This time, her shrug appeared more carefree.
“And that Roberta bitch, she’s ready to tell all if she can cut some kind of deal that’ll keep her from spending the rest of her life in jail.”
Even with Martin Gold dead, everything he and Jeremy had done was coming out into the open. Between what he’d told Miles, the information his assistant, Julie, could provide, and with Roberta eager to talk, the authorities were putting the story together.
“The others on the list, the ones you didn’t get to,” Chloe said. “They’re going to find out who their daddy is?”
“I think so, but it’s out of my hands. Everyone from the FBI to CNN will be talking to them.” He brightened, remembering something. “I heard from Charise yesterday. She’s on crutches, but a couple more weeks, she should be off them.”
Chloe smiled.
“So tell me,” Miles said. “Looks like you’ve got everything you own in the car. Where you headed?”
“I’m there,” Chloe said.
Miles blinked. “Say again?”
“I’m staying here. I’m moving in. I know you’ve got space.” She came around the island and plopped onto the stool next to him. “But I might jazz up my room some. It’s pretty minimalist. Needs some pillows and shit. Some movie posters.”
“Chloe.”
“Did you know there’s a film school in New Haven? I’m looking into that. There’d be time in between other stuff.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Are you saying I’m not welcome?”
“No, but Chloe, I’m not too bad right now, but I’m going to get worse. I’m going to reach a point where I need constant care, constant attention.”
“Why do you think I’m moving in, dumbass?” she said.
“Chloe—”
“I’ve thought about this a lot. There’s no point trying to talk me out of it. I’m staying.” She paused. “As long as I can be of help.”
She had to look away for a second, compose herself.
“Chloe, really, it’s going to be rough. You’re young. You’ve got a life. Don’t let me drag you down.”
“Drag me down? What the fuck.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I hate to see you make that kind of sacrifice.” He took a deep breath. “Here’s the thing, Chloe. I’m not your father. You’re not my daughter.”
“I’m thinking,” she said, “that this whole fatherhood bullshit is more than a genetic thing.”
He thought back to what she had said when she’d bailed from the car. “But I’m nothing to you,” he said.
Chloe slipped her arm into his and rolled her eyes. “You dumb shit,” she said. “You’re everything to me.”
Acknowledgments
No author does this alone.
I am immensely grateful to the dedicated folks at HarperCollins, in the United States, United Kingdom, and Canada for all their help in getting this book in shape, and into your hands.
In the U.S., thanks go to Liate Stehlik, Nate Lanman, Jennifer Hart, Ryan Shepherd, Bianca Flores, Andrea Molitor, Andrew DiCecco, Christine Edwards, Andy LeCount, Mary Beth Thomas, Virginia Stanley, Chris Connolly, and Lainey Mays.
In Canada, I want to thank Leo MacDonald, Sandra Leef, Cory Beatty, and Lauren Morocco.
And in the UK, I’d be nowhere without help from Charlie Redmayne, Lisa Milton, Claire Brett, Joe Thomas, Rebecca Fortuin, Fliss Porter, Anna Derkacz and Alvar Jover.
Special thanks go to my HarperCollins editors, Jennifer Brehl (New York) and Kate Mills (London), and my agent extraordinaire, Helen Heller.
For her help on DNA-related questions, thanks go out to Barb Reid, Senior Forensic Biologist at the Centre of Forensic Sciences in Toronto. It goes without saying that all mistakes are mine.
Last, but definitely not least, I owe more than I can say to readers and booksellers. You’re what it’s all about.