Page 36 of Every Step She Takes
When I escaped, I should have just kept going, raced back to my hotel and…
And what? Pretended I’d never left it? This is a murder. They’ll check Isabella’s texts. For all I know, cameras caught me coming into the hotel, too.
You should have run. Just run.
No, that’s the worst thing I could have done.
What if they discover I’ve already lied? That I did come inside and found the body?
Someone set you up, Lucy.
You’re being framed.
You need to get out of here.
They’ll find out who you are, and that will change everything. You know it will.
But I didn’t kill Isabella.
You didn’t sleep with Colt, either.
A young woman’s voice sounds in the foyer. Someone’s trying to block her entrance, and she’s blasting them.
I know that voice.
Do I? No, when I strain, it doesn’t sound familiar.
I can’t hear what she’s saying, just a brief and angry interchange before she marches in and our eyes meet and…
I’m looking at Tiana Morales-Gordon.
It doesn’t matter that I haven’t seen her since she was ten years old. There is not a single heartbeat when I wonder whether I’m mistaken.
God, how much she looks like her mother!
That’s my first thought, but then I realize it’s not entirely true. Tiana is a taller version of Isabella, her dark curls cut shoulder length, her blue eyes flashing.
When Tiana sees me, there is not a moment’s hesitation for her, either. Her mouth tightens, and those blue eyes blast pure hate. Then she pivots and marches upstairs, and even as her heels click toward the bedroom, she’s already snapping, “What the hell is she doing here?”
There’s a moment of confusion, and Tiana has to identify herself and be shooed out of the bedroom, which makes her forget about me as she argues that this is her mother, and she’s not leaving.
A temporary reprieve.
Very temporary.
She will tell them exactly who I am, and I will leave this suite in handcuffs.
Stop that. You’re overreacting.
Am I?
I need to get out of here. Not flee. Just get out and talk to someone. My mother. Nylah. Marco. Someone I can entrust with my story in case I am arrested. Someone who will tell me what I should do.
Upstairs, the police are still trying to keep Tiana from her mother, which is going as well as one might expect. Down here, the officer at the door is busy casting anxious glances up there, as if wondering how much trouble he’ll catch for allowing Tiana inside.
I walk over and say, “I should probably go.”
The officer cuts me a quick glance.
