Page 57 of Break Me Beautifully
"Revenge," I repeat, tasting the word. "Marshall talked a lot about that with me." I blink a few times, then stare at her. "You reached out to him."
"Marshall? Yeah. Well, first I went to the organized crime division. No one wanted to touch this case, but there was a lovely woman who heard me out. When I brought up Marshall Klintock, her whole demeanor changed. She told me what to do, and I agreed."
Gripping my water, I take a deep swig. My mouth is endlessly dry, my hands trembling. I can sense where this is going but don't want to hear it.
Katy can't look at me anymore as she talks. "Marshall refused to respond to my messages until I told him I could get him information he desperately wanted. That I could help him figure out who had killed his father."
I drop the water bottle, scrambling to right it as a puddle forms. "How could you have that info?"
"The woman at the crime division. She had it. It was the carrot on the stick to get him to create a setup to catch Bradford Mink in the act."
"Jesus Christ," I hush. "This is where I come in. Isn't it? You and him. You worked together to pull me into your scheme."
"Yes, Leona, but—"
"Why not tell me?" I demand, rising to my feet, knocking my chair over. The noise draws the attention of an officer who glances into the room, but I ignore him, my fury fully aimed at my sister. "Why put me in danger like that? How could you, Katy?"
"You weren't in any danger! Marshall was protecting you at all times!"
"Protecting me?He used me! YOU used me!"
"Did you not hear me before? If I told you, if he told you, the game would be up! You couldn't have kept it a secret! You couldn't have made yourself create art if you knew what it was for! God, talking to Bradford Mink knowing all of this? You'd have broken into a nervous sweat! Think about it, Leona, please. This was the only way to help our brother. Believe me. Please."
I'm shaking so hard my teeth chatter. I clench them to stop it. "You made me think Marshall was dangerous."
"Well, he is. That was true. But I knew he was on our side. And if something went wrong, I was always ready to swoop in and pull you out."
My forehead bunches up to the point of pain. "You said you'd been here for weeks." I study her red hat, her heels under the table, and clarity jolts into my mind. "Oh my god. That was you in the mall, wasn't it? You were talking to him?"
Her cheeks go redder. "You saw me? Guess I'm not as sly as I thought. I couldn't call Marshall or text him about the plans, too risky in case someone else in the Lucardo family intercepted the messages. The most I could do was send him 'scary big sister' texts, stuff that seemed logical, like me telling him to keep his hands off of you. That was my code for needing to talk to him face to face."
I drop stiffly back into my chair. "How many times did you meet up?"
She chews her lip as she recounts. "Several. The first night you arrived, I spoke to him in his condo in one of the spare rooms on the first floor."
"How is that possible? I left the estate, and you stayed behind."
"I took our personal plane a little after you left."
My memory blurs as I remember that first night. How I'd been constrained by Marshall in the elevator, our bodies rubbing together, our breath hot and heavy. How we'd almost gone too far until I'd felt his gun. "I was freaking out about where he went," I say slowly, "and he was with you that whole time."
"His instructions were to make you hate him enough, so you wouldn't want to get too involved. It couldn't get personal, or you'd start asking too many questions. He swore he'd make you think he was awful, but I can't pretend I trusted him entirely. Heisin the mafia."
"Yes," I agree solemnly. "He is."
All at once I get why he came on so strong at the start. His overt flirting was meant to make me reject him, to think he was a pervert or worse. Then I'd responded positively, ruining the game. His hot and cold act makes sense now.
We sit in silence for a while. Katy is pale, and I wonder if I am, too. There's so much left unsaid between us, but I don't know if it matters. What else could she tell me that would fix the split that travels from my heart to my soul and everywhere in between? I feel hollow. Undone.
"Oh," she says, straightening, reaching for something under her jacket. "Here. The woman I was working with in the special unit gave it to me."
Katy slides my bag across the table to me. I put my hand on to, feeling the shape of my sketchbook. I take it out because feeling isn't enough, I need to see it. "Thank you," I say sincerely.
"It's nothing."
And we're draped in heavy silence again.
"What happens now?" I ask warily.
