The Last Lie Told (Finley O’Sullivan, #1)(67)

I shake my head. “I would never hurt her. She was all I had.” I blink back the burn of tears. She hates it when I cry.

“You just don’t remember,” Olivia challenged. “You killed her, and I came looking for you and you were gone.”

“I was hiding from you.”

“Liar.”

I do lie. Sometimes. Maybe more than sometimes. But she lies all the time.

She is a lie.

My stomach sinks a bit. I don’t want to think about that . . .

“You know what I have to do now, don’t you?” She crouched down in front of me and stared into my eyes with her matching ones.

“I know what you want to do,” I say. There’s a difference. She doesn’t have to do it, but she will because she wants to.

Then it will be as it was in the beginning, and there will only be one.

“You know it’s the right thing to do. We can’t go on like this.”

Maybe she’s right. The past five years have been so miserable. Our father is gone. Now Mother is as well.

What’s the point?

“Why does it have to be me?” I don’t want to die. Really, I don’t.

“You’d rather it be me?” Olivia demanded.

I thought for a time, but there was only one answer.

“Yes.”

It was supposed to be that way.





25


Monday, July 11

10:00 a.m.


Davidson County District Attorney’s Office

Second Avenue North

Nashville

Parking in downtown Nashville was the absolute worst.

Finley was grateful Jack had picked her up for this command performance. District Attorney Briggs and Chief of Police Lawrence wanted a meeting with all involved in the Holmes case. Generally this was something Jack would handle alone, but Finley’s presence had been requested. She’d had to cancel her meeting with Detective Houser. When he didn’t complain, she figured he’d already heard about the chief’s request.

She resisted a yawn as she climbed out of the Land Rover. Her search for Cecelia had gone on until two a.m. Jack had rushed to Olivia’s hotel, but he’d gotten no answer. A hundred bucks to a maintenance guy on duty had gotten Jack a look inside her room. Olivia was MIA as well. At two, Jack had insisted they both needed some sleep. They could continue the search the next day.

Morning had arrived and the call from Briggs had come, prompting the rush to his office. Maybe he’d heard she and Jack had lost complete control of the situation.

One client was dead and the other two were MIA.

Surely the situation couldn’t get any worse.

Jack opened the door to the lobby of her former workplace. How many times had she walked through those doors believing she was on top of her world? Life had been good.

Until it wasn’t.

Forcing the thoughts aside, she headed with Jack to the bank of elevators. If she weren’t dead on her feet, she might work up enough enthusiasm to attempt some level of conversation with her boss. They stepped into the elevator car together. Jack punched the necessary button for the floor they needed and leaned against the back wall. Finley did the same.

When the elevator bumped to a stop, Jack turned to her. “Don’t sweat this, kid. We’re not taking any shit from these guys.”

Finley smiled as she followed him into the corridor. She really did love the guy. They were two of a kind for sure.

The others were already assembled around the table when she and Jack were ushered into the conference room. The meeting was already in full swing.

“Obviously, Finnegan,” Siniard accused as Jack pulled out a chair for Finley and then one for himself, “your clients are involved in this tragic turn of events in ways we can’t even begin to fathom.”

Jack smiled. “One of my clients is dead and another is missing. Considering your client has a cult following capable of God only knows what, I’d say there’s a lot going on we can’t even fathom.”

Finley for one was grateful Jack didn’t mention the other missing client. It was bad enough that they knew it. No need to tell the world just yet. She reached for the carafe in the middle of the table and poured herself a coffee while relishing the start of a battle between the best and a runner-up.

“What we have here,” Briggs spoke up, “is a hell of a mess. This ridiculous proceeding is a travesty, and nothing good will come of it. Your client, Mr. Siniard, should never have been granted a new trial.”

Siniard laughed. “I refuse to justify that statement with a response. Everyone at this table knows the law.”

Finley glanced around the conference table. She’d sat at this table many times during discussions exactly like this one. Deals were hashed out. Pleas were bargained. But there would be no deals today.

This was not going away quietly.

“I’m still reeling from the idea that one of your clients,” Chief Lawrence said to Jack, “called you to the scene of a murder without calling the police first. And that you and your investigator”—he pointed a finger at Finley—“wasted valuable time before making the call yourselves. You contaminated a crime scene. Potentially rendered whatever evidence is found worthless.”

“There was the matter of calming down our client, Chief,” Jack said. “Our first obligation was to her.”