“Shit.” He releases another tense breath. “Anyone else you saw them with?”
“No. We left soon after I uh—” I adjust my hat. “After that.”
“Trina and Stacy were also at The Limelight that night Meg had that scuffle with her ex. But they vanished the minute they saw me.”
“News flash. You’re a cop. Most people avoid you. Ever hear of self-preservation?”
“But I wasn’t on duty that night,” Ev insists.
“Once arrested, twice shy, you feel me?” A soft breeze stirs the pines edging the lake and scuffs the water’s surface. “I haven’t seen Trina in years. I thought she moved away?”
“She did,” Everett murmurs, like he’s lost in thought.
I’m glad I’m not in his shoes. This story is going from bad to worse.
“Did you talk to her at that party?” he asks.
“She invited me to her support group.” I’m glad he can’t see my face, because he’d know there’s more.
Just because Trina escaped the same cult that Everett and I did doesn’t mean I engage in casual conversation about it with anyone. Not even with my brother. He was too little to remember the three weeks we spent with Sons of Eden, and I plan to keep it that way.
“Let me guess, you declined?” Everett asks easily, like he didn’t just stab me with a hot poker.
“Affirmative.”
“Any chance Meg’s ex was at this party, too?”
“No.” My thoughts screech to a halt. “Wait, why would you think that?”
“I need to talk to Meg,” he says, ignoring my question.
I pinch the bridge of my nose because I know what he’s about to ask me.
“Do you think you two could come down to the station? Meg’s not exactly mobile yet. I could come pick her up, or...”
I sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks,” he says.
We end the call and I wipe my brow with the back of my wrist. Great. Exactly the opposite of where I’d like to be today—the police station. Again.
When I climb the steps to Meg’s deck with the duffel bag of her things and her bedside table, she’s sitting inside at her kitchen counter in an oversized hoodie and running shorts, her laptop open. I knock on the glass.
We share a fleeting glance before she levers upright and swings over on her crutches. Today her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, the afternoon sun turning the blonde curls to a pearly white.
Is her hair as silky as it looks? What would it be like to?—
With a flip of the latch, Meg slides the door open, her pale blue eyes serious. “Hey. Want to come in?”
As if to underline her invitation, she rocks a half step back with the crutches. Her leg is looking better. The bruising is fading and it’s not nearly as swollen.
I step inside and close the slider. “Surprised you’re not out on the deck.”
“I’m working on the slide show for Dad’s party.”
We lock eyes. Is this the moment she’s going to tell me our fake date is off?
Before she can say anything, I carry the bedside table and the duffel bag inside.
