A Secret Life

Damn. She’d insulted him. “Twenty thousand?”

“To keep my mouth shut?”

“I’m sure you can see-”

“What gave you the impression I could be bribed?”

Anybody could be bribed. “It’s not a bribe.”

“The hell it’s not.”

“Thirty thousand.”

“Get off my roof.”

“Forty?”

He gave her an insulting once-over from her breasts to her toes and back again. “Listen, lady. I talk to who I want, when I want. And no spoiled brat’s checkbook is going to change that.”

Spoiled brat? She drew herself up to her full five foot four and crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s no need to get insulting.”

“You started it.”

“I’m not insulting you.”

“You just offered me forty thousand dollars in hush money.”

“You don’t want forty thousand dollars?”

“I’m not for sale.”

“Listen, you-” Heather just barely stopped herself from delivering the scathing retort. Joanie was what mattered here, Joanie and the Bateman reputation. She swallowed her pride and reframed her offer. “In consideration of the money you could likely make selling your story to the media, I’m prepared-”

Samuel took a step closer, peering down at her. “What have I ever said or done that would lead you to believe I’d sell my parents’ murders to the highest bidder?”

Heather opened her mouth. Was he saying he wouldn’t go to the media? Was he insulted because she’d suggested he would? She searched his expression, trying to decide if this was about a moral code or upping the ante.

“You’re not going to tell your story?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“So you are going to sell the story.” Just how high was she going to have to go?

His expression flickered no more than a millimeter. “I’m going to throw you off this roof in a minute.”

Heather felt a reluctant smile forming on her lips. “Well, that is one way to solve your problem.”

His brown eyes glinted ever so slightly. “Isn’t it, though?”

“I could write you a check right now.”

“Goodbye…”

“Heather.”

“Goodbye, Heather.”

“I can’t leave.”

“Sure you can.”

She shook her head. “Not without your assurances that you’re not going to hurt my sister.”

He stared at her in silence. “My word good enough?”

Heather hesitated. “You tell me.”

He paused and seemed to think for a moment. “I’m not interested in money. But if I have a chance to prove my father’s innocence, I don’t care who I hurt.”

“If you want to hurt Joan, you’ll have to go through me.”

Samuel’s sharp nod told Heather he was confident he’d prevail. And, though she hated to admit it, she had a feeling he was right. She might have money and power on her side, but there was something about Samuel that intimidated the hell out of her. He wasn’t a man she’d want to cross.

“Fair enough,” said Heather. Joan had made it pretty clear her novel didn’t contain new evidence that would help Samuel. And if he was after money, he’d have been wise to say yes to the forty thousand.

Heather turned to go. But as she focused on the lawn below them, she experienced a sudden, overpowering wave of vertigo. She steeled herself and took a step forward anyway. She wasn’t afraid of heights. And they weren’t that far off the ground. She and Joan had had a tree fort when they were kids. Ladders were nothing.

She kept going.

Five more steps and she was at the edge of the roof, her trepidation rising by the second. She could do this. She would do this. She’d climbed up that ladder, and she’d climb back down again. She gripped one of the rails, and the ladder shifted along the gutter.

Everything inside her froze.

Samuel swore behind her, and she heard his footsteps on the cedar shakes.

“It’s easy,” he rumbled.

“I know.” She took another baby step. “I’m fine.” She put her hand gingerly on the top rung. She’d slide her leg around, just like she’d done when she got off.

She glanced at the ground, and it swayed crazily to one side.

“You’re shaking,” said Samuel.

“I am not.”

He sighed, and moved up beside her. “I’ll hold it steady.”

“There’s no need.” Her voice came out raspy against her dry throat.

He pointed. “Grab right here.”

She did.

“Now put your leg on the rung.”

She tried to move her foot, she really did. But for some reason, it was frozen to the roof.

“How the hell did you get up here?” Samuel muttered.

Heather didn’t answer. She was afraid it would come out as a whimper. Maybe she could make a call. Maybe they’d come and get her by helicopter.

“You okay?” asked Samuel.

“Fine,” she breathed.

“You afraid of heights?”

“No.”

“You going to get on that ladder?”

She didn’t answer.

“Heather?”

“What?”

“Just how scared are you?”

She tightened her grip on the ladder and inched herself forward, refusing to let him know she was nearly paralyzed. Careful not to look down, she hooked a toe on the gutter and transferred her weight.

The gutter started to give way, and she shrieked.

Samuel’s arm was around her in a split second, yanking her back against his body. “Damn,” he muttered above her head.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, but her voice was shaking.

He loosened his grip. “Don’t move.”

“Okay.” That one she could do.

He slowly let her go. Then he effortlessly swung himself out onto the ladder and backed down a couple of rungs. He let go of the ladder with one arm and held his hand out to the side, making a space for her.

“Hang on to the top of the ladder and step around on this side,” he said. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll grab you.”

Heather nodded, swallowing as she assessed the situation.

“Do not look down,” he warned.

She nodded again. It didn’t seem nearly as scary with Samuel’s big body between her and death.

His voice went softer. “Piece of cake.”

She took a step.