Until I feel Declan’s hand crawling into mine, his fingers wrapping around my knuckles.
“You did what you had to do to save yourself,” he whispers.
I thought coming to Australia was the escape I needed, but that clearly didn’t work. And now it’s almost time to go home, back to that house in Atlanta where my parents pretend not to know me. The police never formally charged me with causing the crash, there wasn’t any clear evidence to do so. But they also didn’t believe that Jimmy swerved to avoid a deer in the road, like I’d told them. Neither did my parents.
And word got around, as it always did. Not only did I become even more of a social outcast—something I hadn’t imagined was even possible—but I was now the girl who killed her brother. The star quarterback, the charming high school senior that everyone loved.
Ihad become the monster.
***
Declan’s words ring in my head long after we go back inside the bar, and I still hear them replaying as our group stumbles back to the Inn hours later.
You did what you had to do to save yourself.
I did it once; I can do it again. And it’s not just me who needs saving now. This little baby growing inside me does too.
And as I lie there, in my uncomfortable twin bed back at the Inn, the threads of a plan start to weave together.
A way to save us both.
33
Claire
Now
I excuse myself and walk outside to take Villanueva’s call. A claustrophobic darkness hangs over Main Street, the only light from the blinking sign for the Royal Hotel. The smell of woodsmoke lingers in the air. I watch something move down the street, back towards the Inn—an animal maybe?—but from here it looks sinister, almost supernatural.
“Claire,” Villanueva says as soon as I’m standing outside. “You lied to me.”
I freeze.
“I know you’re in Jagged Rock.”
Detective Allen must have chosen this as the one time to do his job. He must have contacted Villanueva after what happened to Kyan, figured he’d get in the AFP’s good graces and screw us over at the same time.
“You are not visiting friends as you told me. So would you mind sharing exactly what it is you are doing there?”
The words rush out as I try to hobble together an explanation. “We came to talk to…to someone. The leader of our program back then. Nick Gould. And then our flight was cancelled because of the wildfires, and we were stuck, and then Kyan was stabbed…”
I know I’m talking gibberish. She’s silent for a moment, and it strikes me, this odd yearning for her approval, just like I once had with Phoebe. The more I think about it, there’s quite a lot that the two women share. The dark hair, the clear eyes, the bold confidence.
Villanueva sighs, and when she speaks it’s with a cold, professional tone. “I believe I was quite clear. We are in the midst of a murder investigation. Figuring out what happened to Ms. Barton is our responsibility, not yours.”
I’m quiet, Villanueva’s scolding sending waves of shame flooding through me.
“But that’s not all I wanted to talk with you about.” Villanueva clears her throat, and I perk up, hope lighting in my stomach.
“I had mentioned that we were running some additional tests,” she says, and the flame of hope grows brighter. “One of those tests was on a knife that we had found within a kilometer of the scene.”
Instantly, the flame goes out. The wind picks up around me, throwing specks of dirt into my face with a speed that renders them as sharp as shards of glass. I close my eyes tight, leaning into the darkness.
The knife. The piece of evidence I left behind.
Villanueva’s voice suddenly sounds far away.
“It had been buried just beneath ground level. Our canine unit discovered it. It was rusted and old, so it needed to be handed carefully, but it was largely preserved by spending the last decade in the dirt. That’s why the tests took so long. But the results came back today. And they were quite surprising.”
