“Do you really not understand what I feel for you?” His arms dropped to his sides as he took in a deep breath. “I’m forty-three. I’ve been in love with you since I was eighteen. Through marriages and divorces, through lying about Kennedy and depriving me of a chance at being her father. I still love you. It pisses me off, but I do. So, no, whatever you aren’t telling me won’t make me hate you. I’ve tried. Trust me. The hate doesn’t hold.”

Breath left her body. Longing battled with despair. The rawness of his voice and the sweet honesty of his admission pricked at her. She whispered his name because that’s as much energy as she could muster right then. “Liam . . .”

“Gabby, now. Please.” The pleading moved into his voice. “It can’t be as bad as you’re making it sound.”

Wrong. “Baines killed Natalie.”

Chapter Sixty-Four
Jessa

Think. Say something . . . anything. You stood up for a reason. You’re in front of her desk for a reason. The directions ran through Jessa’s head, one after the other. She needed to pick a few words, a simple excuse, and run with it. Stay calm. Don’t flinch.

Gabby had called her a liar. Well, it was time to perform.

“Is your call over?” Jessa couldn’t believe her heart could hammer that fast and that hard without her needing a hospital.

“The boys are headed out for dinner.” Retta set two cups of tea on the edge of her desk. “Now tell me what you’re doing.”

Finding the damn notebook I tried to steal.

“Looking for a pen.” Reasonable. An easy-to-remember excuse.

Retta looked at the penholder sitting next to her computer and lifted one out. “Like this?”

“I was looking right at it. Sorry!” Her voice was too high and tight. Jessa could hear it and fought to modulate it. “I think reading about murderers and pedophiles scrambled my brain.”

“That’s understandable. The fact patterns are meant to have an impact. We’ll look at a few more with less egregious behavior and see what your thoughts are.” Retta smiled. “May I have my chair?”

“Right. Sorry . . . again.” Jessa stepped out from behind the desk, taking the time to look around, searching for the stupid notebook.

By the time she got back to her chair, her mind had switched gears. She’d put it back in the drawer. She’d never picked it up or moved it around. She had not screwed up.

But she knew none of that was true. She’d had it in her hand and then—

“Do you need a longer break?” Retta asked.

“I’m good.” Scattered and a little panicked, but otherwise . . . not okay. At least Jessa thought her voice sounded more natural that time.

“I need your focus, Jessa. These matters are too important.”