child. Too young to be culpable.”

“I don’t think so.”

“That’s a better answer than no comment.”

“No comment.”

She grins. “Too late, Taylor. I know that you’re considering it, and that’sawesome. If there’s anything I can do to prove that I’m a trustworthy journalist, you just give me a shout. My secure contact details are on the card.”

Which I still haven’t taken.

Damn it.

I move closer, and she puts it into my hand. Then she steps away from my car.

Giving me space.

“Think about it,” she says. “And I’m really glad to hear you’re doing well now.”

Fuck. If only she really knew. I nod.

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