The Last Lie Told (Finley O’Sullivan, #1)(56)

She rubbed the towel over her hair, then wrapped it around her body. When she’d first started at Jack’s firm, she’d had a hard time getting into the groove. A few weeks later she had hit her stride, and life had purpose again.

She refused to allow whatever was going on with their damned clients or Metro and her husband’s case to pull her back to that dark place. She’d worked too hard to escape. In whatever way this new detective tried to find some way to make Derrick look like the bad guy—or Finley, for that matter—she knew who the bad guy was. She knew why her husband was dead.

Before she could close that door, memories flooded her.

The murder weapon hadn’t been found. The medical examiner had believed the weapon to be a baseball bat or other rounded club. Since they’d had nothing like that in the house, the perps had obviously brought it with them.

She and Derrick had made love that night. Showered together. Finley had grabbed a towel and rushed to the kitchen to turn off the oven. She’d almost forgotten about the meat loaf. As she turned to go back to the bedroom, someone attacked her from behind. The first blow to the back of her head had put her down. Rattled her for several seconds.

She’d seen the boots. Black. Like hunting boots. Whatever trousers the intruder had worn had been tucked into those boots or concealed in some other way. She’d heard the yelling. Objects shattering. The grunts. More shouts.

At first she’d had to drag herself across the floor. Eventually she’d risen up onto her hands and knees. She saw the boots again. Saw Derrick’s naked legs. Blood on the floor. Struggling. Then she’d seen Derrick’s face. Eyes unblinking. Blood trickling down his skin. Then the kick to her side.

He was there . . . over her. But he wasn’t alone. There were three. She’d gotten glimpses, but those brief images were enough.

The one who’d raped her had whispered that message in her ear. You take something from me. I take something from you. Then there was nothing.

She’d awakened two days later in the hospital, her father on one side of her, Matt on the other. For weeks she hadn’t been able to remember many details. Then, as the investigation played out and her frustration had grown, she’d started to remember bits and pieces. She’d tried explaining what she recalled, but no one had believed her. Over time more fragments had come to her, but by then her statements had been deemed irrelevant and unreliable, so she’d stopped talking and decided to find the evidence she needed on her own.

But what if she’d been wrong all this time?

The idea shook her to the very core of her being. Derrick hadn’t been completely truthful with her. There could be a perfectly logical explanation . . . but what if he—

The shrill of her cell phone pierced the air, jerking her back to the present.

Finley headed in that direction, her legs shaking just a little. Reliving those memories still had that effect on her. She’d been raped, yes, but most of that horrific act had occurred while she was unconscious. The realization made her sick still, yet the other feelings she’d expected were oddly missing. She didn’t want to feel any of it. Those emotions would make her weak. Would make her hesitate going forward.

Another ring, the sound seeming far too loud, as she fished around the sofa cushions for her phone. By the time she found it, a third ring had screamed at her.

Matt.

“Hey. Sorry, I couldn’t find my phone.”

He laughed. “This is why I carry mine in a holster on my belt.”

“Ha ha. I hate anything confining around me.” Including belts. She’d never been able to wear tight jeans. Somewhere in her childhood there was likely an explanation, but that was one place she and her therapist weren’t going.

“So you’re going to the birthday gala.”

This was not a question—he knew she had no choice. “Gala?”

“That’s what the invitation says.”

“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t get one.”

He sighed, the breathy sound familiar and comforting. “You’re the daughter. You have a standing invitation to all family functions.”

“Yes, I am going. Only so my father won’t be miserable.”

“That’s very noble of you, Fin. I know he’ll appreciate it, and your mother will also. Though her appreciation may go unspoken.”

Finley did laugh then.

“You want me to pick you up?”

Have you ever seen him on a real date with anyone? Seriously. He only wants you.

Finley pushed Derrick’s voice out of her head. “I would, but I need my own transportation in case I have to leave early.”

“Ah, you’re cutting out early. I got it. All right, then, I’ll see you there.”

“See ya.”

She stared at the screen. Maybe she should have ridden with Matt. Then she could have gotten shitfaced. Wouldn’t the Judge have loved that?

Finley forced herself to find something to eat. She hadn’t bothered with breakfast, and at least two drinks would be necessary to stay at the party for a half hour or so. Food was essential. The fridge was mostly empty, but she found cheese that was only out of date by about forty-eight hours. Somewhere in this house there were crackers. Finding them took a whole five minutes. She sat on the back steps and ate the cheese and crackers, no matter that she didn’t taste either one.