“Peter admitted it. Right here. Right on this very couch.”
“When?”
“An hour after the podcast.”
Hester’s voice was soft. “What did he say?”
“At first, he insisted that none of it was true. I just sat here and stared at him and stared at him and I tried to make eye contact and he couldn’t. Oh, I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe him so badly. But I could see it in his face. That’s how stupid and na?ve I was.”
“Did he try to explain?”
“He said it wasn’t what I thought. He said I wouldn’t understand.”
“What did he mean by that?”
Jenn threw her hands up in the air. “Isn’t that what all men say in these situations? Maybe it was the stress of being on the show and living in the public eye. Then you add in our infertility issues. With Peter’s background, that part was especially tricky, I think. He really wanted to have children of his own.”
“What background?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said because of Peter’s background, the infertility issues were trickier. What do you mean?”
“You don’t know?”
Hester shrugged a no-idea at her.
“Well, of course,” Jenn said. “How would you know? Peter kept it a secret. I didn’t even know until we were married.”
“Know what?”
“Peter was adopted. He has no idea who his birth parents were.”
Chapter
Eighteen
When Katherine Frole comes to the door, I am dressed like a celebrity who pretends that they don’t want to be recognized.
What does that entail?
Simple. A baseball cap. And sunglasses.
Every celebrity—okay, let’s be fair and say Most instead of Every—does this, even though it’s such an obvious move. Whenever you see someone indoors or in a place that isn’t sunny and they are wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, well, are they doing so to make sure that you don’t recognize them—or are they signaling to the world in bright neon that they are important, that they are someone you should recognize?
Don’t listen to their protests: Celebrities want to be recognized. Always. They don’t exist without that.
I, however, have no interest in being recognized. Especially today.
Katherine is happy to see me. That is good. It means she doesn’t know about Henry McAndrews yet. Interestingly enough, she points to me—at my cap and sunglasses, to be more specific—and asks, “What’s with the disguise?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I say, ducking into her office. “You know how it is.”
“I’m surprised to see you again. It’s just that I already broke protocol for you—”
“And I’m grateful,” I add quickly, smiling as widely as I can.
Katherine says nothing for a moment. I worry a bit because she works in law enforcement, more specifically, the FBI. That comes with its own set of problems, but I can’t worry about it now. Katherine wears a fitted blouse and skinny jeans. In short, I can see she is not carrying.
I, on the other hand, sport an oversized yellow windbreaker. It hides my Glock 19 well.
I have only fired a gun once. Well, three times actually. But all three shots were fired back-to-back, bam, bam, bam, so I count it as once. I heard that aiming was difficult and tricky in real life, as opposed to what you see on television and in movies, that you need a lot of training and experience.
But in my case, all three shots hit the intended target.
Of course, I was at close range.
Katherine keeps smiling at me, almost giddy to be in my presence. This is what I find so remarkably odd about fame. Katherine Frole is an important woman. She works forensics for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. She has two thriving boys and a husband who is the primary stay-at-home caregiver, freeing her up to pursue her career. The two have been dating since they met sophomore year at Dartmouth College some twenty years ago. In short, Katherine Frole is highly educated and well-adjusted and successful—and yet she is a mad, mad, mad Love Is a Battlefield fangirl.
We are all contradictions, aren’t we?
“I tried to stop by last week,” I tell her, “but you were away.”
“Yes.” She clears her throat. “Barbados with the family.”
“Nice.”
“I’m just back.”
Which, of course, is why I’m here now.
“So”—Katherine plops down at the desk chair—“what can I do for you?”