“It changes everything,” I said. And then—with the same shock as an unexpected slap in the face—I understood.
“Oh, shit.” With a jolt, I pushed back from the table, the screech of the chair against the tile underscoring the horror I felt. “You son of a bitch,” I shouted. “You fucking bastard! Is that why you changed your mind? Why you gave in at Destiny? Why you came here tonight? So you could try to seduce the damn notebook away from me?”
His face reflected shock, but I had no way of knowing if it was a reaction to my accusation or to being found out. And I was on too much of a roll to stop now.
“Well, fuck you, Evan Black. It’s mine.” I wanted to slap his face, but instead I grabbed my coffee cup and hurled it across the room. It shattered on the floor, sending dregs of coffee to splatter on the gray tiles and neutral beige walls.
I gasped, then turned to run from the room. I wanted to throw myself onto the bed and cry. I wanted to kick Evan Black in the balls. I wanted to race out of this building that right now felt so damn confining and just get lost.
I wanted to escape myself, but there was nowhere else to go and no one else to be.
And I couldn’t do any of that anyway, because Evan caught my arm and jerked me violently back to him. Then he clutched my other arm, as well. He held me there, his hands tight on my upper arms, as I battled down the urge to spit in his face.
“No,” he said. And then more forcefully, “Goddammit, Angie, no.”
I tried to shake free, but he held me tight. My arms, I was certain, would be bruised by morning.
“That is not why I’m here.” The ferocity in his voice slashed over me. “I’m here because I want you, dammit. Not because I want something from you.”
I wanted to believe it—I so desperately wanted to believe it—and yet how could I? I shook my head. “Bullshit, Evan. You promised my uncle that you wouldn’t do this. And you were damn sure willing to keep that promise—until you realized that I inherited the notebook.” I saw him flinch and knew that I’d struck a sound blow. “Kevin was right,” I said. “You’re only interested in yourself.”
“Do not—do not—bring that bastard into this conversation.”
“I’m not even going to have this conversation,” I said wearily. “Just get the hell out.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not going anywhere. Not until you listen to me.”
“I said to get out. I’m not kidding. Do you know how many panic buttons are hidden in this apartment? If you think I won’t push one—”
He tightened his grip on my arms, and I remembered the man I’d seen in the alley. The man who had so efficiently and ruthlessly pressed a knife to another man’s throat.
The truth was, unless he let me, I couldn’t push any button at all. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t call for help. I could do nothing but submit. And though I knew that empirically I should be afraid, I wasn’t. I was pissed off, sure, but I wasn’t afraid of this man. Not even a little.
“Push them all,” he said gently. “Kick me out, scream for Peterson. Do whatever the hell you have to. But listen to me first.”
I glared at him.
“Please,” he said, but it was his tone more than the plea that melted me.
“All right,” I whispered. “Talk.”
He released my arms, then took a step backward. “I need to show you something. Come with me.”
I followed, feeling lost and defeated and just wanting to get this over with. In the living room, he went to the briefcase he’d dropped beside the couch. He bent down, opened it, and pulled out a letter. “Recognize it?”
I shook my head. “Should I?”
“Alan gave it to me. It’s the letter Jahn left for me.”
“Oh.” I wanted to ask what the hell that letter had to do with anything, but I kept my mouth shut. Obviously that’s where we were heading, and Evan was going to get there on his own sweet time.
He handed it to me. “Read it.”