The Lies I Told(94)

He shrugged. “I’m the fixer.”

“I told Richards about David.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Richards will have to look into David after today.”

“David will tell the cops you helped him dispose of Clare’s body.”

“Even if he does, he can’t prove anything. Sure, we were in juvie for a couple of months years ago, but that interaction doesn’t equal murder.” He looked toward my bookshelf, where I’d hidden a camera. “Have you figured out that I cut the Wi-Fi to the apartment? No surveillance cameras are working, so again it’s your word against mine now.”

I was amazed how calm we both sounded. No tears. No shouting. Just a reasonable conversation. It was unreal. As I glanced at the shot glasses, I knew this wasn’t going to end well. Had he also spiked the tequila?

Before I lost my nerve, I turned to leave and ran toward the door. Quick footsteps closed the distance between us as I frantically fumbled with the locks. He grabbed my arm, whirled me around, and pushed me back into the kitchen. He clamped on the back of my neck and picked up the first glass.

I glared up at him, my lips pursed. He shoved the glass against my mouth. Tequila trickled over my lips, down my chin, and to my chest. When the glass was emptied all over me, he shoved me down on the floor with such force, my right shoulder hit hard and knocked the breath out of me. I sucked in air as pain rocketed through my system. He dumped the second glass in my mouth and then held my lips and my nose closed until I swallowed.

The fire burned down my throat, hitting my stomach like cement. I tried to spit it out, but it was too late. The poison was in my system.

“Seems fitting your last drinks should be tequila. No one will argue that you finally decided to end it all with a tribute to Clare. We all know how you go off the rails this time of year.”

“Why are you doing this now?” I asked. “It’s been thirteen years. At best, all I’ve done is prove that David fathered Clare’s baby.”

“Jo-Jo is pregnant. I’d do anything to protect that kid. And I can’t risk David folding and telling the cops about me.”

“He can still do that.”

“Not if you’re dead.”

“Your DNA will be all over my apartment.”

“I’ll have time to clean up after you pass out. You won’t die right away. It’ll take time for you to slip away. And then I’ll clean up.”

“And then you and Jo-Jo will ride off into the sunset and be a happy family.”

“That’s the idea.” He pulled me up to my feet and yanked me toward the bottle, poured a second glass, and held it out to me.

“She’ll tell the cops she called you about David and me.”

“She won’t tell. Drink. Once you drink, you’ll calm down.”

“I don’t want it.” I pursed my lips.

“Drink.”

“Or you’ll strangle me?”

He balled his hands into fists, drew back, and punched me in the gut. My midsection convulsed, and for a moment I almost blacked out. As I gasped for air, he poured the shot into my mouth. I coughed, nearly choking.

Pain radiated through my body. I looked toward the bottle, craving more and hating myself for it.

“You want it, don’t you?”

I moistened my lips. I did want it. The craving was so strong, it threatened to overtake me.

He filled both glasses. “Like I said, your art show was proof—you were more fired up than you had been in years. And you were clearheaded. That was a dangerous combination.”

“David bought my picture. I saw it at his place.” My head spun and my vision blurred.

“They’re very compelling pieces, especially for him.”

“Did he drug me when I sold him the print?”

“Yes.”

Though I’d sensed David’s lies about my drinking, it felt good to hear I hadn’t. “I must have stumbled out of the bar and made it to my car.”

“Again, you’re a survivor.”

“He followed. He was there at the accident.”

“Yes.”

“He took my phone.”

He handed me the next shot glass. “For once, he was thinking ahead.”

I raised the glass to my lips, glanced into the liquid depths, and then downed the shot. The booze did what it always did after the first or second drink. It made me believe all things were possible. I poured another shot. “There’s ice in the refrigerator. My head is hurting. Can you get me some ice?”

He studied me a beat. “Of course.”

He crossed the kitchen, grabbed a dish towel hanging over the sink. Draping the terry cloth over his palm, he opened the freezer and filled it with ice. He carefully twisted the end, forming a loose ball of ice.

“I’m sorry,” he said, handing me the ice pack. “I don’t like to hurt people. I’m really a gentle soul. But blood is thicker than water. You sided with your family after Clare died and sold out Jo-Jo. Christ, your father sued her parents.”

I pressed the ice to my jaw, flinched as the cold touched the bruised skin. “It was a shitty thing.”

“So, you get it?”

“I do.” I downed the shot and licked my lips. Even though the booze promised I could do anything, I knew it lied. Soon, my mind would fog. But for now, I was calm but still in control. I had to make the best of this very fleeting sweet spot if I was going to get out of here alive. “Can I have more?”