Page 115 of Midnight Enemy

“You’ll be okay,” he murmurs. One of his hands is resting over mine. With the other, he reaches out and strokes my head. “It’s just the shock. You’ll be fine.”

I breathe with him, I don’t know for how long, but eventually my sobs slow, and I start breathing regularly again. The world stops spinning, my fingers unfurl, and I become aware of my surroundings again. Orson has dropped to his haunches before me, and as I raise my head, I look into his eyes.

He smiles, cups my face, and brushes my tears away with his thumbs. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Jesus, I’m not surprised you felt faint after a shock like that.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m so sorry. Did I do the right thing by telling you?” His brows draw together.

I remember then—my father stole a vast amount of money from the commune. He stole from his friends—from people we consideredfamily. I feel as if someone has stuck a dagger in my throat and dragged it all the way down through my body to my stomach. I would give anything to un-know that knowledge.

But then I look at George, at the misery on his face, and my heart goes out to him. He was prepared to go to prison for my father, and to protect Ana and me. The thought makes me want to bawl my eyes out.

I rise and walk away from him, and he slowly pushes himself up. I stop a few steps away, fold my arms, and turn and face the three men. Orson is frowning; George looks devastated; Kingi’s expression shows concern and pity.

“So what’s the situation?” I ask, lifting my chin. “How much did Dad pay back, and what is left owing?”

“Don’t worry about that now,” Orson says.

“I’m not a child.”

“I know.” He gives me a steady look. “Kingi will complete the audit and then deliver a report.”

“To the Elders?”

All three of them exchange glances. “We haven’t decided that yet,” Orson says.

“Are you going to call the police?”

Again, he says, “We haven’t decided.”

I nod. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I need to get some fresh air.” I turn and walk out of the room.

I’ve just reached the main office when Orson catches up with me. He slides a hand beneath my arm to stop me, but I move it away, and the woman on reception glances at us. She’s obviously heard the yelling and commotion, and she saw him take my arm. We deal with women who’ve suffered trauma every day, and all of us here are very sensitive to men being physical in that way.

“Everything all right?” she asks me cautiously.

I nod stiffly. “I’m fine.”

“You want me to call Lee?” Our maintenance guy and a couple of his friends double in the commune as security on the rare occasions that the women at the retreat have male relatives turn up looking for them.

Orson looks startled, and I say hastily, “No, thank you.” I gesture with my head for him to follow me outdoors.

We go out into the late summer sun, and it’s only then that I realize how cold I am. The warmth of the sun’s rays penetrates my tee, and I rub my arms with my hands, feeling goosebumps.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, “I shouldn’t have caught your arm like that.”

“It’s all right.”

“Honey, let’s go somewhere quiet and talk.”

“I just need some time on my own,” I whisper.

“Please…”

“I can’t.” I’m shaking with the effort of holding in my emotion. “I need to go home.” I turn and walk away.

I stride out, heading for my house, and I assume he’s stayed at the office until he suddenly appears at my side, matching my pace.

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