"Ms. Jones? Could I ask you a few questions?"
"Olivia? Just a quick statement?"
"Miss Larsen? Hello! Miss Larsen?"
I stiffened.
"Okay," I muttered. "You want a statement--"
A hand grabbed my arm. I looked back to see Howard.
"Do not engage them, Olivia. That's what they want."
"That's why I'm giving it to them, so they'll take their damned statement and get the hell off our property. I don't like them scaring Mum."
I unwrapped his fingers from my arm and, ignoring the flashes, walked close enough to the broken door so they all could hear me.
I held up one hand to quiet them down. "Fine, you want a statement? I just found out tonight that my biological parents are, allegedly, Pamela and Todd Larsen. I will be investigating this claim. In the meantime, I will ask that everyone respect our privacy and--"
A yelp cut me short. Someone was jostling through the crowd toward the patio doors amid shouts of "Hey!" and "Watch it!"
Then, just as suddenly, the crowd went still. The two older journalists in the front lowered th
eir cameras and pens. One leaned over to whisper to a young woman who looked confused. Her eyes widened and she stepped back to give the newcomer room.
It was an old man. Maybe not that old--seventy or so--but tall and stooped, his rheumy eyes blazing at me.
He stuck a gnarled hand through the broken pane, reaching for the lock.
"Whoa!" I stepped forward. "This is private property, sir. You can't come in here."
"I can and I will," he said. "You may have all these people fooled, but I know who you are."
I turned to Howard, then heard a cry of, "Sir, you shouldn't do that" from the crowd.
The old man had flipped the lock. A few journalists continued halfhearted protests, but all of them leaned forward, eyes glittering, cameras raised.
He pushed open the door and marched in.
"Get the police here now!" I said to Howard. Then I turned back to the old man. "You have five seconds to get out."
The man continued toward me. "I don't know how you got here, in this fancy house, but--"
"It's my home, and you'll get out of it now."
He stopped right in front of me. I blanched, seeing something in his eyes I'd never seen before. Hate. Pure, unadulterated hate.
"You think you got away with it," he spat. "Think you got yourself a fancy new life. I remember what you did. Every day of my life, I remember."
Howard said, "He's clearly disturbed, Olivia. Go back upstairs."
"Disturbed?" the old man roared. "You're the crazy one, for harboring this she-bitch--"
He hit me with both hands, knocking me to the floor. I landed on the broken glass and felt it bite into my bare arms. As I scrambled up, he grabbed a shard, gripping it so hard blood welled up through his fingers. He swung it at me. I caught his arm. It wasn't hard to stop him--he was an old man. When he snarled, I dug my fingers in until he let out a hiss of pain and dropped the glass.
I glowered at him. "If you think I'm my parents' daughter, then you don't want to do that. You really don't."
Silence. Stunned silence. For a second, I thought, I've done it. They'll leave now. Then I saw the shock in the old man's eyes, and knew in that instant that I'd made a very big mistake. That's when the cameras started to flash again. I let the old man go.