Page 122 of Keller

"I realize I hurt you. That was never my intent."

He takes a single step closer.

"I want you to tell me the truth right now, Quinn. No bullshit. I need you to do the right thing and tell me. Did you approach me because of the investigation?"

"No, I swear. Keller, please believe me. I honestly didn't know until after I stayed at your loft." The words come out desperately, but I hope he knows I'm not lying. "I didn't somehow orchestrate almost getting trampled by a horse. And you came up to me at the gala. All of that was fate, was something outside both of us pulling us together."

Something shifts in his face. There's a momentary crack in the composure, then it seals shut again.

"And the recommendation? Was that personal?"

"Of course not. It was purely based on the rubric the Bureau has for these sorts of things. I didn't want to, but my hands were tied. Trust me, I didn't want to do that."

"You're just so good at your job, right?" His rhetorical question isn't meant to praise, but to cut.

"I didn't target you or your family. I do take pride in my job, but I can tell you, I didn't take pride in any of this."

He is quiet for a long moment. The morning light through the windows has grown brighter, harsher. It catches the angles of his face and the rigid line of his shoulders.

"You could have told me."

"No. I couldn't."

"Why?"

"Because telling you would have jeopardized my career. Because telling you would have compromised the integrity of the review. Because the moment I disclosed my assignment to a subject's family member, I would have violated every professional boundary that matters."

"Subject's family member." His voice is quiet. "Is that what I am to you?"

"That's not fair."

"None of this is fair."

The silence between us thickens. I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears.

"Keller, I love you."

The words come out without warning or planning. I hadn't even put that notion into words until this very moment. It knocks the wind out of me for a second.

Keller absorbs them. His expression doesn't change. There's no relief or warmth.

"Love doesn't coexist with secrecy."

"Keller."

"If you trusted me, you would have told me."

"I couldn't."

"You chose not to."

"That's not what this was."

"Then what was it?"

I open my mouth and then close it. The answer tangles in my throat because, frankly, I don't know how to put into words an impossible choice that isn't really a choice.

"Everything I said to you was true. Everything I felt was real. The investigation and what we have are separate."