Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“And what is that?” I croak.
“The original autopsy. Whoever was supposed to remove the original from the archives didn’t do their job very well. Nevertheless, it took a hell of a lot of digging to find it.”
Every question he answers only brings up two more. “I don’t understand. Who would hide something like that?”
“A dirty cop. There’s corruption in the department, there has been for years. That’s how Callum manages to skirt prosecution and why your mom’s autopsy was altered to keep him out of it. All these years, your poor mother hasn’t been able to rest in peace because that bastard is out walking free, doing more criminal shit. Money can make anyone innocent, but the truth is you can’t unsee it once it’s in front of you.”
“Don’t do that,” I whisper, closing my eyes. “I can’t take it.” I don’t need him giving me ideas about whether or not Mom is able to rest. I might as well ask him to shove a knife into my chest. As if I need more reasons to regret every choice I’ve made over the past few months. It makes too much sense. I don’t want to believe it, but I can’t pretend the pieces don’t fit together.
All except for one, but I can’t bring it up. It’s probably the most important piece of all. Callum wouldn’t kill an innocent woman. Not to send a message. I know him too well to believe otherwise. But you aren’t supposed to, are you? And that’s why I have to bite my tongue before I accidentally blurt out too much. I can’t defend him. It’ll look too suspicious.
He wouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
Even if it was thirteen years ago, he might’ve been a different man at that time. I refuse to believe this. Even if I’ve seen how easy it was for him to put a bullet through somebody’s head, even if he threatened to hurt me, it was only ever a threat. Every part of my heart aches, telling me it’s a lie. My stomach churns violently, and I jump up and stumble to the sink just in time for the drain to catch my vomit. Oh god. This can’t be true. None of it can. Even if the alternative means Dad’s losing his grip on reality.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs behind me once I’ve finally stopped retching. “I am, honey. I didn’t want you to know. The truth is ugly sometimes.”
That’s one word for it. I’m still shaking when I rinse my mouth out, slumped over the edge of the sink. Dad’s been after Callum all this time, while I was busy fucking him. It’s too twisted. My stomach lurches again at the thought.
The knock at the front door forces me to stand upright. My heart’s in my throat, and I’m suddenly sweaty. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. It’s the worst timing ever for him to show up. He wouldn’t show up here, least of all with my father here.
Unless it meant kidnapping me and taking me back to his house. I can’t pretend that would never happen. Callum’s capable of anything. Even… no, he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t murder an innocent. I repeatedly tell myself that and cling to the thought like a life vest, praying it’ll keep me above the rising water.
Dad’s footfalls signal his walk to the front door—where his sudden, sharp announcement makes me turn to face the open door. “She can’t see you right now. We’re in the middle of something.”
“I want to see her.” Instead of a deep, masculine voice, I hear my best friend’s voice. The relief that washes over me brings tears to my eyes. “I need to make sure she’s okay,” she insists.
He barks out a snarky laugh, like she’s an idiot for worrying. “Of course, she’s fine. Why wouldn’t she be?”
“Excuse me, but I’d rather see that for myself.”
“Excuse me, but this is my house and we’re not having visitors right now. We were having dinner.” He shakes his head, “Never mind, that doesn’t matter. You’re going to have to leave,” he insists in a firm voice as I enter the room, looking over his shoulder to see if it’s really her. If she’s really here.
It’s not like I don’t know her voice. I merely need to see her with my own eyes to be sure. She’s standing on the porch with her arms wrapped around her middle, frowning up at my father and wearing a look that can only mean trouble for whoever stands in her way.
“Either you’re going to get out of my way,” she retorts, “or I’m going around you. She’s my best friend and a grown woman, and if she doesn’t want to see me, then she can tell me herself.”
I hate to break it to him, but she’s not going to give up.