Behind Every Lie(74)

Liam blew out a long breath and reached for me, wrapping me in his arms and pressing my face to his broad chest. His skin felt cold and clammy, the wiry hairs of his chest tickling my nose. I leaned into him, wanting the warmth of his reassurance, but his skin was so cold it just made me feel empty.

“I’m sure there’s an explanation,” he said.

“I’m going to turn myself in to the police.”

“What? No! Sebastian Clarke is dead.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So nobody knows what really happened that night! You can’t remember; you just keep saying that. That’s what your lawyer will say too.”

I hesitated. Doubt crackled like frostbite along my spine. Maybe I’d stabbed Mom—but who poisoned her? That was done over time, not one night, and I definitely didn’t do that. And what had cracked Sebastian’s head open like that? Not the little knife I remembered holding. And who put Sebastian’s body in the septic tank? I wasn’t strong enough to do that.

Liam was right. I still didn’t know everything.

“Eva, listen to me.” He grasped me by the shoulders. “You could go to jail for something you don’t even really remember. Trust me, babe. Your mind is all messed up right now. Going in to talk to the detective just opens you up to a lot of legal problems.”

I stared at Liam, thinking about all the things I loved about him. How diligent and persistent he was. How confident and loyal. I imagined how our life could be if I gave in to him, pretended I didn’t know I had killed two people. Maybe the police would never find out. Maybe there wasn’t enough evidence to convict me. We could have our Christmas wedding, go on honeymoon to Barbados, maybe have a baby one day. I could get it right this time.

But getting struck by lightning and everything that had happened since had stripped me bare and exposed who I really was: broken but healing, flawed but strong.

Liam tried to pull me to him again, but I put a hand on his chest and pushed him away.

With Liam, I would never be whole because he would always be the one filling the cracks.

“No.” I shook my head. The image I’d painted of our future faded away. “If I killed my mom, I have to pay for that. I have to put myself back together.”

Liam’s face paled, his hands dropping limply to his sides. “What are you saying?”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. Hot tears slid down my cheeks, splashing into my mouth and tasting of salt and sorrow.

“Eva, don’t do this.” His pain physically hurt me. If there was one thing Liam couldn’t bear, it was rejection.

I couldn’t meet his eyes. I grabbed my coat and purse and opened the front door. A rumble of thunder came from a bank of clouds concealed somewhere in the distance. Night tugged at me like a riptide.

And I stepped into the darkness.





thirty-eight

kat




the day before

I WAS JUST PUTTING the kettle on for tea when the doorbell rang. I pulled the door open and a delivery boy thrust a gorgeous bouquet of daffodils in a round-bottomed vase at me.

“Delivering on a Saturday?” I said with a smile. “That’s dedication.”

“You’re my last one. Hopefully I’ll be home before the rain gets here!” The kid peered anxiously at the sly streaks of purple and gray creeping across the horizon.

He waved good-bye as a sudden wind ripped through the trees, buffeting the house.

I shut the door and opened the card.

Congratulations.

Me xx



I cut away the packaging and set the flowers on the island in the kitchen, then picked up the phone and dialed a long-familiar phone number.

“Thank you,” I said when she picked up.

“How did you know it was me?”

“Who else knows my favorite flowers are daffodils?” I smiled. “Rose.”

“I read in the news that you saved a little girl’s life. You’re an amazing person, Katherine Hansen.”

“Blimey! How’d you hear about it all the way over in New York?”

“It’s been picked up by national networks.”

“Oh dear. I did decline the interviews.”

“Are you still worried about Seb?” She tutted. “If he was still looking for you, he’d have found you ages ago. He’s either long dead or has moved on. I think you can relax now.”

“I shall never be able to relax.”

“You always did have an overinflated sense of responsibility,” she teased.

“Hmmm …” I scooped a teaspoon of loose-leaf tea into a small teapot and poured boiling water over it. “How are the paintings selling?”

“Very well. I have dinner shortly with a gallery owner, in fact.”

“Bravo, you.” A gust of wind rattled against the windows. Feeling feverish, I tugged my cardigan off the back of a chair and draped it over my shoulders. A sudden cough swept through me, an agonizing rattle.

“You should get that looked at. You don’t sound well.”

“It’s just a cold. I’m quite certain I shall be fine.” I was rarely ill. I rather believed that much of illness was in the mind. But then my vision blurred, a series of strange yellow halos appearing. I shook my head and blinked to dislodge them, feeling quite faint. Perhaps a visit to the doctor was in order. Just this once.