I shake my head, my brain struggling to switch gears. “Why do you care?”

He drops a stack of papers in front of me and my eyes scan the top page of messages between Tink24 and Riverrat69.

“She’s Tink24,” Connor says. “Ian just found this tonight.”

He’s highlighted certain sections, and I can’t help myself. I start flipping pages and skimming as I go.

Riverrat69: Tell me what turns you on.

Tink24: Kissing. Secret meetings in dark corners. Strong men who pursue what they want but aren’t too proud to ask for permission before taking it. What about you?

Riverrat69: Blondes, beautiful women in short skirts, sassy-mouthed vixens.

Tink24: Oh, so I turn you on?

Riverrat69: Yes. You do. But you already knew that.

Tink24: I hoped. Anything else?

Riverrat69: So much. The curve of a woman’s ass. Hearing her scream my name as I drive into her. The way she stops breathing just before she comes. Your turn.

Tink24: This conversation turns me on. And if the moment is right and I feel safe . . . being tied up.

Riverrat69: I would love to tie you up. I’ve fantasized about it more than once.

My fists tighten instinctively, wrinkling the pages in my hands. My whole body is on fire with the anger pumping through me as I flip through the messages. Plenty of the exchanges are tame, but Connor has highlighted the worst of them.

“Why are you showing me this?” My voice sounds funny. Smaller. Younger. Vulnerable.

“Keep going.”

So I do. I flip through the remaining conversations. I make myself look at the pictures she sent him. The curve of her hip in lacy black panties, her legs bare and stretched out over crisp white sheets, her cleavage. I want to tell myself this isn’t Liz, but I know that’s just denial. I know her body better than I know my own. I could have identified that hip, those legs anywhere. By the time I’m halfway through, I want to stop, know I should stop even, but I can’t. Maybe I’m looking for something that will prove this wasn’t her. Or maybe I just need to know the truth.

I freeze when I get to the highlighted section on the last page.

Tink24: Do you still want to meet me?

Riverrat69: More than anything.

Tink24: When? Where?

Riverrat69: Can you get to Brown County tomorrow night?

Tink24: Yes. It will have to be late. I have an event.

Riverrat69: 5429 Water Pointe Blvd. I’ll wait up.

Tink24: I’ll see you then.

Riverrat69: I’ve never actually ripped a woman’s clothes off before, but I might have to with you. I don’t think you’ll make it past the foyer before I bury my face in your pussy.

My stomach cramps as anger floods through me. It’s worse than anger—it has a thicker blade and a sharper edge. Jealousy. Hurt. A merciless thrusting of a knife working its way up to my chest. I haven’t just fallen off this ladder and straight into love with Liz. I’ve plummeted to the bottom only to be beaten with it.

I lift my gaze to Connor’s and the apology is all over his face. “You piece of shit,” I mutter. “My sister just gave you a baby.” And that’s why he wasn’t there. He couldn’t meet her at the cabin because Della was in labor.

And I was there instead. I was supposed to stay at the inn with the rest of the guests, but I’d made a last-minute decision that changed everything. I wasn’t the man she came for.

Connor shakes his head slowly. “I’m not Riverrat.”

“You can’t lie your way out of this. You help Ian with the site. You have the administrative authority to allow pictures between your accounts. You go to the cabin all the time.”

“I’m not Riverrat,” he repeats. His voice is soft. As if what he’s saying is an apology, not a defense, and that doesn’t make any sense.

“Then who is?”

Pain flashes across his face, and the floor falls out from under me. I know.

* * *

Liz

I wipe away my tears as I pack up my few belongings. I can’t work here anymore. River made that much clear tonight. Connor, I mentally correct. Thinking of him as River makes it easier to pretend it didn’t happen, and I won’t do that anymore. I need to leave this job and I need to tell Sam everything.

If I’m lucky, maybe Mr. Bradshaw will still get me the internship with Governor Guy’s campaign, but either way I can’t be here.

It doesn’t take me long to gather my things into a single small box, but as I turn to leave, I see the light on in Mr. Bradshaw’s office. What’s he doing here on Christmas night?

I put the box down and go to his door. My hands are shaking as I knock. It’s not fair of me to leave him so soon and ask him to pull strings to get me a new job, but it would be foolish not to ask.

“Come in,” Mr. Bradshaw calls.

Taking a deep breath, I push open the door. “Mr. Bradshaw?”

He startles a bit at the sound of my voice. He sweeps his gaze over me twice—the first time a quick assessment, the second time slower and almost . . .

I shake off the thought before it can fully form in my mind. I’m imagining things.

“I didn’t expect to see you today,” he says. There’s something in his voice, as if he’s holding back the words he really wants to say.

“I’m sorry to bother you.”

He pushes away from his desk and stands to come around to my side. “You’re never a bother, Liz. What brings you here?”