A Harmless Little Game (Harmless #1)(9)

Huh?

“Not a mistake. Probably the best decision you’ve ever made in your career, Senator.”

I can feel Daddy’s physical reaction, even if I can’t see him, as Drew shifts from first name to honorific. My breath tightens. My legs feel like jello encased in numbing gel. My eyes flicker, unable to settle on one object. I look at the thermostat, the door lock, a crystal vase on a side table. Each item is like a snapshot.

My ears take in the tsunami of truth about the man behind the curtain who has been controlling me for all these years from afar.

“You know exactly why Lindsay was at the island. You know what those monsters did. And the media storm after was a nightmare for her. The accusations, the recriminations, the god-damned attacks on her character. The never-ending paparazzi, the speculation, the spun stories about her state that night.”

I have no idea what Daddy’s talking about. All I remember from four years ago is waking up, tied and bound, stuck to the carpet by what I later learned was my own, dried blood, with Jane over me, weeping and frantic, calling the police.

And then I woke up again, on the island.

I’ve spent four years there reconstructing everything about that night.

What Daddy and Drew are talking about, though, is all new to me.

“She wasn’t drunk or high, sir. I’ve told you that a thousand times. I was there for most of the night.”

Most? I almost scream the word aloud. I clap my palm over my mouth to stop myself. It’s like kissing a wall of ice. Drew was there for every second. I watched the video. I have ways of getting information online, even on the restricted venue of the island. Part of my misery—part of my healing—has come from watching the footage over and over, deconstructing every frame, understanding who did what.

And who didn’t do anything.

“You weren’t there long enough,” Daddy spits out. Drew goes silent. I can’t see them, but I can imagine them. Daddy’s voice lacks conviction, though. It’s clear this is an old argument. They’ve said these words to each other before. How many times? How well worn are the arguments between them, the discussions and analyses about me?

And what does Daddy mean that my character was attacked?

“She’s stronger than you think. But don’t expect Lindsay to be anything close to the young woman you knew before the attack,” Drew says in a sharp voice.

“Of course not! She’s traumatized and—”

“That’s not what I mean.” A chill shoots up my spine. Has Drew caught on to me? Has he figured out I’m faking so much?

“Then what?”

“When she learns the truth about what happened after the attack, she’ll, well...”

Daddy just sighs.

“We have therapists for that. And, worst case, she can return to the island.”

No.

NO!

I press my palm against my mouth so hard I feel my lower teeth dig into the knuckle of my middle finger. My skin tastes like copper.

“That’s not what I mean, sir.”

From Harry to Senator to Sir? Drew’s contempt for my father shines through as this conversation continues. How long before he starts calling him *?

The thought makes a hysterical giggle rise up in my throat. I bite my finger on purpose to keep it down.

“Then say what you mean!” Daddy growls.

Drew clears his throat. His voice drops. I can barely hear him, but I can make out his words.

“When Lindsay learns that the attackers convinced a group of her friends to lie and say she was drunk and high, and that she encouraged the gang rape, she will be out for blood.”

My own blood freezes.

“And when she sees the news articles, and when you go on the campaign trail with her in tow, you’re going to have to deal with all of those lies being dredged up again.”

“I know that damn well, Drew. And your job is to protect her from—”

“And she won’t take it like a victim.”

“Excuse me?” Daddy chokes out, clearly shocked by Drew’s words.

My heart pumps ice through me. I can feel chunks of it rolling against my skin. Drew’s words are more frightening than anything anyone has said to or about me in four years.

Because he’s right.

Oh, dear sweet merciful deity, he’s figured me out.

For real.

“You think you’ve brought Lindsay home so you can prop her up on the campaign trail and make a picture of a perfect family. And with enough dodging and deferral, and public relations spin and volleying, you can.”

Daddy’s voice floods with relief. “That’s exactly why she’s home.”

“But do not underestimate Lindsay’s agenda.”

Oh, God.

Daddy makes a snorting sound. I can imagine his eye roll. “Lindsay? An agenda? What agenda does Lindsay have beyond shopping for a whole new wardrobe so she can keep up with the latest fashions?”

Ouch.

“Is that really how you see her?” Drew ends his sentence with a derisive huff.

Daddy’s silence says everything I need to hear.

“You think of her as a puppet, Harry.”

So now we’re back to first names.

“I think of her as my daughter.” A tone of anguish I’ve never heard comes out of my father. It warms me. A little.