Page 43 of Deceiver

I was so confident, so sure of myself, that I never once considered the situation I was putting myself–and my heart–into.

Making my way into my house, I go to the bathroom and flick on the light. Before me stands a woman I don’t recognize. My eyes are red and glassy, my skin is blotchy and red, and my face is swollen. It’s my neck, though, that brings a new wave of emotion to the surface. The dark, angry red marks in the perfect shape of his fingers. Reaching up to run my hand over it, I clench my eyes shut, horror washing over me.

What am I doing?

What the hell am I doing?

I could just leave, pack it all up and go like the other reporter did. Change my name, make a new life for myself, and move on. There is nothing keeping me here, not really, and yet even as I have that thought, I know I won’t do it. I won’t leave him. Am I broken? Am I so attached that I’m refusing to see what’s right in front of me? Backing out of the bathroom, I turn off the light and ignore my phone ringing over and over as I go to my room, flicking the covers back.

I crawl into bed, pulling them over my head.

Here, for just a moment, I don’t feel like the world is crashing down around me.

Just for a moment.

9

I’m avoiding him.

I know I shouldn’t be; I know I have to talk to him, but right now I need to occupy my mind with something else, anything else.

So, I did a whole lot of digging, and begging Nathan, and managed to find out where the last reporter, Georgina Thomas, moved. She never released her findings–the moment Bill got word that she was looking into him, he basically threatened her to leave town otherwise she would pay. She did as he asked, dropping the story and moving away. She’s smart, probably smarter than me.

Still, she might know something I don’t.

She might have something that can help.

I found out she works two towns over as an editor for a magazine. I called her, and, surprisingly, she agreed to meet with me.

So, I got in my car and drove three hours to meet up with her at a local café.

From the moment she walks in, I can see she’s not pulling punches. She walks with confidence, the kind of confidence you don’t mess with. Nathan told me she is a shark, and now I’m looking at her, I can see that. Her blond hair is pulled back into a bun, and she’s wearing a pantsuit that makes her look that much more powerful. Her face is free of lines and blemishes, and she has the prettiest green eyes. She’s beautiful, but she’s also a raging bitch.

I haven’t met her yet, but I could almost bet you wouldn’t want to get on her bad side.

“You must be the girl everyone is talking about,” she says, when she approaches the table.

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