Full Exposure. Diana Duncan

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      She shut down her iPod. “The storm snarled traffic.” If you looked up overprotective mother on Google, Sadie Bennett’s picture popped up. Ariana had temporarily moved back in with her parents last fall after the FBI arrested her father. When he’d died three months ago, her mother had begged her to stay. From the moment Ariana drew her first uncertain breath, Sadie’s focus was centered on her only child’s welfare. Ariana didn’t have the heart to leave her mom alone in the big old house. Yet.

      She brushed a kiss on Sadie’s cheek. “Geoff has reservations at Le Bec-Fin tonight. Will you be okay alone?” It would be the first Valentine’s Day without her father. Although Derek’s quiet, dreamy nature combined with frequent career travel had made her parents’ marriage seem more like a business partnership than a great romance.

      “Of course.” Sadie’s blue eyes twinkled, a paler reflection of Ariana’s deep sapphire hue. “Le Bec-Fin, hmm? He’s been jittery lately.” She clapped her hands. “Finally, after seventeen months…the moment every woman waits for.”

      This was supposed to be the highlight of her life? A strange thought. “I suspect so.” Geoffrey Turner was a professor of literature at the same university that had fired her this afternoon. Several months before her father’s sudden death, Geoff had subtly questioned her receptivity to marriage and children. The university was about to offer him job security in the form of tenure.

      Annual day of romance, check. Reservations at Philly’s most prestigious restaurant, check. Exquisite food, superb wine and a tasteful ring served with the crème brûlée, check.

      Ariana bit her lip. Their relationship wasn’t exactly hot. But they enjoyed each other’s company, shared common interests and didn’t make one another crazy. She may not be delirious with rapture, but unlike passion, contentment wasn’t disturbing. Or messy. She knew where she stood with Geoff. Many lasting marriages—including her parents’—had been founded on such secure principles.

      She gathered her long, damp chestnut hair away from her face. “I’m a walking disaster. You know how the professor dotes on punctuality. I’m going to grab a coffee, run upstairs—”

      The doorbell pealed. Geoff had probably sent a dozen predictable…ah…classic white roses. Ariana flung open the door. It wasn’t flowers.

      It was the police.

      After six months of harassment, she recognized the FBI’s second-in-command. Ariana scowled. “Unless you have another warrant, forget it. You people have already turned our house and our lives inside out.” She blocked the doorway, shielding her mother. “I doubt you’ll find America’s most wanted by rifling through my closet again.”

      The solemn Agent indicated a U-Haul being unloaded by two movers. “After your father’s demise, the government’s case against him was officially terminated. The paperwork is complete, and we’re returning personal effects held as evidence.”

      “Giving back our own possessions. Thank you.” She stepped aside so the men could enter. FBI search teams had shown up one day in the middle of Sunday brunch and torn apart their home. Cops had poked and pried and violated every inch. They’d taken the antiques, her father’s computer and research books and every scrap of paper, including her journals. The travesty had continued at his museum office. “Everything better be in perfect condition.”

      “Nothing has been damaged.” Agent Thomas nodded stiffly. “Our experts didn’t have time to dig too deeply before the case was abruptly concluded.”

      Hurt by his clinical description of the events that had destroyed her family, she pressed trembling lips together. “Is abruptly concluded the police-approved definition of ruining an innocent man’s reputation and persecuting him into an early grave?”

      The Fed’s eyes glinted as cold and gray as the winter twilight. “Mr. Bennett was charged after brokering stolen antiquities to an undercover officer. The arrest was legitimate, as was the search.”

      Talk about professional detachment. Maybe the FBI confiscated agents’ hearts when they entered the Bureau. For the second time in an hour, she let anger burn away pain. “Dad never so much as ran a stop sign. He didn’t know the antique jewelry was stolen. It was entrapment. If your ‘undercover officer’ had listened to him, my father would be alive today.”

      “Everybody we detain is innocent, Miss Bennett.” His level tone didn’t negate the sarcasm. “Until proven guilty in a court of law.”

      “He didn’t get that chance. He was convicted by the press and the museum’s board of directors.” Her father had been forced into a leave of absence. All because of the FBI and their gestapo tactics. Nobody would ever convince Ariana that the strain over the loss of his job combined with the impending trial hadn’t precipitated her father’s massive coronary. “In the public’s eyes, he died a guilty man.”

      “Ariana.” Her mother’s quiet appeal made her turn around. “Don’t let this spoil your evening.” Sadie handed her a labeled box. “Why don’t you take your journals upstairs and get ready for tonight?”

      Ariana squelched her temper. Her mother hated confrontation. According to Sadie, a lady never raised her voice, never lost her poise. A woman with class practiced avoidance. That method had worked for Ariana…until injustice had struck down her father. But Sadie had already been through the wringer, and Ariana wasn’t about to twist the handle. She accepted the box and marched upstairs.

      She dropped the carton on the blue organza bedspread, which matched the bed canopy and frilly curtains. Her room remained unchanged since she’d left for college years ago. Dad wasn’t the only parent who liked museums.

      She opened the box and began to slot journals in her bookcase according to year. She preferred order, in her surroundings and emotions.

      Memories assailed her with each volume. Her first date. First kiss. First broken heart. A newspaper article fluttered out of the book dated Summer 1981, and her mouth softened. Even as a girl, she’d been a romantic. Charles and Diana—the Royal Wedding. She had set the alarm for dawn to watch the proceedings. A real-life fairy tale.

      The grandfather clock downstairs chimed seven, and Ariana jumped. She had sixty minutes to prepare for “the moment every woman waits for.” She dropped the journal and sprinted to the shower.

      THREE HOURS LATER, she shakily let herself back inside the house. Sadie didn’t ambush her, and Ariana tiptoed into the living room and found her mother asleep on the sofa.

      A small boon in the day from Hades. She wouldn’t have to break the news until morning. The sadness she’d held at bay flooded her eyes.

      Instead of a diamond with the dessert trolley, Ariana had received a quiet brush-off. A “better for both of us if we go our separate ways” swan song. Her courtly, dependable literary professor had politely retreated from their relationship.

      She swiped her wet cheeks as she trudged upstairs. Of course, she hadn’t made a scene. Tantrums weren’t her style. She was her mother’s daughter. The goddess of get along. The countess of compromise.

      And the Fates had compromised her out of a father, a job and a fiancé.

      At least Geoff had possessed the decency to stop waltzing around the truth when she demanded a real explanation. He’d finally admitted Derek’s tattered reputation and Ariana’s “furlough” СКАЧАТЬ