Today's Promises (Promises #2)(44)

“Flynn—” I begin.

He cuts me off. “I told you before that I’ll do anything to keep you safe.”

“Even if it means planting evidence,” I whisper.

“Even if, Jaynie.”

“Shit.” I stare at the vial of blood. “How’d you steal it, anyway? I didn’t notice anything amiss that day in the car.”

I glance up at him and, and, proudly, he says, “I guess all that time as a runaway, me living as a kid who had to steal to survive… Well, I guess it finally paid off. Remember the heavy coat I left in the detective’s car that day?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Of course, I remember. Flynn was too hot, having not planned for an early spring warming.

He goes on. “Then you also probably remember how Detective Silver laid my coat on the front seat before we got out of the car.”

“Yes, I do.”

“He did that to cover the files and the blood. He even told us it was good I didn’t need the coat, that I was actually doing him a favor since he could use it to cover Debbie’s file and blood samples from prying eyes.”

“Jesus, Flynn.”

“Anyway, when we got back in the car, and I grabbed up my coat, I also managed to snatch one of the vials of blood.”

“But Flynn, Detective Silver had to have noticed a vial went missing. Funny he never mentioned it.”

I’m at a loss as to how I should feel. Should I be elated or terrified?

“I guess he never noticed.” Flynn shrugs, and we both stare at the blood. “Or maybe he thought he lost it. After all, there was a lot of opening and closing of car doors that day. One of the vials could’ve easily fallen out onto the ground.”

“But a vial didn’t fall out.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“So what happens now?” I ask.

Flynn tilts up my chin so I have no choice but to tear my gaze from this blood that may turn out to be our saving grace.

With his steely gray eyes as determined as I’ve ever seen, he says, “Let’s go find a knife.”





Flynn



I can’t believe we’re doing this. Or, rather, I can’t believe I am doing this. But it’s okay; I’ll deal with the fallout if it ever comes. Jaynie doesn’t need to go down with me. No need to have her directly involved with planting evidence.

Sure, she’ll probably get in some kind of trouble if we’re ever caught, simply for being at the Lowry premises while I did the deed. But if she doesn’t actively participate, she’ll be looking at nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Not too bad compared to what will happen to me.

“Flynn.” Jaynie sighs. Her frustration with me not allowing her to handle the knife or the blood we’re about to plant is showing as we get underway with our crime…or rather, my crime. “At least let me hold the knife while you pour the blood on it,” she practically begs.

No way.

We’re standing in the middle of the kitchen in the Lowry house. Or, more accurately put, we’re in what remains of the kitchen. This room, like all the others in the house, has been ransacked. The table and chairs that once sat in the middle are busted to small pieces. Their scattered remains lie about, along with cabinet doors that have been ripped from the hinges. All the drawers have been pulled out as well, their contents strewn all over.

This cluttered mess made finding a good, sharp knife easy enough. There was one particularly lethal-looking blade wedged behind a broken chair leg. I picked it up and wiped it off, hopefully leaving it devoid of fingerprints.

But now I’ve reached the hard part—making this kitchen knife look like a murder weapon.

“I’m good,” I insist as Jaynie once again asks if I need assistance.

As I hold the handle of the knife with one hand that I’ve wrapped in an old dishrag, a measure taken to prevent transfer of my own prints, I balance the vial of blood in my other hand.

“I’m just going to pour a little bit of Debbie’s blood here and there,” I murmur.

“That should work,” Jaynie says, nodding encouragingly.

I tip the vial to pour the blood, but then I re-think my strategy.

“Hey, maybe I should pour a lot, and then wipe the blade off. That’s probably what someone would do with a bloody knife they’re planning to hide, right?”

Jaynie sighs. “I don’t know, Flynn. Just hurry, okay?”

Her eyes flitter about, like someone might walk in on us at any moment. I’m pretty certain that’s not going to happen, but there’s no telling her that. Now that we’re in the commission of a pretty major crime, she’s a nervous wreck, convinced that the police are going to do some random property check and catch us red-handed.

“I think I’ll pour and wipe,” I decide, at last.

“Whatever. That’ll work.”

I kick out the edges of an old towel I placed on the floor earlier to catch any dripping blood. “We should probably plant this towel with the knife,” I muse, more to myself than to Jaynie. “It’ll look like Allison used it too, seeing as it’s hers.”

Jaynie found the old towel up in Allison’s bedroom, kicked under what remained of her bed. I recognized it right away as belonging to Allison. The bubblegum pink color, her signature shade, gave it away.