Watcher in the Woods (Rockton #4)(41)

“You’re serious. You honestly believe that I’m a fugitive wanted by the American government.”

“I honestly believe that I don’t know shit about you, big sister.”

Her eyes narrow. We exchange a look that scorches between us, and when she speaks, she barely unhinges her jaw. “That is not my choice.”

“Hell, yes, it is. You’re the one—” I stop short. “The point is that I do not know you nearly as well as I should. I do know that you make regular and frequent trips to the States.”

“For medical conferences. For seminars. Dear God, I know you aren’t a genius, but this is a new low, even for you.”

“No.”

“No, it’s not?”

I advance on her. “No, you will not play this bullshit card with me, April. I’m not a child anymore. I’m not going to be humiliated into silence anymore, terrified that if I open my mouth, I’ll only prove you and Mom and Dad were right, and it’s a miracle I have the brain cells to spell my own name. I’m smart. I know I am. But more than that, I’m capable. I earned my job, and I’m good at it. That is the one thing even you can’t make me doubt. I might only have one skill, one real talent, but this is it, and you’re treading on my turf here, big sister, so tread carefully. Tread very carefully.”

“I—”

“Let’s rewind. Right now, I’m not Casey, your little sister making stupid accusations. I’m a detective questioning you in regards to a murder investigation.”

She fixes a cold stare on me. “All right, Detective. Ask.”

“What made you change your mind so quickly?”

It takes her at least sixty seconds to answer. When she does, her voice is as cold as her stare. “My little sister asked for my help.”

“Oh, don’t you—”

“You want to play this out, Casey? Then close your mouth and listen.” She crosses her arms. “My sister took off last fall. Called with some rushed message about needing to go away, and said I might not hear from her for a couple of years. I thought she was just being her usual dramatic self.”

“Dram—?” I stop and nod. “Sorry. Continue.”

“Then next thing I know, she’s actually gone. Quit her job and left with her friend. Diana, who has never been anything but an albatross around Casey’s neck. But no, Diana needs her, so Casey quits a very good job to move away with her. And what do I get? A twenty-second phone call. But that’s my sister. She’s careless, thoughtless, selfish and reckless. Zero sense of responsibility. I should be used to it by now. But I’m not, and when her leaving hurt, it proved that I needed to sever that link, and if she ever came back, I was not giving her the power to hurt me again.”

I can only stare at her. It’s as if I really am hearing her talk about a third party, our nonexistent other sister.

She continues, “But when she asked me for something—the first time in her life she’s ever asked me for anything—I saw the look on her face, and I saw how much she needed me. She needed help saving another person, and I was the one she came to. So I said yes. God help me, I said yes. And now I wish I hadn’t.”

“That is bullshit,” I say. “Complete and total bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

I move toward her again. “Do you really think that’ll work, April? Spin some bullshit story to make me feel terrible. Convince me that you came here for me? You really do think I’m an idiot?”

Her voice rises. “Excuse me?”

“So I’m careless, thoughtless, selfish, reckless and irresponsible? Is that the full list? Are you sure you don’t want to add anything?”

Her mouth opens.

“You call me thoughtless and selfish . . . for giving up my job, my home, my life to help a friend escape her abusive ex. Careless? Irresponsible? I defy you to find someone else who would apply either of those words to me. Yes, I can be reckless. But never by endangering others. My brand of recklessness is doing stupid things like throwing a bear cub to avoid shooting its mother.”

“You threw—?”

“Not important. The point, April, is that I call bullshit on your story, and I’d really think you’d have the IQ to come up with a better one.”

“So you’re not careless? Not thoughtless and selfish? What about the hell you put our parents through, always racing off, riding dirt bikes and skateboards. Even that dog of yours. You know how our parents felt about dogs, especially big ones. They’ve been gone five years, and you’re still defying them.”

I laugh. I have to. Her expression, though, is perfectly serious.

“I did normal kid stuff, April. Yes, Mom and Dad didn’t want me to do those things, but I wasn’t running wild, hot-wiring cars or selling drugs on the street corner.”

“No, you just dated a drug dealer. Who left you to be beaten nearly to death.”

“Are you saying that was my fault, April?”

She stiffens. “Of course not.”

“No? Dad did. Mom did. Does that seem normal to you? Parents who stand beside the bedside of their comatose daughter and decide ‘She deserved that.’ Tell her so when she wakes up?”

“They didn’t mean it. They were angry. Do you have any idea how scared they were? Mom never left your beside. Did you know that?”