The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer (Mara Dyer #1)(99)

I couldn’t let it happen.

But would I really be able to stop it?

I had wanted Jude dead, and he was. And I’d killed Morales and Mabel’s owner just by wanting it, thinking about it, about her choking, his head smashed in. I grew nauseous at the imagery, but swallowed hard and forced myself to remember, to try to understand so that if I needed to, I could do it again. The collapsed building, the anaphylactic shock, the head injury; those were the causes of the deaths.

I was the agent.

Noah’s voice snapped me back into the moment. “There is something profoundly wrong here. I know it, which is why I came to get you. But we don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on. We have to get to the courthouse and speak to your father.”

“Then what?” I asked, my voice hollow.

“Then we’ll give statements about Joseph’s kidnapping, and Lassiter will be indicted for it.”

“And he’ll be out on bail again, just like this time. And what evidence can we give?” I said, my voice rising. I hadn’t meant to say—to think—my earlier words, but a crazed enthusiasm was taking over. Adrenaline flowed through my veins. “Joseph doesn’t remember a thing except for the lies we told him. And I’m on antipsychotics,” I said, my voice growing steadier and steadier. “No one’s going to believe us.”

Noah switched tactics, no doubt because I was right. In a low voice, he said, “I brought you because I trusted you. You don’t want to do this.”

As Noah asserted his knowledge of what I wanted, my mind rebelled. “Why not? I’ve killed people for less than murdering and butchering a teenage girl and kidnapping my baby brother.” I grew incomprehensibly giddy.

“And last week—that was you at peace with it, then?”

Noah’s words stopped me in my tracks. But then. “Maybe I’m a sociopath, but I don’t feel sorry about Mabel’s owner. At all.”

“I wouldn’t either,” Noah admitted. The muscles worked in his jaw. “Jude deserved it, too, you know.”

I tilted my head at him. “Did he? You say that because he almost hurt me—”

“He did hurt you,” Noah said, suddenly fierce. “Just because it could have been worse doesn’t mean he didn’t hurt you.”

“He didn’t rape me, Noah. He hit me. He kissed me. I killed him for that.”

Noah’s eyes darkened. “Good riddance.”

I shook my head. “You think that’s fair?” Noah said nothing, his eyes a thousand miles away. “Well, the way you feel about him is the way I feel about Lassiter.”

“No,” he said, as he turned off the highway on to a bustling street. I could see the courthouse in the distance. “There’s a difference. With Jude, you were alone and terrified and your mind reacted without you even knowing it. With him it was self-defense. With Lassiter—it would be an execution.”

The air swallowed his words as he let that sink in. Then he said, “There are other ways to solve that problem, Mara.”

Noah swung into the shaded parking lot next to the courthouse and cut the engine. We flew out of the car, my mind turning over his words as we ran up the courthouse steps.

There were other ways to solve the problem, Noah had said. But I knew they wouldn’t work.





58


I WAS BREATHLESS BY THE time we reached the wide glass front doors. After Noah went through the metal detector, I emptied my pockets into the little plastic bin and held out my arms so the security guard could wand me. I bounced a little on the balls of my feet, beyond anxious.

Our footsteps echoed down the enormous hall, mine following Noah’s, and I swung my head in both directions, checking the room numbers as I went. Noah stopped at room 213.

I wiped the sweat from my face with my sleeve. “Now what?”

Noah walked over to a hallway and made the first left. I hovered in the background as he spoke to a young guy sitting at the front desk. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I examined his face. It told me nothing.

When he was done, he returned to my side and began walking in the direction we came in. He didn’t say a word until we were outside, back on the courthouse steps.

“What happened?” I asked him.

“The jury’s been out for two hours.”

My feet turned to stone. I couldn’t move.

“It’s not too late,” Noah said, his voice quiet. “They may come back with a conviction. Hell, Florida’s a death penalty state. You might get lucky.”

I bristled at Noah’s tone. “He went after my brother, Noah. My family.”

Noah placed his hands on my shoulders and forced me to look at him. “I will protect him,” Noah said. I tried to turn away. “Look at me, Mara. I will find a way.”

I wanted to believe him. His confidence was unshakable, and it was tempting. But Noah was always sure. And he was sometimes wrong. In this case, I couldn’t afford it.

“You can’t protect him, Noah. This is not something you can fix.”

Noah opened his mouth to speak but I cut him off. “I’ve been so lost since Rachel died. I’ve tried to do the right things. With Mabel, Morales—I did everything the right way; calling Animal Control, telling the principal. But nothing worked until I did it my way,” I said, and my own words sparked something inside of me. “Because everything that’s happened—it’s been about me from the beginning. Understanding who I am and what I’m supposed to do. This is what I’m supposed to do. It’s what I have to do.”