Dirty Little Secrets by Kierney Scott Page A

‘fucking’ sums it up nicely.”
    “Go to hell.”
    “You still won’t answer me. Thank you for not outright lying.”
    “I don’t have to tell you anything. And I certainly don’t owe you truth.”
    “Fine. Don’t tell me the truth, but don’t lie to me.”
    “I cheated on my husband, the man I owe my loyalty to, so you can’t think I’m above lying.”
    James sat back and studied her. She was so guarded, she covered herself in an armour of hostility. Yes she had cheated on her husband, but it was her reaction to it that had thrown him. She had not begged him to keep quiet. Megan had been desperate to get home, to confess. It did not make any more sense then than it did now. “You might prove me wrong, but I think you are basically an honest person. You say it like it is. There’s no bullshit.” James pulled out the photo and looked at it again. “So when I look at this picture, I see a cover-up. And we both know I have had plenty of experience dealing with the fallouts of those. I’m here as a friend—”
    “We’re not friends.”
    “We must be friends, otherwise I would have run with the story before I gave you a chance to explain your side. Prove me wrong.” James was unsettled that he had sat on the story at all. But he had good reason; he needed all the pieces before he pushed forward with the story. He was not killing the story. He was taking it slowly, doing his due diligence. If Megan was at the heart of the story, he would report it. “We both know you were not there, which got me thinking about who was there.”
    James stopped to watch for her response, any expression would be fleeting. Her face only allowed the shadow of emotion, never the actual feeling. “I checked. You have a cleaner. She is a sixty-two-year-old Mormon with eight kids and twenty-seven grandchildren. Safe to say we can rule her out. But just to be sure, I checked. Louise was at home with her husband of forty-three years. They had spent the evening at their church feeding missionaries. Plenty of witnesses. Tell me, counsellor, as far as alibis go that is pretty airtight.”
    Megan glared at him. Her face so stony, there was nothing to read past cold anger.
    James continued. A sadistic side of him enjoyed pushing her. He wanted to know just how far she could go before she broke. There was a point that would push her over the edge and he would find it. “Then obviously my thoughts turned to the gentleman in question. He was harder to track down. He has left the country. Did you know that? He’s in Mykonos. Now I could have tracked him to Greece but then I thought who would know more about him than his friends? And do you know what I found out?” “I’m amazed at the lengths you’ve gone to, almost like you thrive on humiliating people. Is that your game?”
    “My only concern is the truth.”
    “Ha!” she scoffed. “The truth, Mr. Emerson, is that it is none of your God damn business who I have sex with. I don’t care what the time on the picture says. It’s disgusting that you would allow your papers to run a story about something as private as this. You’re the reason I hate journalists, this behaviour right here. Go find a real story and stop wasting my time.”
    “Like it or not, this is a story. Your husband is very likely the next Vice President of the United States of America. If I don’t print this story, someone else will.”
    “Then let them.” Megan’s voice cracked; the first betrayal of emotion. She recovered quickly, coughing to mask the sound.
    There it was; the vulnerability he knew was there. A slight heaviness pushed against his chest, not the victory he had expected. He shrugged it off, nothing would stop him. The truth hurt, but honesty was its own reward. “You never let me tell you what I found out. Chad is a very private guy. He keeps to himself mostly. But his co-workers did say that he takes a trip to upstate New York at least once a month. Seems he enjoys the fishing. Do you