She couldn’t believe her parents had done it. They’d witnessed firsthand how attached she’d grown to Jake Tharp. They knew how she owed him her life, and how close they’d become on their escape from Emmitt. The contrast of her love for them, her grief over their sudden deaths, and her disbelief that they’d intentionally lied to her about Jake left her feeling ripped wide-open.

And increasingly, angry. Not just at her parents. At Jacob.

He must have noticed her inconsolable state, because he abruptly stood and announced that he was going to have Lisa bring them something to eat.

“You’re pale. I think we need some fuel if we’re going to continue this conversation,” he said grimly, picking up the house phone.

“I don’t want anything to eat,” Harper insisted, thinking the idea of calmly eating a meal in these circumstances was annoyingly bizarre. Jacob ignored her, however, turning his attention to talking to Lisa and requesting that some herbal tea and a light dinner be sent up to his suite. Harper responded to his stubbornness by gathering up her clothes and going into the bathroom to change. She already felt vulnerable enough in front of Jacob. Jake! Being dressed would help to ground her. She was relieved to see when she returned from the bathroom that he’d re-dressed, as well.

Did that mean he felt as exposed as she did?

“I’ll never forgive my parents for lying to me about it,” she said after the dinner tray had been delivered and sat on the coffee table in front of them. She hadn’t touched either the poured chamomile tea or the salad and fresh-baked bread. She stood and began to pace in front of the fireplace. Jacob remained seated, watching her soberly as he held a cup of steaming tea in his large hand. “All that grief I felt. All that guilt for feeling like I contributed to your death—”

Jacob set down his cup loudly.

“They did it because they loved you so much. Surely you can understand that they’d want to completely cut away that experience from your life.”

“How can you defend them?” Harper asked, spinning to face him.

“I’m not saying what they did was right. But I understand why they did it. If I was a parent, and I had your father’s particular skills, I might have done the same thing.”

His somber defense of her parents’ actions only frothed her fury.

“You’re defending what they did because you’re like them.” He gave her a startled glance, and she realized she was shouting. She couldn’t seem to stop herself, though. The lid had just popped off her emotions. “You tried to cut Jake Tharp out of your life, just like my parents tried to slice him out of mine. You killed off that little boy and buried him like he was some kind of shameful secret.”

“Harper—”

“No, I’m telling the truth and you know it! You say you didn’t tell me that you were Jake Tharp because you worried it’d re-traumatize me, erase all the good work my dad did in treating me,” she said sarcastically. “But the truth is, you didn’t want me to remember Jake Tharp because you’re ashamed of him.”

“What if I am?” Jacob bellowed suddenly, flying to his feet. She started back in surprise. “I was helpless and weak. I was Emmitt’s whipping boy. Do you think I want to remember that? I spent my life trying to be the opposite of Jake Tharp. You have no right to criticize me for wanting that. Not privileged, rich, adored little Harper McFadden.”

“You jerk. Privileged, adored little Harper McFadden thought Jake Tharp was the bravest, smartest, nicest person she’d ever met in her life,” Harper yelled, stepping toward him aggressively. She checked herself when she saw his face stiffen, as if she’d slapped him or something. She wanted to rage at him, and she wanted to cry, and she wanted to never stop hugging him . . . and she didn’t know what she wanted. “Why are you looking at me like you’re surprised?” she demanded, clamping her eyelids shut to get ahold of herself. “I loved you, don’t you get that? I asked my parents if they’d become foster parents and let you come live with us! I had your room all planned out. I couldn’t wait to show you the museums in DC and give you my copy of The Lord of the Rings to read and so many other things.” Tears gushed out of her eyes as the poignant memories rushed her. “And you have the nerve to stand there and tell me that both you and my parents were right to stage Jake Tharp’s death? Well, fuck you, Jacob Latimer.”

She started toward the door of his suite but he halted her with his hands on her shoulders. He spun her to face him. He towered over her—so tall and strong, so commanding, so pivotal in her awareness . . . so different from Jake Tharp . . .

So like him.

“I was worried about you, Harper. How can you think that either me or your parents were only being selfish in wishing you could forget Emmitt and the kidnapping?”

“You can’t just cut away the bad,” she seethed. “You take the good with it. That’s what you and my parents tried to do to me. They stole Jake Tharp from me. You did.” She shoved his hands off her shoulders. Jacob’s furious, bewildered expression convinced her that he thought she was babbling nonsense.

Well, too bad.

“Just leave me alone, Jacob.”

She turned and walked out of the room.

Three days later, Harper glanced up from her work and saw Ruth Dannen passing her office, purposefully avoiding Harper’s stare. She was clearly still pissed at the dressing-down Harper had given her for calling adoption services in West Virginia and pretending she was Harper. Their ensuing argument had been loud enough that Sangar had heard, and demanded they both go to his office. After he’d listened to both of them, he’d called Burt in to give his input.

Afterward, Sangar had fully backed Harper in the idea that there was no story in regard to Burt’s lead. He’d forbidden Burt and Ruth to pursue it any further. Harper and Burt had left Sangar’s office, while Ruth remained. Whatever Sangar had said to Ruth afterward had silenced Ruth, all right. It’d also turned her into a frigid, silent bitch every time Harper was around.

Harper couldn’t find any energy to care one way or another.

She’d been having difficulty concentrating for days. It’d been that way ever since she’d left the Lattice compound last Tuesday. She was a walking zombie. Her chaotic thoughts wouldn’t allow her to rest. She couldn’t eat. If it weren’t for the rote quality of some of her work, she would have been completely dysfunctional in the newsroom, as well.

When she’d stormed out of the compound Tuesday evening, Jacob had immediately tried to contact her. He’d called her cell repeatedly. When she’d refused to answer, he’d even shown up at her town house. Harper had laid huddled in her bed, sleepless and miserable, listening to him pound on her front door and once—horribly—calling her name in a wild, angry, worried tone. At the sound of his voice, Harper had finally sat up and thrown off the covers. She’d raced down the stairs and flung open the front door.

But by that time, he’d gone.

A black mood had descended on her and not left her since then.

She glanced up distractedly when she heard a knock. Burt hovered in her open doorway like he wasn’t sure he wanted to cross the threshold.

“Come on in, Burt,” she said, pushing back her keyboard. “What can I do for you?”

Things had been a little awkward between them since Sangar intervened in his story idea the other day, but nowhere near as strained as things were with Ruth.

“Look. I know Sangar has quashed the Latimer story, so I’m not trying to say we should do anything with this . . .”

She arched her eyebrows when he reluctantly faded off. “What, exactly?” Harper asked.

He inhaled slowly and stared at a piece of paper he was holding. “It might not be too pleasant for you to know, but I thought you’d want to, anyway. I wouldn’t have felt right, not telling you.”

“Know what?” Harper prodded, growing impatient with his hesitance.

He tossed the piece of paper on the desk. “I’d done some digging before Sangar shut us down, and this just came through. It’s about that girl, Gina Morrow. She goes by Regina Morrow now. She lives in Napa. And apparently . . . she lives with Jacob Latimer.”

Harper froze before she snatched up the paper. “Lives with him?”

“Maybe not lives with him,” Burt said, shifting on his feet restlessly. “But the address of her residence is right there. She lives on his property in Napa. I just thought you’d want to know.”

She glanced up, dazed. Burt looked extremely uncomfortable.

“I do want to know. Thanks, Burt.”