River’s End

with the words even as he started toward her. “Don’t think about touching me. You’re here on your own, not as a reporter. Fucking liar, it was all for a story.”
    “No.” He stepped to the side to block her before she could stride to the door. “Just wait. I’m not here for the paper.”
    She still held his notes and, looking him dead in the eye, crumpled them in her hand and tossed them in his face.
    “Just how big a fool do you think I am?”
    “I don’t.’ He grabbed her arms. He expected her to struggle, to claw and spit and scratch. Instead she went rigid. She turned off. He could see in her eyes the way she simply shut off. A little desperate, he gave her a quick, light shake.
    “Listen, goddamn it. It’s not for the paper. I want to write a book. I should have told you, I meant to tell you. Then . . . Jesus, Liv, you know what happened. The minute I looked at you everything got confused. I wanted to spend some time with you. I needed to. That’s a first for me. Every time I looked at you ... I just went under.”
    “You used me.” She’d be cold, she’d stay cold. Nothing he could say, nothing he could do could penetrate the wall of ice. She wouldn’t permit it. She wouldn’t let herself fall into that trap again.
    “If I did. I’m sorry. I let what I felt for you get in the way of what was right. Last night, walking away from you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I wanted you so much it ached right down to the bone.”
    “You’d have slept with me to get information for your book.” Stay cold, she ordered herself. Pain couldn’t cut through ice.
    “No.” It ripped at his guts that she would think it, that she would believe it. “You have to know better than that. What happened between us had nothing to do with the book. It was about you and me. I wanted you, Liv, from the minute you opened your door, but I couldn’t touch you until I’d explained everything. I was going to talk to you about it tonight.”
    “Were you?” There was a snap of amusement in her voice— frigid amusement that cut like frosted razors. “That’s very convenient. Noah. Take your hands off me.”
    “You have to listen to me.”
    “No, I don’t. I don’t have to listen to you. I don’t have to look at you. I don’t have to think about you ever again once I’m out of this room. So I’ll finish this, here and now. Pay attention.”
    She pushed his hands away, and her eyes were level, a burning gold. “This is my life, not yours. My business, no one else’s. I won’t cooperate with your goddamn book, and neither will my family. I’ll see to it. And if I find out you’ve tried to contact anyone I care about, anyone who matters to me, I’ll do everything I can to make you suffer.”
    She shoved him back. “Stay away from me and mine, Brady. If you call me again, if you contact me again, I’ll ask my aunt to use every bit of her influence to see you’re fired from the Times. And if you’ve done your research, you know just how much influence she has.”
    The threat taunted his own temper, had him yanking it back. “I’ve hurt you. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what I’d feel for you, how huge it could be. I didn’t plan what happened here, between us.”
    “As far as I’m concerned, nothing happened between us. I despise you and everyone like you. Keep away from me.” She snatched up her bag, shoved by him to the door. “I once told you that your father was a great man. He is. Beside him, Noah, you’re very small.”
    She didn’t even bother to slam the door. He watched it close with a quiet click. She didn’t run, but she wanted to. Her chest was full and heavy, her eyes stinging with tears she refused to shed. He’d used her; he’d betrayed her. She’d let herself love, she’d let herself trust, and what she’d gotten had been lies. He’d never wanted her. He’d wanted her mother, her father. He’d wanted the blood and the grief. She would never, never give them to him.
    She would never give her trust to anyone again.
    She wondered if her mother had felt anything like this when she’d known the man she’d loved was a lie. If she’d felt this emptiness, this sick sadness, this burning betrayal.
    Olivia let rage coat over misery and promised herself she’d never think of Noah Brady again.

Eleven
    Venice, California, 1999
    Noah Brady figured his life was just about perfect. Thanks to the critical and popular success of his first book, he had his trim