Behind Every Lie(14)
* * *
Flashes of an alley slick with rain.
The outline of a man’s profile.
Someone calling my name.
“Eva. Eva!”
I lurched awake, my body covered in a cold, sticky sweat. Liam was sitting next to me on our bed. He stroked a finger gently down my cheek, his forehead etched with concern.
“Morning, sleepyhead. How you feeling?” He was freshly showered, his hair still damp, his boy-next-door face smooth from his morning shave.
I touched my temple and winced. “A little sore,” I admitted. “What time is it?”
“A little after ten. I went and got croissants from that bakery you like in town.”
I bolted upright. Pain skewered my head and my heart simultaneously as I remembered.
Mom was dead.
I tried to stand. I needed to call Melissa.
“Relax.” Liam gently pushed me back down.
His voice, I realized, was clear again. My hearing was better.
“I took care of it. I told Melissa you weren’t feeling well. I moved a few meetings around so I could take care of you this morn ing. You know …” He ran a fingertip down my nose so gently I shivered. “You could set up your studio here at home. We could clear out more space in the garage next to your kiln. You could start selling your work online.”
I blinked. My brain was too muddled to even process that idea.
“Just something to think about.” Liam stood and held up a small, butter-stained paper bag. “Have a shower and come downstairs.”
In the bathroom, I peeled the bandage off my temple. I touched the tender lump and froze, my left hand suspended in midair. I wiggled my fingers. My engagement ring was gone. A million worries about losing it collided inside my head, finally exterminated by one rational thought: the hospital must’ve taken it off for my CAT scan. I made a mental note to call them later.
The lightning marks on my left forearm were still wrapped, so I hunted in the first aid kit for a small pair of scissors. The bandage frayed and slipped as I awkwardly hacked at it with my right hand.
“Damnit!” Why didn’t they make tiny scissors for left-handed people?
Finally free of the bandages, I studied the marks feathering up my arm. The blisters had started crusting over, but the fernlike discolorations were still angry and red. In a way, I was glad for the marks, for the physical reminder of what had happened. It was more than I’d gotten last time, when all the wounds were hidden.
I synced my phone to my Moxie showerhead speaker—a birthday present from Liam—and turned the music up full blast, tapping out a dance beat on my leg as I closed my eyes and let the hot water slide over my body. Fragments of memories flashed like a lightbulb with a loose connection. I shook my head. I wanted the cold black-and-white facts of what had happened the other night, but I couldn’t seem to gather the threads into any logical order.
Downstairs, the kitchen was warm and bright, the dishwasher humming quietly, the air smelling of antibacterial wipes. Liam had laid the dining table with a crisp white tablecloth, a carafe of orange juice, and ramekins of butter and jam. Everything was perfectly aligned. A vase of the black roses Liam grew in his greenhouse sat in the center, the velvet petals releasing a spicy clove scent.
Liam shook the flaky croissants from the bag onto two plates.
“Tea?” he asked.
“Yes, please.”
He flicked the electric kettle on and bustled about getting plates and napkins on the table. When the kettle boiled, he poured hot water over my tea bag and set a timer to let it steep for exactly three-and-a-half minutes.
My eyes fell on the table, the newspaper Liam had been reading.
The body of a woman was found in her house in Queen Anne last night, just a few streets behind popular Kerry Park. Police say the woman had been brutally murdered and are asking—
“Let me take that.” Liam scooped up the newspaper and deposited it on the counter. The stark words paraded across my mind anyway.
“I called a defense attorney,” he said. “The only evidence the police have is circumstantial. But he advised us to go in for an interview with the detective sooner rather than later. You can give them your fingerprints and DNA; obviously they’ll already be at the house from other times you’ve visited. You have no outstanding warrants, so they’ll have no reason to hold you. And it could take weeks to get the initial crime scene tests back.”
My throat went dry and gritty. Would they pull my file? Would they find out about my past? Liam might learn everything I’d worked so hard to hide.
I stared out the kitchen windows at the lake. The water was the color of clay, the wind rippling across its surface. Drizzle painted the landscape a dull gray. A movement just beyond the porch caught my eye. I jumped, a tremor dusting my arms, but then my eyes adjusted to the murky light. The lake was empty. It was just the shadows of the trees whipping in the wind.
Liam was watching me; I could feel his eyes even though he was trying to hide it. He thought I was being paranoid and irrational. Was he right? Or was I just grieving?
I shivered, feeling raw and exposed. Liam set my tea in front of me, and I sipped it, not caring that it was too hot.
“I made an appointment with the lawyer in Langley first thing tomorrow morning,” he said. “We’ll talk to him together, then he’ll come with us to speak to Detective Jackson in Seattle.”