by Kait Nolan
Shoving her plate aside, she pressed her face to the bar. “I never wanted this to get out. Which is stupid to even say when I wrote it. But when I put it out there, I honestly never thought anyone from Wishful would ever stumble onto them. And it never occurred to me that my pen name would get publicly outed.” She heaved a sigh. “My fault. I made assumptions and trusted too much in the flimsy protection of a pseudonym. In truth, I brought this on myself.”
A part of him agreed, not that he was foolish enough to admit it out loud. He didn’t have a problem with the romance or the graphic sex. But he didn’t understand why she’d risked putting so much of the truth out there, when they’d both spent so much time and effort trying to put it behind them.
“Why did you write it? I mean, I know you said you needed to put the truth somewhere, to try to get me out of your system. But why the rest of it? Why did you write about what happened to us? Why not just take who we are and plunk us down into some other story?”
She looked at him over a forkful of Mongolian beef. “Do you really think we’d be who we are without going through that hell?”
He considered the question. Without that defining horror, what would their lives have looked like?
“If Jebediah hadn’t shown up that day, you’d have kissed me. Everything would’ve changed between us. And I would’ve followed you anywhere, the moment we turned eighteen. My heart condition would’ve gone undiagnosed for some unknown amount of time. You probably wouldn’t be a cop. We’d have been together, probably blissfully happy, but it wouldn’t have made for a good story.”
“It sounds pretty great to me.” It was an alternate version of events he’d never allowed himself to consider.
“To live, maybe. I won’t lie and say there’s a part of me that doesn’t regret all the years we lost. But in terms of the book, it was a no go. Story is all about conflict.” She speared more beef and onions.
“But why that conflict? It had to be brutal on you to write. God knows, reading it took me back.” And it’d been worse, re-experiencing everything from her perspective. He thought he’d known what it’d been like for her. They’d talked about it often enough in the dark hours of the night. But she’d minimized all of it.
“I wrote it out a long time before there was ever a book. My therapist in college suggested it. The night terrors were really bad. I wasn’t sleeping for longer than a couple of hours at a time. She had the theory that if I could write it all down, really capture the detail, that I could exorcise it.”
He hated thinking about her going through that alone. “Did it work?”
“Not really. Mostly I just had to get used to sleeping without you. It was a rough year.” She shrugged, as if that was no big deal. “As to the book…I was trying to work through stuff about you. The day you were shot was the root of all of it.” A shadow passed over her face, and she set her fork aside. “I know you’re angry, and you have a right to be. It’s your story, too, and I put it out there for public consumption.”
“I’m not angry.”
She just looked at him with her Really? face.
“Okay, I’m a little angry,” Judd admitted. “It’s just that…well, like you said, there’s just enough reality that people who were here and remember will recognize it. But they don’t know which parts are true and which are fiction. So there will be people who take the whole thing as largely fact.”
Judd paused, beer halfway to his mouth as he ran back through what he’d just said. They don’t know which parts are true and which are fiction. So there will be people who take the whole thing largely as fact.
“The bourbon. You made a thing about the bourbon in Forged in Blood. Did you put anything else personal in your other books? Anything about the knife I’d given you or the fear of small spaces because you’d been locked in as a child?”
“I—yes. The knife got mentioned in my second book. It was a gift from the hero to the heroine who helped him escape a terrorist compound. One of those home-grown, anti-government militia groups. And my heroine in the first Redemption Ridge book is claustrophobic because she’d been locked in a box by human traffickers as part of the backstory.”
Judd stared at her.
“What? I’ve got some dark stuff in my head.”
“Clearly.” He started working his way back though the pieces. “The graffiti at the library said ‘I see you.’ We thought it was supposed to be some kind of a threat from your dad but what if it wasn’t? What if it literally was an announcement that they see you, Autumn, as Harper. They figured out the secret of your identity.”
She considered. “I don’t know how they would have.”
“I mean, the books are popular. That part could have just been chance, a random reader, who was here back when, who remembered what happened to us and recognized it in the first book and put two and two together.”
“Okay, so say that’s true. Someone read it, figured out who I was. That’s well within the realm of possibility given the Casserole Patrol was so quick to jump on it. But why expose me?”
He thought about the protesters. “Maybe someone who disapproved of the subject matter? One of those moralizing pearl clutchers you’ve talked about?”
Her burst of laugher was a surprise. “I’m sorry, I’m having a hard time imagining any of those women taking this kind of action or going to this kind of extreme.”
“You assume it’s a woman. It’s not so far fetched that a guy could also disapprove. Your father would. We know that.”
“Except it seems highly unlikely that a guy just happened to stumble across the book—a romance—and read it, if it’s something he disapproves of. Why be looking in the first place?”
“I don’t know, but chase the thread for a minute. They figured out who you are, enough to believe everything you wrote in that first book as truth and make some major assumptions that they know you as a person. There was enough detail in that first book alone that someone could reasonably have plenty of fodder for the same kind of tactics your dad would have used to harass you. If they knew he was getting out of prison, it would be a very convenient misdirect. One I fell for hook, line, and sinker.”
