Right Through Me (The Obsidian Files #1)(8)

Bea tried to jerk her hand back, but Caro’s grip was relentless. “I just want to keep living.”

“I understand,” Caro said. “But we could testify against him. If you have any proof of what Mark did to Luke—”

“Let go.” Bea finally jerked her hand away. “Anyone could see you out there.”

“So invite me inside,” Caro suggested. “It’s raining.”

“Todd would hear.” Bea’s eyes darted to the side. “We can’t talk here.”

Caro’s heart sank. “Please, Marika. Please. Help me.”

“Tomorrow.” Bea’s voice was a rushed whisper. “There’s a coffee shop off Pioneer Square. Luciano’s. I’ll meet you there tomorrow morning. Around eight thirty.”

“Do you have any evidence?” Caro persisted. “Did you see anything at all?”

Bea’s lips flattened. “Not personally. But Luke videoed his meeting with this guy. I retrieved it after Luke disappeared. I was going to give it to the cops, but when I saw it, I just ran. Cops can’t protect me from that guy. No one can.”

Caro’s heart thudded heavily. “A video?” she said. “Of Mark, doing something to Luke Ryan? Holy shit, Bea. What the hell are you waiting for?”

“You don’t understand.” Bea whispered. “You can’t just go after that guy, Mark, or whatever his name is, if we’re talking about the same guy. He’s like . . . a monster.”

Caro flashed on a memory that her mind still struggled to comprehend. Mark Olund, clutching Dex’s frail, paralyzed body from behind as his mouth fastened onto the crown of Dex’s head. As if kissing it, or somehow . . . sucking on it.

Of course, that was disgusting and crazy. She’d concluded that it was a stress induced hallucination, but Dex had died. That was real.

So was being accused of killing him.

“I’ve seen him,” she said. “I know he’s terrifying. But exactly what did Mark do to him?”

“Who’s Mark?”

The loud male voice made them both start. Bea spun. “Huh?”

“Is this woman bothering you, baby?” Todd’s beefy arms folded over his chest.

“Ah, no,” Bea faltered. “No, she’s just, ah . . .”

Caro met Bea’s eyes. Does he know? Bea gave her a desperate head shake. No.

“Who’s this Mark guy?” Todd persisted, advancing on her.

“Um . . . I’m just doing Step Nine,” Caro blurted. “It’s part of my recovery.”

Bea and Todd looked at her blankly. “Part of your what?” Todd said.

“Recovery. I’m in Narc Anon,” she improvised. “I just got out of rehab. Cocaine. This is one of the Twelve Steps. You contact anyone that you hurt while you were using and make amends. Unless by so doing you’d hurt them worse, which I hope isn’t the case. Back in my snowbunny days, I, um . . . got really high, and, uh, slept with her boyfriend.”

“That would be this Mark?” Todd said.

“Yeah. Him.” Caro let defensiveness creep into her tone. “So, like, whatever. I’m sorry. It was a slutty thing to do, and it hurt you, and I’m really sorry.”

Todd waited for more. Caro just stood there trying to look shamefaced. Easy enough after all that time lurking in the shadows.

“All done?” Todd’s tone was cold. “OK then. Good. You’re sorry. Go now and sin no more. Have a nice life.”

Caro searched Bea’s desperate eyes. “Please, Marika?” she asked. “I’m trying so hard to get my life together. Maybe this could help both of us.”

“How about you just leave right now, lady?” Todd suggested forcefully.

“I was hoping you’d forgive me,” she said to Bea.

“It was always about you, you, you,” Bea whined. “And now you’re like, what, repenting? And to hell with anyone you leave bleeding on the side of the road.”

Caro sighed. “Look, if you want to talk, find me. Please, Marika. Find me.”

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it, but don’t hold your breath.”

The door shut. Caro descended the porch steps, legs rubbery.

Maybe there was hope after all. As in an actual video to show the Feds that proved Mark had framed another innocent person for theft and murder.

Which made it more credible that he could have done the same to her.

She saw a bus approaching and ran for it, splashing through puddles. City buses were her refuge today, a dry place where she could keep on moving. She couldn’t go to her apartment if she was being followed.

Her former life seemed like a dream of crazy luxury. Her nice little New York studio apartment in SoHo, with that beautiful arched window. She’d loved that place. Her gig at GodsEye Biometrics, coaching people into seeing like she did. Or thinking that they could. Whatever. She wasn’t a miracle worker.

But oh God, how she’d loved having money for things she needed. Enjoying friends, food. Making art. Being able to go to bed and just sleep. No hellish nightmares. No cold sucking hole inside her as she lay in bed watching what Mark had done to Dex looping over and over in her mind. She couldn’t seem to stop that endless replay.

The driver had seen and waited for her, bless him. The bus door opened as she pounded toward it, trying to unthink that random thought about Dex as she scrambled up into the bus. Thinking of Dex was a trigger, and she couldn’t afford to—