They made her sick. So did the woman they belonged to. She'd made her choices. And had to be accountable for them.
Turning away from the mirror before she threw up again, Jamie wadded the cloth in her fist. The thought of Ashley being tarnished by her sins was killing her as surely as her stepfather would have done if he'd managed to catch up with her all those years ago.
He was dead now. But the effects of his having lived would never die.
The anniversary clock in the living room chimed
TARA TAYLOR QUINN
the hour. She'd been gone from Karen's for more than twenty minutes. Ashley was going to start wondering where she was.
Concentrating on the child, Jamie found the strength to enter her office a second time. To pick up the phone. To dial again. She'd been facing her problems head-on her entire life, even when it meant putting her own body between her stepfather's fist and her mother's weaker frame. Her strength was the only reason she'd survived this far.
She had one focus, one goal: doing what was best for Ashley. Life on the run, hiding, wasn't it. Reaching for a recent photo of her daughter laughing at her from Santa's lap, Jamie kept her eyes glued to the image as Kyle Radcliff answered his phone.
"Yes, Ms. Archer, thanks for getting back to me so promptly…"
His voice was just as she remembered it. When she remembered it. It was so warm, almost as if he were in the room with her. She could see him sitting there on the end of the hotel bed, hunched over, his head in his hands as he told her about his mother's death, "…so I'd like to hire your services."
He wanted to hire her services. She hadn't gotten to that part of the memory yet. The part where he'd turned out to be just like all the rest. Her voice stuck in her throat.
He wanted to hire her services.
She wanted to die. Right then. Right there. What was the point of fighting anymore? She was who she was. Who she'd always been. Who she'd always be. The floor started to spin and she almost gave in,
HER SECRET, HIS CHILD
almost let that feeling of vertigo swallow her up. Almost.
And then her vision cleared again. And she could see the image she held of her laughing little girl. The trusting eyes. She couldn't let Ashley be a part of this. Panicking, she tried to think of something to say. Did he know she'd had a child?
She concentrated on the red velvet dress she and Ashley had picked out together for the much-anticipated visit with Santa.
"Ms. Archer? Are you there?" He'd called her "Jamie" before.
"Yes. I'm here." She didn't know what else to say. How to keep him away from Ashley. How to keep the woman she'd been away from her child.
"So do you think you'll be able to squeeze me in?"
Would he go away if she did?
"What exactly did you have in mind?" She hated the words, hated herself for saying them. But she was afraid that if she turned him down, he'd figure she was playing with him, would take it as a challenge, a come-on. That he wouldn't go away. After all, men like him weren't used to hearing "no" from women like her. Probably because women like her never said that particular word to men like him.
"You're the professional, you tell me." His voice was pleasant, calm, detached.
"You're the one paying the bill." The words practically choked her. But she had to gain some time, figure out what to do, how to get rid of him without making him suspicious—or even curious.
TARA TAYLOR QUINN
Her daughter's entire future depended on making this man nonexistent immediately. Forever.
She not only didn't want him to call her again, she didn't want him to think of her again.
"But I've never hired an accountant before—"
What?
"An accountant?"