The Night Bird (Frost Easton #1)(100)

“Yes,” she spat at him through clenched teeth.

“Tell me what you want to know. Ask me.”

“What happened to my father?” Frankie asked.

“What do you think happened to him?”

She closed her eyes. The wind roared. She reached for something, anything, any fragment of reality. “He killed himself,” she said.

“You know that’s not true. Is that what your husband wants you to believe? You know it’s a lie.”

“What happened to him?” she asked again.

“You already know,” Todd told her. “Somewhere deep inside, you know. That’s why you wanted to forget it, but you can’t, can you?”

“Tell me,” she repeated.

“Your father was murdered,” Todd told her. “He didn’t fall. He didn’t jump. He was pushed.”



Frost stopped running. Jess stopped two steps ahead of him and looked back. “What is it? What did you hear?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. The wind keeps cutting out the mic.”

She didn’t believe him. “What the hell is going on out there, Frost?”

He ignored her and barked into the microphone of his headset. “Frankie. I know you can hear me. Get away from him right now. We’re coming in from both sides. We’ll have a chopper and sharpshooter overhead in seconds, but we need you out of there.”

He listened. The microphone on the other end was still live. He heard Frankie through the static, but she wasn’t listening to him. She was caught up in the story that Todd was telling her. It didn’t matter whether it was true.

“Did I . . . ?” she murmured.

Frost shouted. “Frankie, he’s lying to you. Get out of there! He’s playing games with your head, and then he’s going to kill you.”

She didn’t answer. She was under his spell.

Frost took off running again. Jess tried to keep up with him, but he was younger and faster, and adrenaline drove him forward. He widened the gap between the two of them. His shoes slipped and splashed through mud. He bolted through pockets of trees and then emerged into the full fury of the wind in his face. A slight slope rose on the hillside in front of him, and when he reached the summit, he could see the headlands spread out like a panorama.

They were there. Frankie and Todd. Two hundred yards away, down the winding path, inches from the unstable rocks of the cliff face.

Far beyond them, he saw the rest of his team running southward, trying to close the gap.

Over his head, he heard the throb of the police helicopter.

“Frankie,” he shouted again. “Run.”



“Did I do it?” Frankie asked, her mind flooded with confusion. “Was it me? Did I kill him?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Todd said. “A daughter killing her father? A father who never loved her for even a minute of his life?”

“I wouldn’t do something like that. Never.”

“Are you sure?” Todd taunted her. “Come on, Frankie. You know what happened. You were right here. Remember.”

Her fists clenched. She heard voices in her head. Her father’s voice, bloodless, demanding, accusing.

Question. Is it acceptable to pursue your own selfish satisfaction when it causes risk to someone else?

Question. So it’s okay to risk another’s life or happiness simply because you really want something?

And then one more. The worst one.

Question. Are you and Jason still sleeping together?

That bastard. How dare he ask something like that. As if he knew that the answer was no.

Or was it just a dream?

Frankie closed her eyes. She no longer knew what was real and what wasn’t. “I don’t remember anything from that weekend.”

“I think you do,” Todd badgered her. He was relentless, not letting go. “I heard your husband try to drive the memory out of your brain in your office, but you resisted him. You didn’t want to forget what happened. He tried over and over, but the truth kept squirming back in.”

“No,” she whispered, trying to convince herself. “There’s nothing left.”

“Do you know what Jason did while you were under hypnosis? While he was trying to erase your past? He asked you about Darren Newman. He was obsessed with the two of you.”

“What?”

“He made you tell him everything that happened between you and Darren,” Todd said. “It was sickening, Frankie.”

“There was nothing between us. I never had sex with Darren.”

“Are you sure? Or do you think Jason erased that memory, too?”

“I didn’t,” she repeated, trying to convince herself. She was sure it was the truth, but suddenly, she didn’t know. She didn’t know anything. Reality slipped out of her grasp.

“You told Jason all about it, Frankie. He made you go through every detail. Every position. Every place you did it. You told him everything.”

“No, those were fantasies—”

“Were they? Or did Jason simply make you think that? Did your father know what you did? Did he know that you slept with Darren Newman? Did he confront you? Is that why you pushed him off the cliff?”

“I didn’t do that. I didn’t. I never would.”