Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(94)

But I would also do it for myself. For all the little Scarlets out there, abused and neglected and so terribly afraid. I would do it for the girl I’d been. The girl who’d been content to merely survive, who didn’t dare dream or hope for more. I would do it for her. I would do it for a future free of fear.

Think of Scarlet.

Something about the shift in my expression perplexed him. His gaze darted over me, confusion behind his eyes.

Now was the time. Do it now.

“What? Why would you do that? What on earth possessed you to cut your own hands?” I asked loud enough for Agent Nelson to hear.

He started to lean forward but then stopped himself as the phone slipped slightly from his shoulder. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he snarled, clearly distracted and frustrated by his inability to hold the phone.

“To get revenge on Darrell?” I paused, as though thinking. “That makes no sense. How would cutting your own hands get revenge on Darrell?”

Razor stared at me, his lips parted slightly like he was uncertain what was happening or what I’d just said. I stared at him, pretending to hang on his every word. I needed his mouth to move. It didn’t matter what he said, I just needed him to speak.

And then he did. “Darrell Winston’s son is the reason I can’t hold this phone right now—”

For Scarlet.

“You held it between your knees?” I made a horrified face. “You hate Darrell Winston so much, you’d maim yourself just to frame his son?”

He blinked, plainly bewildered and looking at me like I’d lost my marbles. But then in the very next instant my father’s eyes widened with realization. I watched as it all clicked into place for him, what I was doing, why I was there, and satisfaction beat like a drum in my chest.

That’s right, motherfucker. Game over.

“You bitch.” His insult was more breath than sound as his shocked eyes moved over me, like I was a stranger, or like he was seeing me for the first time.

My mouth curved, a smile of gratification only he would be able to see. “I wish you hadn’t told me this. I have no choice but to tell the FBI the truth about what you did to yourself. I can’t be an accomplice in your attempts to frame an innocent man.”

My father exploded, launching from his seat. Despite the fact that he was on the other side of the glass and shackled, I flinched back, my heart jumping to my throat and taking off like a frightened rabbit. The way he looked at me, like a wild animal, murder in his eyes, I knew I’d never forget it. And he threw himself against the glass over and over, spitting as he screamed, telling me he was going to kill me, until two guards hustled in and attempted to restrain him.

His enraged shouts could be heard through the phone I still had pressed to my ear. So I hung it up. I stood. I turned away. I walked back to the black metal door on wobbly legs, allowing my steps to falter when I caught sight of Agent Nelson standing there, her arms crossed.

“Anything you want to share with the FBI, Ms. McClure? Before you head to your concert?”

I walked past her and into the hall, leaning against the wall for support and flinching again as the buzzing sound filled the air followed by a heavy, hopefully impenetrable door being closed.

I can’t believe I just did that.

“Do you need a minute?” She appeared at my elbow, her arms still crossed. “We can take you back to our field office if you don’t want to talk here.”

Lifting a shaking hand to my forehead, I didn’t have to pretend to be rattled. “He—he said he cut his own hands to frame Darrell Winston’s son. But, I swear, that’s all he said. I don’t even know why he told me.”

The Agent’s perceptive gaze moved over me, her features unreadable. “Is this your official statement? Would you be willing to sign an affidavit?”

I hesitated, hoping I looked torn and knowing I still looked scared. Obviously, I wanted to make an official statement, the official statement was the entire point of this. But Cletus told me it might raise suspicion if I seemed too willing to go on record. Thus, the hesitation.

My heart was out of control. I closed my eyes but then quickly opened them again when an image of my father flashed through my mind—demented, homicidal. Right after I leave this place, I’m calling my therapist.

“Ms. McClure, it’s either here or at the FBI office. Your choice.”

“I have to make an official statement?” I needed to focus. The hard part was over. If I didn’t pull myself together, all of this would be a waste. “But, w-why can’t I just tell you? What if the—what if people find out I ratted on my father?” Hopefully this was enough hesitating because I didn’t think I had it in me to keep this up much longer.

Agent Nelson traded a look with someone over my shoulder. The other agents. I’d forgotten for a moment they were still present, and I sent a prayer upward. Please God, if this works, I will never lie about anything ever again.

“After what we all just overheard, you will have to make an official statement. But we can petition the court to seal your identity,” she said judiciously. “I’m sorry, but that’s the best we can offer.”





Chapter Twenty-Two





Billy





“Accepting help is its own kind of strength.”