Men Of Honour. Lori Foster

She took one blow after another, but always rallied. It was that, as much as anything, that set her apart. “Just humor me.”

      After ensuring that the carafe wasn’t broken, Dare started the coffee prep. He’d noticed where she kept things earlier when he’d checked the kitchen. “While I get this ready, why don’t you explain the gist of that note?”

      She put her head in her hands. Voice muffled, she said, “It has to do with a book. The one that was so criticized.” She raised her face. “You remember what you read in the most scathing comments?”

      Dare thought for a second. As he measured coffee into the basket, he recalled the dominant complaint. “You redeemed a character, right?”

      Molly nodded. “In the beginning, he did some pretty awful things, mostly out of misguided emotion. He’d had a rough life, and because of that his outlook on certain things was skewed.”

      “What kind of awful things?”

      “He was a thief, a liar. Those sorts of things. He stole cars, credit cards. Definitely crossed the line. But while he was capable of it, he never really hurt anyone physically. Later in the book he realized his mistakes, tried to atone and the lead characters forgave him.”

      The idea of forgiveness intrigued Dare—maybe because he, himself, wasn’t a very forgiving person. Cross him, and he never forgot, and he sure as hell stopped trusting. “Some readers felt duped.”

      She gave one short nod. “I guess everyone doesn’t buy into second chances the way that I do.” As if she had a growing headache, Molly rubbed her temples. “I wouldn’t even make the connection, but one reader in particular sent me plenty of emails detailing different, sort-of-threatening scenarios about what it would take to push me past the point of forgiveness. She would always end the setup by asking if I’d still be forgiving if that happened to me.”

      “The hell you say.” Dare took the seat beside her. “You didn’t tell me any of this.”

      She dismissed that with a look. “It was bad enough that you saw those reviews. And honestly, until now, I really didn’t think that much of it. Over the years, I’ve gotten plenty of scathing letters from readers. It’s part and parcel with the job.”

      “Give me an example.”

      Keeping her attention on the tabletop, she thought back. “I once had this secondary character who was a father.”

      Dare could feel her tension with the topic, and he hated it—but he needed details.

      “After the character’s wife died, he emotionally bailed on his kids. He wasn’t there for them at all, didn’t see them through the tough times or encourage them.”

      Had she drawn comparisons with her own father? From what she’d told him, he’d sure as hell neglected his daughters, especially when they needed him most: after their mother had died.

      Molly folded her hands together. “He supported them financially, but that was it. I didn’t paint him as a total jerk, but neither was his self-absorbed pity written off as acceptable.”

      “And?”

      “A male reader was so outraged by my lack of understanding for what the character had gone through, he threatened my life.” Irritation growing, she added, “As if there’s ever any excuse for not taking care of your kids.”

      “No, there’s not.” Cautious of her mood, Dare asked, “How’d he threaten you?”

      “He wrote me a bunch of letters—twenty or more. All of them were angry, some more insane than the others, but his overall theme was that I needed to be shown what it was to feel real loss before I judged anyone else on their own reactions.” She made a rude sound. “I didn’t tell him that I had lost my mother, so I knew what it felt like to lose a loved one.”

      “Good.” To Dare’s mind, it would never be smart to share too much of her private life with her readers. “Anything come of his threats?”

      She waved it off. “Not really. I shared the letters with the local police, and they contacted a forensics team. There was some checking done. Other than telling me that the guy was back on his meds, they couldn’t say much because it would have infringed on his rights.”

      Dare scowled. “Fucked-up logic, if you ask me.”

      “It doesn’t matter. I never heard from him after that.” Restless, she tapped her fingertips on the tabletop. “Then there was the guy who came to every local signing, and he’d buy the same book over and over again. I don’t mean two or three copies, but like … dozens of them. I think in the end he must’ve owned forty or more copies of one title. It was downright creepy.”

      Deadpan, Dare said, “He must’ve really liked the book.”

      She rolled her eyes. “I finally told him that he had to stop. It was so awkward. For both of us.”

      “I can imagine.” Dare took her hand. “How’d he react to that?”

      “He got all flustered and stuff. I think he almost cried. But he didn’t show up at any more signings, and as far as I know, he’s never written me since then.”

      “As far as you know?”

      “A lot of readers send anonymous letters. They don’t sign a name or share an address.” Her lips quirked. “Especially the angry ones.”

      “You say this stuff happens all the time?”

      She lifted a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “I’ve gotten immune to it. I mean, I hate upsetting readers, but it’s just part of the business. What one reader loves another hates.” Her breath released in a sigh. “When that one reader kept telling me that no one would be that forgiving, I just ignored her at first.”

      “Her?” Dare cocked a brow. “Do you know that it was a woman?”

      “Well …” Molly frowned. “Not really, no. Her letters have all been unsigned and unaddressed, too. It’s just that most of my readers are women.”

      “But not all?”

      She made a face at him. “Both of the readers I already told you about were guys.”

      “So let’s don’t make any assumptions, then.” The coffee machine hissed to a finish, and Dare got up to find the mugs.

      Molly went to a different cabinet to retrieve powdered creamer. “I don’t even want to open my refrigerator. I’m afraid what I might find in there.”

      Struck by that, Dare looked at her, then went to the fridge.

      “I was kidding.”

      “Might as well find out if we have anything growing.” He opened the door, but it wasn’t bad at all. “I think your lunchmeat is long gone, and I wouldn’t touch the milk or creamer. But everything else should be okay.” He closed the door again. “You keep a neat refrigerator. No leftovers.”

      “Thank God.” She doctored her coffee and went back to the table. “Since it’s just me, I don’t cook much, which means there’s seldom anything left to store.”

      Dare opened a few cabinets but didn’t find any snacks.

      Apologetic, Molly said, “I’d offer you a cookie or something, but I have no idea what I have anymore.”

      “Don’t worry about it. We’ll order in dinner and if necessary shop tomorrow.”

      Stirring her coffee with a spoon, Molly avoided eye contact. “How long will we be here?”

      “Not sure yet.” And he wasn’t going to get trapped into trying to decide right now, either. “You know, unless you can think of someone that you’ve had a conflict with lately, your reasoning is as good as anything I can come up with.”

      “A conflict?”

      Dare