Page 35 of Covert Temptation

She bypassed all the new notifications and posts she missed and went straight to her mother’s profile page.

There, she found the usual posts made by her mother, some shared from other people, some new ones of her own. Rants about society’s decay, conspiracy theories enmeshed with scripture and long-winded tirades.

In the past month, her mother only posted two photos, one of a new dog she rescued from a neighbor in the apartment complex where she lived, and a selfie of her and her new husband.

Kennedy let out the breath she was holding as she studied her mother’s face. The woman had spent decades on bad living that aged her, and she looked the worse for wear. But Kennedy didn’t just see age lines and sagging skin—she saw the effects of the same old demon her mother never could let go of.

Alcohol.

Her new husband—Kennedy would never claim him as a stepparent—had the same dazed look. His clothes were rumpled, probably smelled, and he gripped a beer in one hand.

She quickly located her father’s page. Her dad rarely posted on social media, but his wife shared the account with him, as if she didn’t trust him not to screw that up. Kennedy couldn’t blame the woman, even if she had been dumb enough to marry a man like her father.

Their shared profile page contained similar sentiments as her mother’s. No big surprise that dear old Dad had divorced one woman only to jump to another just like her.

One post had a thinly veiled dig at toxic exes. There were several dog videos. And a few more pictures of some celebration, complete with a bar full of half-empty bottles of rum and whiskey on display.

And finally, the cherry on top, her father’s wife straddling him in an armchair as they shared a beer bong.

Kennedy had seen enough. She closed the website. Throwing out her senses, she picked up the low murmur of the shower still running. Knowing Dante, she didn’t have much time left to use the laptop, so she rushed to log in to her private email.

The last message she’d sent weeks ago to Alyssa still hadn’t been opened or read. It didn’t say anything important, but she’d sent her friend a photo of them at a ball in Mexico City.

Maybe she no longer had access to the account, since everything happened with the security leak.

Or maybe Alyssa really didn’t care about her anymore.

A wave of sadness surged through her, crashing like whitewater over the jagged remnants of her parents’ broken lives and their tarnished new marriages, leaving her caught in the undertow, more unmoored than ever.

The shower shut off.

Panicked, she backed out of the computer system. When she jumped out of the chair, her knee struck the leg of the desk, making the laptop slide an inch to the right.

She pushed it back into place and hurried to the couch, landing on the pillow and yanking the blanket over herself. Trying to calm her pounding heart, she waited for Dante to emerge.

When he finally did, she was pretending to be interested in a tourism magazine left on the coffee table.

She smelled his fresh soapy scent before she stole a glance at him.

He’d changed into a clean T-shirt and jeans, the soft fabric skimming his chest and hanging loose, casually untucked where it met the low-slung denim riding his hips with effortless confidence that made cool “it girls” green with envy.

Her included.

His stare was fixed on her, and she felt every step he took, counting in her head as he made his way to stand in front of her.

She tossed the tourist booklet of the Hudson Valley aside with a sigh. “There’s nothing to do here.”

“We’re not going anywhere, Kennedy.”

She arched a brow. “Not even on a hike?”

“Do you enjoy hiking?” His tone was unreadable.

She gave a half-hearted shrug. “I’ve been to Big Sur in California. It’s stunning…but I can’t say I like hiking.”

He contemplated her, studying her face like she was one of the case files he was trying to piece together.

Which she was.

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