“That’s a lot of supposition without a motive. Who would want to harass me like that?”
Judd met her eyes. “That is the million dollar question.”
Chapter 16
“The protestors are back.” Livia brought the news, along with a pizza from Speakeasy for their lunch.
Autumn dropped her head in her hands. “Of course they are.”
Livia set the pie aside and rubbed her shoulders. “At least Mitzi probably hasn’t seen them yet.”
“I don’t know that it matters. There’s only so much of this she’s going to take.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Except it’s my name on those signs.” She exhaled a slow breath. “I’m going to pull a Scarlett O’Hara and think about it tomorrow. I’ve got enough on my mind today.” Like who, besides her father, would want to torment her and why.
Livia frowned. “You look like you’re thinking deep thoughts.”
“I don’t know about deep, but certainly disturbing.”
“Care to share?”
Autumn glanced around. It was the early afternoon lull before school got out. “Can you think of anybody who really dislikes me?”
“You mean other than Mitzi?”
Autumn tried to imagine the older woman vandalizing the library in the name of making her look bad and couldn’t make it play. “Yeah.” Checking again for anyone nearby, she lowered her voice and explained Judd’s latest theory. “I just…can’t quite wrap my brain around a motive that works.”
Livia tapped her fingers, gnawing on her lip as she considered. “Okay, here’s another theory. It’s kinda out there, but roll with it. Someone figures out your secret identity. The how doesn’t necessarily matter, but they figure it out. It was a serious secret, one you didn’t tell anyone. And it is, arguably, part of the re
al you, not the you that’s your public persona, as it were.”
“Okay, I’m with you so far.”
“You and I have had conversations before about how a lot of women struggle with being seen as who they actually are, rather than whatever shallow, socialized roles dictate and that, because of that, arguably the best romance heroes truly see the heroine for who she is and that’s what makes him Mr. Right For Her. It’s that huge moment of romantic fulfillment for readers, when the hero sees the real her and realizes that she is his perfect match. What if this is…some kind of subversion of that?”
“How do you mean?”
“Like…someone read your book, figured out who you are, and fixated on who they believe you to be and decided you’re Miss Right for them? Like…crazy stalker fan.”
“That is…an incredible leap and beyond disturbing.” Before all this had started, she’d been researching stalkers for a future book idea. The idea that one of those psychos had latched onto her because of her work left her cold. “But maybe it makes a sick kind of sense. There was the vandalism. The totally inappropriate grand gesture of ‘I see you.’ If all this stuff was meant to get my attention, it didn’t work. At least, not the way it was intended. All of it just pushed me closer to Judd. It finally pushed us over the line from friends to something more. The thing with the picture happened right after that. The knife was stabbed through Judd. What if it wasn’t a reference to the shooting like we thought? What if it’s symbolic of the idea that this person finds him to be a threat because they view him as a rival?”
Livia’s eyes widened. “And then the whole locking you in a closet at Judd’s house. Maybe that was meant to make him look bad. Like, hey see, I got to you here. He’s not worthy.”
Autumn eased back onto a stool, her knees going to jelly. “Oh, I don’t like this. I don’t like it all. It’s creepy as hell. Maybe we’re overreaching with this. Maybe it’s a Your Brain On Fiction cautionary infomercial.”
“I don’t know. But it seems worth mentioning to Judd.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll tell him tonight.”
A throat cleared behind her. “Autumn, can I see you in my office, please?”
She turned to find Mitzi looking expectantly over her bifocals.
Called into the boss’s office. Nothing good can come of this. Stomach twisting into knots, she pasted on a confident smile for the library director. “Of course.”
Miming wide eyes at Livia, who widened hers back and shrugged, Autumn followed the older woman, noting that her tight, iron gray curls didn’t even vibrate as they went up the stairs. She shut the door behind them, and the sound of the latch struck Autumn with the finality of a cage door closing.
Don’t make assumptions. Just breathe.
“I’ll get straight to the point. Word has gotten around about your…extra-curricular employment.”
No sense in denying the obvious. Better to meet the problem head on. “I know. And I apologize for that. I never intended for my pen name to be known. If it’s caused you any awkward questions from patrons, I’m really sorry, but I’m sure everything will die down pretty quickly.” I hope.
“I’m not so sure it will. You’ve seen today’s protesters?”
Autumn held in a wince. “It’s just gossip. Pretty soon, someone will do something else scandalous, and it’ll be old news.”
Mitzi heaved a put-upon sigh, folding her hands on the desk blotter in a power play that reminded Autumn of a Catholic school headmistress. “This library is a venerable institution of Wishful. Its employees are expected to comport themselves with a certain level of dignity, class, and morality.”
Autumn’s gut twisted again. “I’ve been nothing but professional since the moment I walked through this door to work here. What goes on outside work hours or in my personal life has no bearing on the job.”
