Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 77171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Someone left before the brothers reached him.
Someone who might have been wearing a gold pendant shaped like the silver one currently burning against my skin.
I swipe to the next attachment. A handwritten note.
Subject arrived early. Not alone. Secondary presence confirmed prior to contact. Possible interference. Note: H. referenced “my girl” prior to engagement.
I read it again.
Then again.
“My girl,” I whisper.
It feels familiar. I’ve heard it before.
My mother’s voice—
No.
That’s not relevant.
That’s not useful.
That’s not—
I set the phone down.
My breathing is too fast. I force it to slow.
In.
Out.
Again.
The phrase doesn’t mean anything. People say things like that. Men say things like that about wives, girlfriends, daughters, granddaughters.
He could have meant anything.
The second figure could have been anyone.
I push away any emotion and catalog only what I actually know.
Halstead arrived early.
A secondary presence was confirmed before contact. That person appears to have left before the confrontation.
Halstead referenced “my girl.”
That’s it.
That’s all.
There is nothing here that proves my mother was at the marina.
There is nothing here that proves Halstead was talking about me.
There is nothing here that changes the investigation.
Except it changes everything.
I reach for my pendant again and close my fingers around the tiny silver scales.
My mother’s was gold. I remember that now with brutal clarity. Gold against her throat. Gold catching the light when she leaned over me.
If she were alive, I could ask her.
Were you there?
Did you meet him?
Did he call me that?
Did he give you something?
Did you know?
But she isn’t alive. I have no one to ask. All I have is a grainy image that may or may not show the moment my mother walked away from Victor Halstead for the last time.
My throat tightens.
No.
I won’t do this.
I won’t put those two words in the same space.
Halstead.
Father.
They don’t belong together.
They don’t even touch.
I make sure of it.
I put the phone down when I hear movement outside the guestroom door.
Samson.
He’s still here, of course.
Still watching.
Still holding things back.
Fine.
If he won’t tell me everything, I’ll find it myself. And this time I won’t wait for him to decide I’m ready.
I know who I need to see.
43
SAMSON
The door to her guestroom is open, and she’s sitting on the bed wearing a robe I don’t recognize. It’s probably a part of the wardrobe I had brought in for her.
Her shoulders are rigid, and she’s staring at her phone. When she sees me, she raises her eyebrows. “I need to go out,” she says.
“Where do you need to go?” I ask.
“Out.”
I darken my gaze. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
My own words turned back on me. I suppose I deserve that. I walk inside the guestroom and close the door, blocking it. “First of all, you’re not going anywhere dressed like that.”
“I wasn’t planning to.” She walks into the closet, grabs black stretch pants and a white sweater. She heads into the en suite bathroom and emerges five minutes later, clothed, with some lipstick on and her hair pulled into a ponytail. She puts on her boots.
“Ready?” she says.
“No.”
Her breathing doesn’t change. “I want answers, and this is how I’m going to get them.”
“And you’re going alone?”
“No.” She pauses a moment. “Unless you get in my way.”
I hold her gaze for a second longer than I should. Then I step aside. “Where?” I ask.
“Someone who knew him.”
Him.
Not Halstead.
But it’s there. I hear it.
“Fine,” I say. “Let’s get in the car.”
The place she takes me to isn’t far. It’s older, the kind of place that’s been left alone long enough to become invisible.
I kill the engine.
She’s already out of the car.
I follow.
The porch creaks under our weight, and the door opens before we knock. An older man stands there.
He looks at me first. Narrows his eyes. Then he looks at her.
And something shifts.
He knows her. Or he thinks he might.
“You here for something?” he asks, staring at her.
“I need information.” Delaney clears her throat. “About Victor Halstead.”
Nothing about the old timer shows surprise. A moment passes. Then—
“I figured someone would come asking eventually,” he says.
“Then answer,” I say.
He ignores me. I’m not used to being ignored.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says to her.
“I need answers.”
He tilts his head. Pauses. Then, “You’ve got his eyes.”
Say what? I steady myself. I know better than to react to the surprising and unexpected. I’ve been taught well.
I wait for her reaction. Her shock. But she doesn’t move.
That’s all I need.
Something cold slides into place.
“You want to explain that?” I say.
The man finally looks at me. “Don’t need to.”
“Yeah,” I say. “You do.”
He shakes his head. “I knew him a long time,” he says. “Long enough to recognize what he left behind.”
I go rigid as I look at Delaney.
At her eyes.
Those silvery blue orbs that mesmerized me the first time I saw her at the club, sitting there at the bar, watching me.
And now—
I see it.
Or maybe I’m looking for it. It doesn’t matter. I’ll never unsee it. They’re Victor Halstead’s eyes. How could I ever forget them? I was the last thing they ever saw.