Scales: Of Justice (Broken But ... Mending Book 3) Read Online Free Page B

pick up on it. Anything that made Paris feel so strongly was something to explore when it came to therapy. She stared out the window, wondering what to answer.
    “I am not sure I have a stance on it, actually. I think the circumstances often determine my view.”
    “Explain.”
    She shrugged. “I’m not pro-abortion, but if the mother was raped, I could easily understand her not wanting the child.”
    “Except it’s not the child’s fault, and it has the right to life.”
    “Exactly what I mean.” Now they were getting somewhere. “There are a lot of debates and understanding required for either side. Gray areas.”
    He frowned and continued to eat. “Or do you have a specific stance, but on a specific issue.”
    Stopping suddenly, she could feel the flags of heat burn through her cheeks. “Maybe. And maybe not,” she snapped. “What about you? What are you so decided on that Jenna thinks you need to learn something different?”
    He laughed. “Jenna doesn’t know anything about me.” Then he shut up.
    “Did you attend her lectures? Her evening classes?” At his nod, she asked, “Have a special meeting with her about this seminar?”
    He nodded again.
    A smile spread across her face and she sat back. “Then regardless of what you think she might or might not know about you, I can tell you she understands more than you think.”
    Did he see that? She looked for a glimmer of understanding, but when there was only a hooded glance her way, she wasn’t sure she’d gotten through to him. And that damn tiny knowing smile that played at the corner of his lips. What was with that?
    “You think I’m wrong, don’t you?”
    “Not at all.” He shook his head. “But my situation is different from yours, so my discussion with Jenna would have been slightly different than yours would have been.”
    Paris held back her smile. She understood. He thought he was different. Thought he didn’t have the same problems the other participants had. Well, she didn’t have that problem, but her brother sure had. At least until he’d been through one of these seminars.
    Weaver, she suspected, would be the same.
    “What are you doing at the university?”
    He dropped his gaze to the table then hesitated, as if undecided as to what to say. Fair enough, she thought as she absentmindedly took another fry and bit off half of it.
    “I’m completing my masters in psychology.”
    Oh shit. That couldn’t be good. Then he really did it.
    “Jenna was one of my Profs last year,” he said calmly. “I’m going to write a report on her workshop. She says if it’s any good, she’ll help me get it published.”
    Paris dropped the rest of her french fry on her plate. Shocked, she said, “You mean this workshop is a school assignment? I’m supposed to be part of some damn study so you can get a professional checkmark?” Now that was too much. Blinking back the sudden moisture in the corner of her eyes, she got up from her chair and walked unsteadily out of the restaurant. Out of the hotel. Too bad she couldn’t walk out of the damn workshop.
    *
    He shouldn’t have told her. He’d made a monumental mistake. Why? He knew better. But she’d gotten too close. He’d gotten defensive. Not wanting to believe her. He gazed out the window, deep in thought. The one time he needed to keep his big mouth shut. He cursed under his breath. Of course he knew better. This was a report. A study. One never told the subjects when they were involved, if they needed to give natural responses. Once they had the information of belonging to a study group, they acted differently from a different set of parameters.
    Still, she might not be in his report. He hadn’t figured out how to target the report yet. And he’d never use names.
    Given the little bit he’d seen of Paris, he didn’t think she knew what a parameter was. She appeared to be a ball of insecurity masquerading as something with poise and confidence and failing entirely. Like a