“I’m afraid quite a few people feel that it does.”
“Excuse me?”
Mitzi reached for a sheaf of papers. “This is a petition calling for your removal as head librarian on the grounds of being an immoral influence.”
Autumn stared at her. “You can’t be serious. What have I done in the context of this job that’s immoral?”
“You wrote what’s tantamount to pornography.”
Insult mixed with the first traces of panic, and Autumn struggled to remain objective. “Oh please. It’s romance, and it’s tame compared to a lot of what’s popular since Fifty Shades came out. Tamer even than a lot of what’s on our shelves. And yes, I wrote it, but under a pen name, which I told no one. I have not pushed the books. I haven’t added them to our catalog. I haven’t promoted them in any way locally. This has nothing to do with my job here.”
“Except there was that dreadful incident with those…excerpts.”
“Which I told you I didn’t do.”
Mitzi ignored that. “The public is concerned about your access to children.”
“Oh bullshit. I’ve never made age inappropriate recommendations about books in my life.” Her gaze dropped to the top signature. Clarice Hopper Morris. Of course she’d be behind this. She’d been making Autumn’s life a living hell since elementary school. “Mitzi have you even read my books? Do you even know what they’re objecting to?”
The library director’s lips pinched in disapproval. “I don’t need to read them. They’re inappropriate. The entire genre is inappropriate. There’s nothing about it that’s noble or pure or praiseworthy.”
Because, of course, she was one of the sainted pearl clutchers who wanted to pretend sex didn’t exist. “That’s censorship, and as a librarian, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for even suggesting it.”
Autumn wished she could take the words back the moment they fell from her lips.
Before she could apologize, Mitzi’s eyes narrowed. “Miss Buchanan, this library has been under dire financial strain for some time. You’ve been a good employee for many years, and I’ve done what I can to keep you on as long as possible. But the fact remains that I cannot, in good conscience, ignore the wishes of the public. I’m sorry to have to do this in light of your difficult circumstances, but I have to let you go.”
The knife of betrayal slid in so fast, she didn’t even have a chance to feel the pain. “You’re ignoring my years of service to this library, from the time I was seventeen, up to now, and firing me for something that has no direct bearing on my job?”
“I’m doing what I have to do.”
Autumn rose, hands curled into fists. “You’re being weak and caving to the opinions of those who have nothing better to do than try to ruin other people’s lives over something they don’t know or understand. I’ve just lost everything I own and now you’re taking away my primary source of income. So thanks for that. And good luck sleeping at night.”
She stalked out, slamming the door behind her. Startled patrons looked up as she made her way down the stairs.
Livia waited at the bottom. “What happened?”
“I’m fired.”
“What?”
“There was a petition. I am apparently an immoral influence, who cannot be trusted around children.”
“That’s ludicrous! She can’t do that!”
“Unfortunately, Mississippi is a no cause firing state. She can do anything she wants.” She shoved both hands through her hair, feeling the first traces of panic begin to leak through the fury. She needed to be far, far away before the full implications sank in. “I’m getting out of here.”
“But what about the no bodyguard thing?”
Most of the department was in Jackson for a training today. It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t as if she could just stay here. “I’ll go straight to the police station. It’s only a few blocks. I’ll be fine.”
She held it together long enough to pack her small box of stuff. A decade of giving her all to this job and her things fit into a carton not even half the size of a banker’s box. How sad was that? She promised Livia she’d call later and made her es
cape. As she backed out the swinging front door—still waiting to have the glass replaced—she juggled the box to one side and dug one-handed for her phone to text Judd and let him know she was coming.
“Miss Buchanan, do you have any comment on your father’s release?”
“Miss Buchanan, is it true you based Cooper Danes on the now current Chief of Police?”
“How do you feel about having your pen name exposed?”
Autumn froze as questions peppered her from all sides. Microphones and cameras were shoved in her face as the throngs descended on her. The air in her lungs seemed to harden, along with the muscles in her legs. She couldn’t make herself go back into the library and couldn’t seem to force herself to push forward through the mass of reporters. Flashbacks to the trial flickered through her mind. She started to shake.
“Autumn, are you and the Chief now an item?”
“Miss Buchanan, have you and your father reconciled?”
An arm wrapped around her and a taller body urged hers forward. “Let’s go,” a low, gravely voice murmured.
Autumn froze. Slowly, she turned her head to look over her shoulder in disbelief. It was Jebediah with an arm around her. Jebediah trying to lead her.
“Mr. Buchanan, do you believe your time served is sufficient recompense for nearly killing your daughter’s lover?”
She stumbled back. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to get you through this mob.”
She didn’t know what to think about that, didn’t know what to feel about the fact that he was here, at her place of employment—former—in direct violation of the restraining order. What did he want?
Dimly, she was aware of the sudden silence as cameras and recorders rolled. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Irritation flickered over his gaunt face. Irritation, but not the rage she’d learned to expect as a child. “Must you always defy me?”