Gun Shy(72)

I doubt Damon would have chosen Chris had he known our history. Still. He doesn’t have any real friends, and he killed his own brother to save me. So I guess Deputy Chris is as good as it gets as far as babysitters for suicidal stepdaughters.

“You want coffee?” I ask, breaking the silence. Chris shakes his head. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

I wander into the kitchen to pour myself a glass, looking at the view through our brand new kitchen window. Safety glass. Unbreakable. Another lock on my tomb.

I pour myself coffee and replace the pot, turning to see Chris has followed me into the kitchen. “Thank Christ you followed me in here,” I say, sipping my coffee. “I almost killed myself getting this coffee.”

Chris rolls his eyes, circling the counter. “I know you don’t want me here,” he says, looking at me across the kitchen. “But nobody wants you to hurt yourself, Cassie.”

I take a deep breath. It’s not myself I want to hurt right now. It’s everyone else. I’ve got this boiling rage inside me, this frustration. I can’t even pee without somebody standing outside the bathroom door, talking me through it. I need to escape, but I can’t. I need to see Leo, but I can’t.

“Have you seen Leo lately?” I ask Chris. Suddenly, his presence isn’t so annoying. Suddenly, I can see a way to find out what’s happening. Chris nods. “I saw him at the hospital,” he says. “After you— well, after they brought you in. He was pretty messed up. Kept asking all the nurses if you’d made it, but they wouldn’t tell him a thing. Damon told them not to talk to him about you.”

I nod. “I hope somebody told him I’m alive,” I murmur.

“I told him,” Chris says, looking guilty.

“Thanks,” I reply, surprised. Chris is loyal to Damon, but I guess he’s only human, too.

“Why are you still so worried about him?” Chris blurts out. “ I mean, after everything. Why?”

I frown. “It was an accident,” I say slowly. “It was a fucked up thing that he did, but he didn’t go out there that night intending to kill my mother.”

“I’m not talking about the accident,” Chris says.

Fear spikes along my spine, thick and cloying. “What are you talking about?”

“Cassie. I’m talking about Jennifer. It looks pretty fucking bad, don’t you think?”

Panic rises in my chest and I push it down. I wish I had a drink right now. “He didn’t do it, Chris.”

Chris says nothing, but his jaw flexes like he’s debating whether to talk more. Like there’s something he’s dying to say to me.

“I thought you were Leo’s friend,” I say, shocked. “I thought you were my friend. If you know something, tell me.”

“I could lose my job,” Chris protests.

“Leo could get the death penalty,” I snap. “But sure. You worry about your job.”

“You’ve been working in a diner since you finished high school while I worked my ass off looking for dead girls,” Chris says, stabbing his finger in the general location of the diner. “Don’t pretend this is nothing. I can’t tell you anything. This is an active investigation!”

“Oh my God,” I say, clutching the counter. “You think he did it, don’t you?”

Chris is visibly agitated. “Come on, Cass. They found Karen next to his house! On his property! And then Jennifer’s just gone right after he gets back to town? How am I supposed to trust him when he tells me he didn’t do either of these things? Huh?”

Angry tears are burning my eyes. “You don’t seriously mean that. I was with him when Karen was murdered.”

“Well, maybe I don’t trust you either,” he says.

Imagine if I told him that he was standing on top of the bloodstain that belongs to the dead man who slaughtered Karen. Imagine if I told him that Jennifer was outside the window, dead and buried. Imagine if I told him everything.

He wouldn’t believe me.

Nobody ever believes you when you try to tell the truth.

“I want to show you something,” he says.

“I don’t want to see your dick, Chris.”

“Cassie!”

“Sorry. Jesus. Ever heard of a joke?”

Chris pulls his phone out, hits a few keys, hands it to me.

“We can joke later. I want you to tell me if you know this car. If you’ve ever seen it. Who it would belong to.”

I look down at the photo and a deep unease spreads in my belly. “I don’t think so,” I say slowly. “Why?”

“Look again.”

I pretend to look again, even though I don’t need to. “Nope. What’s so special about this car?”

Chris sighs, pocketing his phone again. He looks disappointed. “Nothing. Leo came to me a while ago, asked me to look into some paint chips on the side of his Mustang.”

“His Mustang from the accident? I thought that car was crushed or scrapped or whatever.”

Chris nods. “We all thought it was. Turns out old Lawrence couldn’t bear to part with it, covered it with a tarp and hid it in the corner of his lot.”

More unease. More head-numbing stuff. Suspicion is rising within me, hot and fierce, but I can’t show Chris that. “And the paint chips?”