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Jessa tried to wade through her growing excitement at being considered for a private group and all the words to figure out exactly what Retta was talking about. “What kind of work?”
“We help other women find their footing. Give support. Sometimes more.”
“That sounds perfect.” A little light on details, but Jessa hungered for a support group. For people who understood her position and the pressures of having everyone throwing self-focused advice at her.
Retta rubbed her hand up and down the armrest. “Your membership isn’t guaranteed, but the two of us could start meeting more regularly. Run through scenarios. Get you ready to take on the whole group.”
Jessa couldn’t remember engaging in a more cryptic conversation. “You mean research?”
“Not really.” Retta shook her head. “You see, sometimes we need to work outside of the justice system. Away from the courts and the web of therapists and groups designed to help. We brainstorm the most effective ways to do that.”
“What role would I play? Or is it about donating?” Jessa hated this part and fought not to be plowed under by the disappointment she saw coming. She made good money, but she had student loans to pay. Piles of them. She could offer sweaty equity in the limited time a day she wasn’t getting pummeled by billable hour requirements.
“It’s about assessing your boundaries and problem-solving, though I have a good idea of your abilities as to the latter,” Retta continued before Jessa could ask for more clarification. “I’ll slowly introduce you to the others and the work we do.”
Jessa still didn’t understand exactly what this group did, but this was Retta. A legal superstar. A legend. This was the type of opportunity a smart, upwardly mobile person jumped on, so Jessa jumped. “I appreciate the opportunity, and I won’t disappoint you.”
Retta’s smile widened. “Let’s hope not.”
Chapter Eighteen
Gabby
Gabby ventured out to the grocery store. She wanted to hide in the house, play the last few weeks over and over in her head until she found clarity, maybe force Liam to cough up more details about the Baines money issue, but she needed boring items like coffee and toilet paper. She checked out and made it back to her car before she heard the familiar voice.
“We need to talk.”
Rob Greene. She’d spent hours online searching about him, reading articles about the reporter’s steep decline. Now she knew way too much about this guy, and none of it good. He’d broken the rules, lied, made up sources. Liam was right to warn her away from this mess. She had enough of her own.
She balanced two bags in one hand and reached for her key fob. The alarm chirped. “I knew I should have stayed in the house.”
“Please don’t ignore me.” He sounded more desperate than angry. “I’m trying to help you.”
She glanced around the parking lot. People rushed in and out of the store. Parents unloaded groceries and kids from carts. If she hit the right combination of buttons on the key fob, an alarm would screech, grabbing everyone’s attention away from their hurried tasks. For some reason, all those factors gave her the confidence to stay calm and keep moving.
“You’ll notice I didn’t call you.” She shoved the bags in the back seat and quickly closed the door. “Take a hint. I have no interest in your nonsense.”
His expression changed. Every muscle seemed to crumble, as if he couldn’t take one more thing. “You’ve seen the news.”
She understood feeling defeated, but this was not a guy who deserved her empathy. His behavior snarled him in the very public disaster now unfolding around him. “You’re a fraud. You faked your sources for stories. You lied to your bosses. Worse, you’re a conspiracy clown who believes school shootings are fake and—”
“No, listen.” He took a step closer and only stopped when she held up her key chain. “None of what you’ve heard about me is true. I’m being set up.”
“There’s probably a better argument to convince me you’re not dangerous or delusional.” She angled her body so she could get to the front door and keep him on the outside of it. “Excuse me.”
“They’ll find out, you know.”
She stopped moving and fidgeting and trying to race away and faced him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Nothing about him suggested he was out of it or invested in wild stories. He looked like every other guy in the neighborhood. He wore jeans and a blazer and running shoes, completely whatshe’d expect in the Bethesda area . . . but maybe that was the scary thing about conspiracy theorists. They were far too easy to take seriously, at least at first.
“The group,” he said.
“What group? Do you hear yourself?” She tried to reason with him, even though she knew that was useless. He wasn’t rational, no matter what he looked like. “I know you were some big-time reporter, and then... I don’t know. Something happened, I guess?” She kept her voice calm. Aimed at being supportive but in awe don’t even know eachotherkind of way. “You should talk to someone. Get help.”
He rested his hand on the roof of her car. “You need me.”
Too close.Adrenaline pumped through her. “I really don’t.”
