Page 60 of A Scottish Highland Hideaway

I felt my shoulders go rigid. “No, I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have.” Zach appraised me over the takeaway.

“I’m fine,” I croaked. I snatched my water up and took a big mouthful.

Zach looked unconvinced, but took a very slow sip of his water and moved the subject on. “Anyway. If it’s true about Ezra, it sounds like he’s been hiding in plain sight.” Zach’s face adopted a determined expression. “I’m going to check it out.”

Panic began running through my head. If Zach tracked down Ezra, it’d only be a matter of time before Caroline and Laura were unearthed too. The three of them would be thrust into the media spotlight then. Recollections of my own life splashed across the tabloids and magazines were all too fresh. At first, I’d embraced the attention, maybe even relished it. But after a while, the intrusion became like this living, breathing creature I couldn’t control. I became a caricature of who I was and my family began to get caught up in my stupid press games too. And when everything had imploded with Declan it had become a living nightmare. I hadn’t deserved the constant scrutiny, the violation of my privacy and neither did Ezra and the women who thought they were his daughters. Anxiety was replaced with anger, and I lifted my chin at Zach.

“Why do you do it?” I said. “Why spend so much of your time on grubby stories like this, when you could be exposing more slave labour situations and social issues that affect so many people?”

Zach looked like he’d been attacked with a cattle prod, then arched an eyebrow at me. “Because it’s what the public want. Stories like this. It makes them feel … I don’t know, satisfied that the privileged and rich of this world pay a price for it.”

I maintained eye contact with him. “Is that really what they want, or is that what gossip mags make them think they want, by feeding them endless tittle-tattle?” I leaned forward. “Is it just that you’re trying to justify what you write?”

There was a sudden, icy atmosphere across my kitchen table.

I set my fork down with a decisive rattle on the side of my plate. Should I appeal to Zach’s better nature? I jutted out my chin. I had to do something. Perhaps honesty was the way to go now.

I took a sharp intake of breath and decided to go for it. “I know Ezra King… Well… I kind of know him … a little bit… He came into the shop a couple of weeks ago.”

Zach’s dark-lashed eyes widened. “You do know him? But you said––”

I fidgeted and struggled to make eye contact with him as he stared at me. Then he lowered his knife and fork, frustration flashing in his dark eyes. “I don’t believe this. You stood there, watching me chase my tail over this story. You’ve watched me make an utter tit of myself.”

I threw up my hands. “But it’s none of your business! What’s he ever done to you? I don’t owe you the truth. You’re not the police on the hunt for a murderer!” I shot back.

Zach rolled his eyes, which only spurred me on.

“Like I said, this isn’t storytelling. It’s not journalism. It’s grubby and invasive when people are just trying to live their lives. All you care about is circulation figures.”

Zach didn’t say anything for a minute. He examined me with an indecipherable look in his eyes. “So that’s why you didn’t tell me the truth about Ezra King? Because of your principles?”

I nodded. “Ezra’s right to privacy is more important than your search for a story! To be honest, I still feel that way.” I swallowed. “But I’ve got to know you a little and you seem like a decent person. That’s why I’m hoping you’ll do the right thing. I’m trusting that you won’t splash his private life over the pages of Stargazer.” I paused. “Don’t you think trust is important?”

Zach let out a grunt. “Of course, I do. Finding out the truth and being able to trust people is my job.” He flashed me a long look that ripped into my chest. “Speaking of which…”

I flinched in my kitchen chair and felt heat rising up my neck.

“Speaking of what?” I said, as calmly as I could.

Zach continued to appraise me. He seemed to be struggling to decide whether to say something else. In the end, he threw his head back, stared at my kitchen ceiling and then back at me.

“Well… You clearly know far more about what goes on around round here than you’ve led me to believe.”

I frowned over at him. “What do I know exactly?”

Zach lowered his voice, even though it was just the two of us and debris of the takeaway. “The tip I received about Ezra having two grown-up daughters he didn’t know about.”

The blood leeched from my face, like a watercolour left out in the rain.

Zach hauled a frustrated hand through his dark hair. He looked momentarily wounded. “So, my instinct was right then?” His broad shoulders slumped.

“What are you so afraid of, Bailey? Why won’t you let me in?”

“Let you in?” I scoffed. “Zach, you work for a gossip magazine!”

The sudden, almost vulnerable softening of his face took me by surprise.