I only let you think that. I’m still looking. Still hoping.

“I had—I mean, I have. But I would like someone to look into Penn’s background. Where he’s from, who his parents are, what does he do? Does he have a criminal record, for goodness’ sake? Is that too much to ask?”

“It’s not too much to ask.” That sexy, silky commanding tone slipped down the back of my neck. “In fact, if you do exactly that—ask—I’ll gladly fill in those blanks without hiring someone to tell you.”

“Ah, Mr. Everett. I mean, Penn.” My father stood, extending his hand in welcome. “Pleasure to see you again.”

I remained straight-backed in my chair, not apologizing for what Penn had overheard even when I wanted nothing more than to huddle in shame.

Penn shook Dad’s hand then turned his endless dark gaze on me. “Go ahead, Elle. I invited you here so you could ask questions. That we might have a conversation rather than base our connection on purely physical.”

I blanched, glancing at Dad. Penn just admitted we had a sexual relationship.

My father crinkled his nose a little before clearing his throat and offering Penn to take the seat next to me. “Yes, conversation can be very worthwhile. I think it’s a great idea.” He glared in my direction. His stare said it all: you want to know something? Now is the time...so ask.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

MY QUESTIONS SAT heavier and heavier with every second that ticked past.

This sham of a lunch date had been going on for forty minutes in which time a waitress in a bright orange uniform had taken our orders: Dad had a Vietnamese pork salad, Penn had a Thai beef noodle, and I had a mango fish salsa.

The artfully presented meals had been delivered, and as we ate, Penn and my father shared tidbits of golfing handicaps, best courses around America, what Penn planned to do with his benefactor now he was feeling better, and every other boring nonsense non-important topic they could cover.

Not once did he mention Stewart—his son.

Not a peep about Larry—his friend/brother/father/secret lover.

Not a whisper on the past he refused to share.

By the time I’d finished eating, my stomach churned, and anger simmered so hot, I couldn’t damper it no matter how much water I drank.

Greg had ignited my temper. Penn just added rocket fuel.

Dad noticed I was strung up. He didn’t make it easier on me by trying to link me into conversations with open-ended suggestions like, “Elle used to come with me on the odd time I went fishing. Do you like to fish, Penn? Perhaps you two could spend some time together away from the city?”

Penn pushed away his empty plate, cradling a glass of water. He hadn’t ordered any alcohol as if he didn’t want his mind to be affected in any way. “I don’t like to fish. But I’m open to spending time with Elle in other ways.” He licked his bottom lip free from a water droplet. “In fact, we could go away next weekend, if you’d like? I have to visit a friend out of the city.”

I crossed my utensils, pushing away the rest of my lunch. It was now or never. “What friend?”

Dad glanced at me, hearing my sharp tone. He didn’t reprimand, though. Settling into his chair, he gave Penn and me the space to discuss everything we’d left unsaid.

Penn placed his glass on the table, narrowing his eyes.

This was the start of the battle.

Bring it on.

“Do you really want to know the truth, Elle?”

“Yes.”

“Sometimes lies are easier.”

“Truth is the only thing I want.”

“Fine.” He ran a hand through his hair, disrupting the dark shine, encouraging wayward highlights to glimmer. “My friend is in Fishkill Correctional Facility. I visit him when time permits.”

“Prison?” I frowned. “Wait, isn’t that a place for mentally disturbed?”

“Insane people?” Penn shook his head. “It used to be. Not anymore. Now it’s a medium security.”

Dad leaned forward, finishing off his pork salad with a grimace. The glow of Penn’s company and rosy hope for a happy future was marred by the mention of a prison.

I chewed a smile.

Dad asked, “What did your friend do?”

Penn cleared his throat—not in an embarrassed way but more of a ‘how much to reveal’ pause. “He’s a thief.”

A thief.

The punches from the other night.

The way Penn didn’t hesitate to cause bodily harm.

There’d been two in that alley three years ago. Two men who’d tried to rob and rape me. Was it possible Penn was one of them? Or was he Nameless? A cold-hearted version of the hero with no remaining empathy? Or was he someone completely different and I’d made all the clues up in my head?

I needed to focus, but after dealing with Greg, I struggled to see Penn as much as a threat as I did before. He was a nuisance with his story-telling, but he wasn’t malicious like Greg had revealed.

I couldn’t decide what question to ask, so I skipped to another just as important. “Does your son live with you?”

Penn scowled, his body tensing against the subject change. “Why do you think he’s my son?”

I scrunched my napkin. Was he about to lie again? “I saw you at Belle Elle. He spoke about you and Larry as father figures.”

“Father figures,” he repeated noncommittally.

“What does that even mean?” My temper spiked. “You are, or you’re not.”