destinations. But they were all part of the whole. All, now, part of her.
If the key was here, somewhere in what was her home, she would find it.
She got in the car and took a winding path, the long way around, to Indulgence.
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ZOE said nothing to her friends through the morning. She needed to work first, not only physically but mentally, to sort through her theory and to decipher exactly what had happened to her the night before.
She couldnât talk about it until she had it all straight in her head. And it was, she admitted, a different sort ofdynamic when the men were around. There were things she could say, and a way she could say them when it was just Malory and Dana that didnât fit the same way when you added men.
Even men sheâd come to trust.
She left Brad to the carpentry, and spent her Sunday morning regrouting bathroom tiles. It was the kind of work that left her mind free to tinker with what had happened to her, and what it might mean.
Was it odd that her experience hadnât been like what had happened with Malory or Dana on their first encounters with Kane? Or was it significant?
Choose, heâd told her. That, at least, followed pattern. Each one of them had had to make a choice. And apparently the risk increased with each key.
He hadnât really hurt her. Thereâd been that moment of pain in the blizzard, but sheâd had worse. Why had he shown her three different scenes, barely giving her time to settle into one illusion before tossing her into the next?
The first had been a harmless little fantasy, hardly anything huge and life-changing. The second, more tedious and familiar, and the third . . .
The third, she thought as she spread grout on the floor, was scary. To frighten her. Youâre lost, youâre alone, youâre pregnant.
Been there, she reflected.
Then the pain, the blood. Like a miscarriage, she realized. Losing the baby. But she hadnât lost her baby, and he was protected.
What if Kane didnât know? Struck, she sat back on her haunches. What if he didnât know Simon was protected? Wouldnât his first threat to her revolve around the most precious thing in her life, the one thing she would die to keep safe?
âZoe.â
The sponge sheâd been using to spread the grout fell on the tiles with a plop.
âSorry. Didnât mean to startle you.â Brad stayed in the doorway, one shoulder resting on the jamb. As heâd been standing for the last several minutes, watching her.
A lot going on inside that head, he knew. Heâd seen all of it run over her face.
âNo, thatâs okay.â She bent back to the work. âIâm nearly finished here.â
âThe rest of the crewâs about to break for lunch.â
âOkay. Iâll be down as soon as Iâm done. Itâll give the grout a chance to dry.â
He waited until sheâd worked her way over, was half in, half out of the doorway. Then he crouched. âAre you going to tell me what happened?â
Her hand hesitated, then picked up the rhythm again. âWhat do you mean?â
âIâve spent enough time looking at you to know when somethingâs going on inside. Tell me what happened since yesterday, Zoe.â
âI will.â She put the sponge in the bucket sheâd set just outside the room. âBut not just you.â
âDid he hurt you?â He grabbed her hand, used his free one to tilt her face around.
âNo. Let go. My hands are all covered with grout.â
âBut he did something.â His tone had chilled, the way it did when he was chaining down temper. âWhy havenât you said anything?â
âI just wanted some time to think about it, work some of it out, thatâs all. Itâll be easier for me to tell everybody about it all at once.â His hand was still cupping her cheek. And his face was very close. âItâd be easier for me, too, if you
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