She was still so angry with herself she could barely think about it sanely. All the assumptions she had made, all the anger and loathing she’d carried for five years was scoured out, and she only now realized how much she had let it consume her. She thought she had relegated it all to some back corner of her mind, only escaping at the occasional sharp, jabbing reminders, but apparently while it had been hiding there it had been gnawing out a bigger and bigger space for itself. And only now that it had been blasted out of existence by the truth she had never known—had never bothered to find out, she corrected herself harshly—did she understand how large it had become.

Now she was looking at a weekend, without much work to distract her. Not that she worked a weekday job—tragedy struck at any time and she was always on call for clients. She worked mostly by referral, from both prior clients and friends of her father who had learned of someone who could use her help. Sadly, it happened often enough to keep her busy; there weren’t many with her primary motivator and specialty, a police officer killed in the line. Mostly she stayed on the West Coast, but for the grieving loved ones of a cop, she would go anywhere she was asked.

She should be thankful not to be needed for that just now, she told herself. Because someone needing her meant they’d suffered the ugly kind of loss that had nearly crippled her. And she usually was glad when things were slow, for just that reason, but now she was perversely feeling anxious, wondering what she was going to do this weekend with...all this going on.

Be honest. You mean Adam. To whom you owe a huge apology you haven’t made yet.

It was true. But she’d been left so reeling about how wrong she had been she hadn’t quite been able to put the words together yet. “I’m sorry I thought you were a coward and a quitter,” didn’t seem nearly enough.

But she had to say something, and soon. And thought if anyone was a coward it was her, not wanting to admit in front of the Foxworths how awful she’d been. No wonder Quinn had been so surprised that she still blamed Adam.

Adam, who had been quietly here, as Hayley had said, in the garage. But what stuck in her mind, so horribly, was the look of pale, grim determination that had been on his face when he’d seen her father’s portrait on the wall. Tension had radiated from him as he stared at it, and his expression had made her stomach knot up.