Миллионы миллиардов. Как стартовать в игровой индустрии, работая удаленно, заработать денег и создать игру мечты. Максим Михеенко
had delivered one of these personal documents to Rachel without informing Gilbert that it had been taken. For all they knew, he hadn’t peered into that safe in months, and they were hoping it would stay that way until they figured out what to do about all the information they’d uncovered.
As Rachel jogged farther away from the reporter, her pace faltered, her mind filled by the image of one particular document that Gilbert had been hiding. A private document that spun her world upside down and made her wonder if she could ever trust him again.
Her very own adoption papers.
Not for the first time—or, she thought, the last— Rachel wondered just what her mentor was up to and why it was his business to have such intimate information about her.
What was he up to? Was he indeed the kind confidant she’d depended on all these years? Or, if he wasn’t her trusted friend, then who was he and what did he have up his sleeve?
Measuring her breathing, Rachel expelled another huff and tried to shove the disturbing questions out of her mind. But they only swirled around in there, a screaming flock of discomfort.
Part of the reason she didn’t want to talk to Ian Beck today was because she had no idea what she’d tell him about Gilbert now that her adoption papers had been found. Thus, these past few weeks, Rachel had pulled back from the journalist, refusing his requests for more meetings. She was too confused, too shaken by her doubts.
In fact, she couldn’t even summon the courage to talk to her once-beloved teacher about any of it.
She rounded a corner, leaping over a pile of dead burnt-orange leaves that had gathered on the sidewalk. Autumn surrounded her, painting the sky gray, forcing her into sweats, long johns, gloves and a knit cap. As the sound of children playing on a swing set caught her attention, Rachel slowed her speed, grasping the chance to finally get her mind off Gilbert. She softly smiled at the way the mothers hugged their infants, at the way it all seemed so natural for some families….
But before she knew it, there were footsteps hitting the pavement behind her. Another jogger or—
She glanced over her shoulder.
Yes, Beck was persistent.
Turning all the way around, she still kept walking, but backward this time, facing the guy head-on even as she moved away from him.
“Listen,” she said, gasping for air. Her lungs and skin felt on fire, and she worked off her gloves, stuffing them into her sweat jacket’s pocket. “I’ve got no comments about Gilbert, all right? Shop’s closed today.”
As he sauntered nearer to her, she was once again lured by the ice-blue of his gaze. He had the face of a handsome pugilist, an old-time fighter you might see in the movies, with eyes that pierced right into their target, a nose slightly flattened by either life or a well-aimed punch from someone who didn’t appreciate his tenacity. He wore his brown hair cut short, but his smile was long and slow, the better to draw her in closer for the final punch, my dear.
Since he was panting a little, she guessed that he’d kept pace with her, hoping to catch up.
“Rachel, you’ve been my best source until now,” Ian said. “What’s going on?”
He took a step closer, and a flare of that same unwelcome attraction lit through her body, heating her in places that had been laid to rest years ago.
That’s the other reason she’d been avoiding him, she thought. Because of the scary nudges of awareness, the sparks of possibility.
She turned around and started to walk off the effects of her jog. It was time to wind it up, anyway.
“Okay,” he said. She could hear Ian starting to follow her. “Then I suppose it’s not a good time to ask you out for drinks or dinner. Not that you ever accept, anyway.”
Boy, she was still heated up. Her skin—the half-black, half-white shade of café au lait that had always made her too self-conscious for her own good—was probably flushed red by now. She flapped a hand in front of her face to cool down, but then realized how counterproductive that was.
He waited out her silence for a moment.
“Is that yet another no?” Ian asked from behind her.
She couldn’t help smiling. He was ruthless in his pursuit of a story, and she admired the quality. She’d always wanted to be the same way: Determined. Bulldogged. Steadfast.
Ever since his newspaper, the National Sun, had scented a scandal and assigned him to stir up more dirt at the university, the reporter had haunted the area. Mainly, he was after the former students who’d been asked to come back in order to save Gilbert’s reputation—and job. That’s why Rachel had chosen to talk to him—because in spite of his paper’s recent reputation, his articles hinted at a humanity she hoped might fully sway the public to the professor’s side.
“If you’re hungry,” she said while walking at a quick clip, “go and eat. There’s a good Thai place down the street.”
“You like Thai?”
This guy really didn’t give up. “When the mood hits me. But what I’d really like right now is to be left alone. You can respect that, can’t you?”
Ian darted in front of her and blocked her progress, hands held out in supplication, that devastating smile sideswiping his lips.
“A brief chat, Rachel,” he said. “That’s all I’m asking for.”
“…said the Wolf to Little Red Riding Hood.” Rachel forged ahead, heading home. “I told you. I’m not on the market today.”
“Okay. Then what if it wasn’t an interview?”
He had a glint in his eyes, and Rachel sucked in a breath. Her heart danced, and a tiny pulse in her throat wavered, just like today’s fleeting determination to avoid him.
But wasn’t that always the case with her? Wasn’t her whole life an unlinked chain of joining and quitting, abandoning the promises she’d made?
What a drama queen.
“What are you saying?” she asked Ian.
She stopped in her tracks, and he halted, too. Wind whistled through the trees, fluttering a leaf to the ground beside them.
“Let’s just enjoy each other’s company.” He grinned again, making it seem so easy. “No headlines or quotes involved.”
Protectively, Rachel crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not a big dater, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
He glanced at her bare hand, where her wedding ring would’ve been if she still wore it. “Why?”
While she searched for an answer, pain winged over her conscience and settled on the edges of instinct, just as it always did when she thought of Isaac.
Not that she had ever talked with Ian about her dead husband, a tender-hearted man with laughing brown eyes, beautiful dark skin and a talent for charming a smile out of anyone.
Ian’s voice grew softer. “Would you be insulted if I told you I’ve done basic research about all my sources? I know that Isaac has been gone for five years now, and you haven’t remarried. And as for boyfriends…”
She’d stopped listening, Isaac’s name lingering in her mind. A man she’d loved until he’d succumbed to cardiovascular disease and left her much too early.
“Hey.” Ian bent down and caught her lowered gaze.
Even though the tears didn’t come as freely anymore, she still cried every once in a while, especially during cold nights when the rain tapped at her windows and she didn’t have anyone to cuddle next to in bed. She missed waking up in the morning to find him reading the paper at the kitchen table, missed how he’d come home from his construction work to wrap her in a bear hug. Missed the unconditional love she’d been craving