“But the other guy isn’t. I’m going to see that he pays for what he did to you and those countless others.”

“The other…” She gasped softly. “He’s still…”

“Yes. And there may have been others as well. Do you remember anyone other than those two that you signed the non-disclosure agreement with?”

“It’s hard to say. Those two were always together, but I think… I think there might have been others.”

“If you can remember what they looked like, or whether anyone called them by a name…”

She shook her head. “I’d help you if I could. I’d love to see all of them go down.”

“Does this mean you’ll tell your story?”

She paused another instant. “I didn’t know the priest was still around.”

“He is.”

“Then, I… I really should, shouldn’t I?”

I squeezed her hand slightly—only slightly, so as not to frighten her. Yes, I wanted her to tell her story. But I ultimately wanted what was best for her, even if it didn’t align with what was best for me. Surprising, but no less true.

“It’s up to you, Zee. As I told you, I won’t push.”

17

Zee

He seemed so sincere.

And God, he was so gorgeous!

Sitting here next to him stirred up emotion in me that I’d thought was gone forever.

Then…about my story… I hadn’t thought of the priest. Derek Wolfe was always the leader of the hunt, but the other one… Father James, who’d given me my first communion. Did he remember me? When he looked at me, did he see that eight-year-old girl in a white lace dress? He signed the document I signed. The settlement covered both of them.

He was still around, according to Reid.

He could be caught. Tried. Convicted.

If—and only if—I told my story.

How easy it would be to tell Reid I’d cooperate. Then to let him kiss me if it was what he truly wanted. It certainly was what I wanted.

I hadn’t wanted to kiss a man since long before…

His hand on mine felt good. Like the comfort of a warm blanket on a cold afternoon. As if it were a barrier to the stormy weather.

As if he would protect me.

Part of me wanted to look into his beautiful eyes and tell him I was there for him. That I’d tell my story.

And part of me—that part between my legs—wanted to tell him to kiss me. Yes, please kiss me, and then take me home with you.

I wasn’t ready for the second part, no matter how much my body pleaded with me.

But the first part?

Could I?

Finally, I said simply, “Thank you. For not pushing me.”

“You’re welcome.” He scribbled his signature on the check and shoved his credit card back into his wallet. “Shall we?”