Page 81 of The Awful Truth

“Do you like true crime?”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh my God, you’re not the genius behind Shadows on the Shoreline?”

He pulled a modest face and his cheeks turned a bit pink. “That’s me. Luka Babic.”

“Wow. I’m Petra Hovart,” she answered.

“Nice to meet you, Petra Hovart,” he said.

God, he had a smooth voice. She had wondered if it would sound like that in real life, or if maybe it was some sort of filter. But here it was, smooth as silk. “I really love your work. Season one was my favorite podcast of all time.”

The truth was, she’d only listened to that first season, and only because Vita had talked her into it.

Nodding, he said, “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

There was something about the way he said it that told her maybe he didn’t appreciate it all that much, and she wondered if maybe he was offended on behalf of the next few seasons he’d made. How many were there now? Dammit. Why hadn’t she listened to them all? “You’re very talented.” Men love compliments, but they must be sincere. Find an excuse to compliment him without being effusive.

“What do you do?”

Shrugging, she said, “I’m just a secretary.”

“Oh, don’t say just. Take it from a guy who is constantly wishing he had a secretary, that’s an important job.”

Petra laughed. “Okay, I’ll try to remember that. Actually, my boss is an important man.”

“Oh yeah?”

“He’s the police director.”

Luka’s eyes grew wide. “Really?”

Nodding, Petra had another sip of her drink. “Yes.”

“So, you work in the Ministry building then?”

“I do. I’ve been there for seven years.”

“You must have the best stories,” Luka told her.

She grinned at him, sitting up a little taller. “Most days it’s just a lot of paperwork, but every once in a while, something pretty big happens.”

“I bet,” he answered, shutting his laptop. “Would you care to join me?”

There was a knock at her room and her niece, Kiara, opened it without waiting for a reply. “Can you come and eat? We’re not allowed to have cake until everyone is finished.”

She smiled at her niece, blinking back tears. “Of course.”

Over the next twenty minutes, Petra picked at the polenta and fish stew, not caring at all about eating. She was distraught. Dejected. Used. Around her, her family spoke of things that were of no interest to her whatsoever. An old childhood friend of Vita’s was getting a divorce because of an affair, apparently. They should really do their gardening tomorrow because it was finally going to cool off a few degrees. Kiara had gotten the top mark on her last math test, and her nephew, Petar, had been caught vaping in the toilet at school. Lucky for him, Vita volunteered so much that the principal went easy on him. Otherwise, he would’ve been suspended, and he should be very grateful to have such a good mother.

She gulped back an entire glass of wine, then poured herself another, while her sister looked on with a concerned expression. “You all right?”

“Never better,” she answered, having another long gulp. She was cooling the rage that had started to build in her chest. Pure, unadulterated rage. How dare he?! How dare he use her and get her hopes up like that? Promising her a better life when he had no intention of marrying her. The rage felt good. So did the wine. They eased the pain considerably.

An idea popped into her head. It was brilliant. It would be like a dagger to Luka’s heart and it meant she could get out of this house forever. But she would have to move quickly. Under the table, she searched on her phone for the contact information for 24Hours, the biggest news publication in the country. Then she realized she should think bigger. She would go to TMZ out of the US. They’d pay big bucks for what she had. And there it was. Their hotline for tips. Right there on her screen.

She looked at her mother. “Thank you for supper. I need to go make an important phone call. It’s…a work thing. Sorry.” Standing up, she said, “Let the kids have some cake, okay? It’s not fair to punish them because I’m busy.”

She walked out of the dining room, through the kitchen, and out the back door, tingling with the thrill of revenge. What she didn’t know was a few seconds after she shut the door, her father excused himself, went upstairs to his bedroom, and stood next to the open window.