Oh, God. She began to shake. Emily was really, truly gone. She wasn’t coming back, and no matter why it had happened, Tara hadn’t been able to stop her.
“You already had your fifteen minutes of fame after Colin,” Lauren said, driving the knife deep. “How much attention do you need, anyway?”
Fame?More like infamy. A flood of anger drove away her tears. “You thinkthat’swhy I’m doing this?For attention?”
“I think if you care about your family at all, you’ll respect their wishes for privacy.” A beep signaled the call had ended.
She stared at the phone, her mind churning. Lauren always knew exactly which buttons to push to trigger Tara’s anger and insecurities.
A text message flashed on the screen from Annette Collier, the reporter whose house was down the next path.Sorryfor the late notice, but I need to cancel our appointment. I’ll be in touch to reschedule.
And wasn’t that the cherry on top of a shit sundae? Tara was literally steps away.
Whatever. For all she knew, the woman was in serious pain or had some kind of medical complication. Surely, Annette wouldn’t have cancelled at the last minute without a good reason. After all, she’d been the one to initiatecontact.
When she had called to ask for an interview, Tara had expected to meet her at a coffee house, or at the newspaper offices, but the reporter had recently undergone ankle surgery and preferred to work out of her home office while recovering.
Given that Annette Collier was well known and respected, Tara had agreed. It also didn’t hurt that Tara had been a fan of the former Olympic gold-medallistas a kid. For many years after the 1996 games, she had tried to follow in the woman’s footsteps. She never became a great gymnast, but she’d learned enough to earn a spot on her high school’s cheer squad. So, when Annette called, Tara had been beyond excited to meet her childhood hero.
Extra bonus—that her house was right around the corner from Tara’s favorite donut shop. Every Monday, she’dunknowingly been parking down the street and passing the whitewashed brick row house with its overgrown rose bushes on her way to pick up treats before work.
Removing one glove, Tara swiped the message to respond. Should she—
“Oof.” Her legs slid out from under her and she landed on her butt. Hard. Momentum carried her all the way back until her head thudded against the crisp, wet grass.
She blinked in shock and sat up. Goddamned ice.
Previously hidden from view by a large evergreen bush, a woman appeared on the walk, head down, focus on her phone. Before Tara could shout a warning, the blonde tripped right over Tara’s legs and hit the ground on her hands and knees.
“Ouch,” the woman said. “What the fuck?” Her voice carried a hint of the South.
“Sorry.” Tara said, pullingin her legs. “I slipped.”
Cold from the sidewalk seeped through her dress and she shivered as she rose to her knees.Ouch. A broken branch had scraped her leg in the fall, making it throb right along with her tailbone.
Twisting to view her backside, she sighed. Her jacket and red dress were damp and covered in salt dust from the snow-melt applied to the sidewalk.
Fantastic.
The blondenext to her pushed to her feet. “Whoa.” She put one gloved hand on the ground.
“Are you okay?” Tara asked.
The woman nodded, took a deep breath, and straightened. “I’m fine. Are you all right?”
“I think so. Just embarrassed.”
Tara’s bag lay on its side spilling its contents onto the grass like vomit. She stood on her now-scuffed Jimmy Choo knee boots that she’d paid far too much for ona discount fashion site, and surveyed the mess.
A cell phone lay on the sidewalk, its screen cracked. She scooped it up and held it out. “Is this yours?” She would have expected the woman to have a newer phone model given the price of her gorgeous Saint Laurent bag and Burberry coat, but people were weird about technology. “I hope it still works.”
“Damn.” The woman scowled at the phone. “Letme check.” Tugging off slim leather gloves to reveal manicured nails painted a tasteful mauve, she shoved them into her pocket and took the phone. After tapping out the pass code, she smiled on a breath of relief. “It still works.”
“Oh, good.” Tara crouched to gather her things.
The woman did the same. “Let me help you.”
“Thanks. Just throw it all in. I’ll sort it out later.” Tara’s totehad cost a pretty penny, but the blonde clearly lived on a completely different socioeconomic plane.
