The Lies They Tell(66)

There was a scraping, fumbling sound as Joseph moved, his knees sliding over sand-covered planks, backing toward the ladder. The last thing the camera caught was a flash of Tristan coming toward him, walking faster, gaze locked on the Roost.

When Pearl looked back, the cabin door was open, and he was there, as she knew he’d be, his jacket beaded with rain. Holding his gaze, she slowly lowered the camera into the box.

Tristan came down the steps, pushing his hood back. He stared at the footlocker for a long moment, considering what was inside. “You watched it.”

“I wasn’t . . .” She shook her head. “I didn’t. I was only looking at it.”

He walked over. “I never thought to check in there. I guess I just . . . stopped seeing it.” His tone was slightly unbelieving, the idea of something not occurring to him so novel that he didn’t even seem perturbed. “David kept those keys in the lockbox at the house in the off-season. They should’ve been burned. Where did you find them?”

She didn’t answer, instead getting slowly to her feet. “We should go back now.” Her words were like stones in her mouth. “It’s raining harder.”

A slow, chiding tilt of his head, and it was all laid bare between them, at least as much of it as she understood. Her legs faltered as she backed into the chart table; she grabbed the settee for support. “I don’t even know”—now her words were dust, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth—“it’s just a video. I—”

“Pearl.” In a sigh. “You should not have watched that.”

Panic trickled in, quickening, becoming a flood. Her gaze slid to the cabin door.

“It’s okay. Really. I’m almost glad it was you.” He stepped forward; she stepped back. “If somebody else had to find it first, you should be the one. I’ve been looking . . . for months. They didn’t really know what they had, so it stood to reason that they hadn’t hid it all that well.” A slight lift of his shoulders. “I was wrong.”

She opened her mouth, but a choked sound came out first, not words. “You did it.” Horror, then, a sickening blow. “You had him do it.”

“Hold still.” She kept going. His eyes widened slightly. “Stop moving away from me.”

Pearl dodged and ran, the steps and door twenty feet away, fifteen—he caught her around her waist and slung her back, slamming her into the edge of the galley counter. Then he was on her, shushing her, her cry smothered by his hand. “Stop it. Pearl? Stop it, or I won’t let you breathe.”

She thrashed against him, blows bouncing off his chest and shoulders. His hand moved to cover her nose, sealing off everything. She was still hitting, trying to bring her knee up to force him back, the roar of panic smothering everything, blurring the room in static and noise. He was still talking against her ear, nonsense sounds, until some instinct finally kicked in and she went prone, knowing only the heat of his palm and her starving lungs.

“Shhh. Like that.” He sighed again, as if mildly put out, adjusting his grip so that one of her nostrils was free. She had to cough but couldn’t, instead sucking at the pitiful stream of air. “I’m going to let go now. Can you control yourself?”

She nodded once. He released her, stepping back. Pearl gasped, stars bursting across her vision, edging down the counter away from him until she hit the wall and could go no farther. Her eyes were still watering, and she swiped at them. “You’re pretty good at that.” Her voice shook. “Get lots of experience with your sister?” He kept observing her, his eyes as still as polished obsidian, catching the lamplight. “She recorded you. Breaking down the door to get to her.”

He lowered his head slightly, gaze traveling the row of liquor bottles. “That must’ve been the day she hid it.” He moved away from Pearl, staring into the footlocker for a second before shutting the lid with the toe of his shoe and pushing it back underneath the settee. “She told Sloane that she was going to the Islander to make one of the videos for her site, but she must’ve brought both cameras. I followed. Too late, apparently.” His tone was vague, musing. “Protecting the little brother.”

Pearl watched him, not sure if this was shock, the numbness that spread through her, the feeling of detachment from this moment, this place. She saw the gate around the Garrison house. Not trying to keep someone out—trying to keep someone in. “Everybody thought it was David.” Her voice was a husky whisper. “You let them think he was the monster, making everyone afraid. But it was you. You were the one.”

Tristan absorbed this, slowly shaking his head. “He was the monster.”

The boat gave another tilt; glass tumblers slid together with a musical clink. Her gaze went to the cabin door; too far away, he’d be on her in a second. And she wasn’t giving him any excuse to take her air again. She talked fast, words coming nearly on top of each other. “Your brother and sister were scared of you. Weren’t they? You went after Joseph to get the camera back, but Cassidy helped him, hid it from you. They didn’t need to know why it was so important. Just that you’d hurt them to get it.”

“You’re not trying to understand.”

Gooseflesh, nausea, washed over her. “He killed them. He burned them.”

“And I told you. I carry that with me, all the time.”