Free Edge of Surrender by Laura Griffin Page B

turned her gaze out the window. She still wore the plaid flannel shirt she’d bartered for and the gas-station flip-flops, and her hair was a mess, all wild and curly around her face. And when she’d walked out of that diner with him, he’d wanted to pin her against the building and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe.
    The pair of unmarked cop cars in the parking lot had put his plans on hold, though. One of them was still in his rearview mirror, and Ryan had no doubt the other was lurking nearby, waiting to pick up the tail.
    â€œThe FBI is a bureaucracy, an institution.” She looked at him. “My father’s part of the oldest institution in American history. I’ve seen institutions up close, and I don’t trust them.”
    â€œYou’re a cynic, huh?”
    â€œAren’t you? Institutions are made up of people, and people are fallible. Not just fallible, sometimes downright selfish and destructive.” She gave him a long look. “And anyway, you were right. She never explained exactly who called me from a government number.”
    They drove in silence for a while as Ryan kept an eye on the tail. He was going to have to lose it at some point. He figured it would take about half an hour of skilled maneuvering. He looked at Emma. “What exactly happened with your dad?”
    â€œNothing.”
    He shot her a baleful look. They’d been circling this topic for weeks, and he was ready for her to open up to him.
    â€œI really don’t think you’d be interested in all my family melodrama.”
    â€œI asked because I’m interested.”
    â€œYou really want to hear this? Fine.” She folded her arms over her chest. “He cheated on my mom while she was dying of cancer.”
    Ryan looked at her. “That sucks.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThat must have been hard for you. On top of everything else you were dealing with when your mom was sick.”
    She looked out the window. “It was hard for my mom , not me.”
    â€œShe knew about it?”
    â€œHe didn’t have the decency to cover his tracks well. I mean, it was really pathetic. I figured it out, and I was only eleven.” She shrugged. “But hey, you can’t blame him, right? What was he supposed to do? He was in love.” She rolled her eyes. “He even married her.”
    â€œWhen?”
    She pursed her lips. “Twelve months and nine days after my mom died.”
    â€œSo he waited a year.”
    â€œThe obligatory year, yes. He had an image to think about.”
    Damn, what an asshole. But Ryan was glad she’d told him what the deal was. It explained a lot—her distance from her father, her unwillingness to ask him for help.
    Her distrust of men.
    â€œBut you want to know what’s even more pathetic?” She looked at Ryan. “I still loved him growing up. Even after everything he did.” She gazed out the window. “Sometimes I hate myself for that.”
    Ryan didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything.
    Sometimes families sucked. His family had gone through some rough years when Callie was sick. His dad drank all the time. His mom went to church obsessively, as if that would fix anything. Ryan got into fights at school and got himself kicked off the football team.
    He remembered hurting. Constantly, day and night. He remembered the rage and frustration and wanting to pound anyone who got in his way to a bloody pulp. Sometimes he hoped someone would give him shit about something—anything—just so he’d have an excuse to throw a punch.
    â€œI stopped asking for his time and attention,” Emma said. “It hurt my feelings too much when he wouldn’t come through. He’d pass me off to some staffer, and it felt like crap, so finally I decided not to expect anything from him.”
    â€œDo you see him?”
    â€œOccasionally.” She shrugged. “Christmas, Thanksgiving,