Rebecca inhaled deeply and nodded. “Yeah. I need to. And if it helps your research, all the better.”
Taryn spent part of her time teaching forensic psychology at the university, but most of her day was spent researching the criminal mind—the young, developing criminal mind, in particular. Rebecca couldn’t imagine wanting to poke around in those dark places, but she understood Taryn’s drive to get answers. After her younger sister was killed in the Long Acre shooting, Taryn had vowed to figure out ways to prevent those kinds of tragedies from happening, to come up with ways to identify troubled kids before they jumped from troubled to deadly.
Rebecca wasn’t sure those kinds of whys or hows could be pinpointed, but she was going to give Taryn all the information that she had. Maybe her experience with Trevor could offer some insight and help in some way. Regardless, Rebecca would rather tell her close friend about what had happened between her and Trevor than tell a reporter who would sensationalize everything. The information would get out either way, but at least Rebecca could put it into the most useful hands first.
Taryn pushed her headband back, keeping her cloud of tight, black curls away from her face, and sent Rebecca a tilted smile as she set the recorder between them. “All right. I’ve delayed enough. We should be good to go. Is it okay to admit that I’m trembling?”
Rebecca cocked her head to the side. “That’s supposed to be my job, doc.”
Taryn rubbed her lips together, smoothing her bright-pink lip gloss. “I know, but this is a first for me. I’ve never interviewed a friend about Long Acre. This feels more intense.”
Rebecca’s chest squeezed tight. “Honey, if you don’t feel up to this, please don’t do it on my behalf. Believe me, I know how important it can be to keep those closets locked. If you’re not ready to—”
Taryn shook her head, something resolute coming into her eyes. “Oh no, don’t you go giving me a pass, lady. That’s not why I’m telling you.”
Rebecca sighed and ran her fingers over her ponytail, a nervous habit from childhood that seemed to reappear at times like these. “Maybe I’m trying to give myself a pass. I’m afraid that when I’m done with this, you’re going to hate me.”
Taryn gave her a pointed look. “Don’t even go there, Bec. I know you. Nothing you’re going to say is going to make me hate you. And, trust me, we all have things about that night that we wish we could take back. I know I do.”
Rebecca looked up, catching the tightening of Taryn’s expression, the grip of something sharp overtaking her friend—pain, grief, guilt? But the moment was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
“We’re doing this interview,” Taryn said resolutely, not giving Rebecca the chance to ask what had put that anguished look on her face. “That’s not in question. I’m just letting you know that I’m probably not going to be one hundred percent put together about it. I reserve the right not to react like a proper impassive researcher.”
“You absolutely have that right.” Rebecca reached out and put her palm up on the table between them. “And who in the hell is one hundred percent put together anyway? Maybe if I’m fifty percent and you’re fifty percent, we’ll make it to the other side of this thing.”
Taryn put her hand in Rebecca’s, her smooth brown skin warm against Rebecca’s cold fingers. “We’ve got this. We will do the interview. I will take notes. We will cry. And then afterward, we’re going to dinner to get a big-ass margarita with our puffy eyes and sloppy mascara while you tell me all about that new boyfriend of yours.”
Rebecca smiled. “It’s a deal.”
Taryn sat back in her chair, took a breath that lifted her shoulders, and hit the record button on the device. “Okay, Rebecca, tell me about when you first met Trevor…”
* * *
Rebecca headed down the hallway toward her office Tuesday morning, vaguely hungover from too many margaritas with Taryn and feeling like a stranger in a strange land. The phones were ringing and keyboards clicking as normal. The muted steps of expensive shoes on thick office carpet played bass. And the scent of slightly stale coffee filled the air. It was the same world she’d visited as a kid when she’d stopped in to see her dad. The same world she entered almost every weekday of her adult life. The law firm that would one day be part hers. But now that wouldn’t be so, and she was an intruder in a home that used to be her own.
She hadn’t made any announcements yet, and her father hadn’t returned her calls, but the decision was already made. She was officially representing Steven. She’d told her father in one of the messages she’d left him that she was going to tell her secret. Then, she’d done it yesterday, telling Taryn every part of her short-lived connection with Trevor. No going back now.
Marian’s desk was empty when Rebecca passed. That was a small relief. Rebecca didn’t quite know how to break the news to her assistant yet. Ideally, she’d take Marian with her, but wherever Rebecca set up shop, she wasn’t going to be able to offer Marian all the perks and benefits she got here at a big firm.
Rebecca grabbed a few empty boxes from near the copy machine and headed into her office, prepared to call all of her current clients and then pack up her office. She stepped inside, her vision blocked by the armful of boxes, and headed in the general direction of her desk.
“Rebecca.”
She let out a startled yelp and dropped the boxes, the cardboard tumbling to the floor in an avalanche.
Rebecca put a hand to her chest when she saw where the voice had come from. “Jesus, Dad, you scared me. What are you doing in here?”
Her father was standing near her window, his hands tucked in his pockets, a joyless expression on his face. “The doorman called me when you arrived. I wasn’t sure you were coming back.”
She pulled her shoulders back, fighting to keep a calm, civil attitude. “I have personal items to pack up. Plus, I need to call all of my current clients and transfer their cases to the other attorneys.”
Her father stepped forward and gave her an evaluating look. “I’m not going to prevent you from taking your current clients with you, Rebecca. If they want to follow you, that’s their choice.”
She bent over and restacked the boxes, needing to do something with her hands. “That’s okay. I can wrap up the cases that are in the final stages, but afterward, I’m getting out of the divorce business.”
“You’re—” Her father scoffed. “Right. Of course you are. Who cares that you’ve spent all these years building your expertise in that area? Seeing the reality of relationships every day would put a damper on your new romance. Can’t let that happen. Don’t want to mess with the fantasy he’s feeding you.”
She straightened and crossed her arms, her hackles going up. “Enough. What exactly is your problem with Wes? You don’t even know him.”