Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
I don’t deny this.
“And you’re angry because something set you off today, reminding you that we’ve made no headway with your parents.”
I’m glad his back’s to me since I don’t really want to look in his eyes right now. He has a way of peeling back every defense mechanism I have with his eyes alone. If he had a superhero talent, I’d hazard a guess it would be x-ray vision.
I stare at the painting on the wall that hides his safe. When I speak to him, my voice is low, tremulous. “I know how to move that painting, Cain. The one that hides your weapons. I know the numbers to push to unlock the safe. I know when the safe door opens, the exact pile of weapons that will wait for me, the heft of the knife or the barrel of the gun when it slips into my palm. To others, the closed safe looks like a work of art. I, however, know it’s only a doorway.”
His arms tighten an infinitesimal amount. He doesn’t speak.
“Anyone else would think it’s only something pretty to decorate your wall. I know better, though.” I draw in a deep breath. “Do you know that you’re the only one in the world who’s ever found me out? The only one who knows how to manipulate me so that I open up, revealing my inner truth.”
My eyes flutter closed when he kisses my bare shoulder before he grazes the sharp edges of his teeth along my bare skin. A pulse of arousal thrums between my legs when he licks the place he bit.
“Don’t I fucking know it,” he says in a low whisper. “And feel honored that you’d trust me with that.”
I close my eyes, trying my best to hold onto the truth, to really push him to reveal everything he knows to me. I decide to let him in a little more.
“Today, when Skylar began pulling out the decorations, it reminded me that Christmas is coming. Every time the door opens, and the freezing cold air rushes in, it reminds me that Christmas is coming.” I draw in a breath, before I release it slowly. “My parents were killed at Christmas.”
I can still see the bloodstained carpet in front of the tree, the flash of brilliant red that told me they were gone. I had been only four years old and remember hardly anything else about that time, but I can’t forget those few details.
He nods slowly. “I know.”
He knows. What else does he know? My voice is quiet, but I’m slightly on edge when I respond. “You have done research, then.”
“Every damn night, Violet. I haven’t said anything to you because I didn’t want to give you false hope.”
My heart soars, then sinks, that quickly. Elated that he’s done this, that he’s given himself over to doing exactly what he promised—then deflated again when he admits he may not have much to go on. False hope?
I square my shoulders. “What have you found?”
Nestling me square in the center of his lap, he pulls me slightly to the left so he can get a better view of the computer screen. “First, public records.”
He double taps an innocuous icon on the bottom right corner of the screen, and several police reports come up. They’re poorly written in scratchy handwriting and the details are hard to read with the darkened page, but they are neatly organized. My throat feels tight when I see my parents’ names alongside mine… or the name I used to go by, anyway.
Russell and Anya Bates, murdered on Tuesday. Found dead. Buried in a funeral mass celebrated by Pastor Descamps at the First Church of Christ, Salem
“Why did you change your name, Violet?”
I don’t know why it surprises me that he knows I changed my name. Security and investigation are his bread and butter.
“How did you know that?”
He doesn’t answer at first, then scrolls further down. “When I began investigating, I found no local deaths for anyone by the name of Price. And there aren’t that many Violets in the world, you know.”
He hasn’t really answered the question.
“I know.” It’s why I changed my last name. I couldn’t bring myself to change the name that my mother gave me. I have this strange feeling that it’s the only part of me that’s unique, the only part of me that no one else can ever replicate.
“Once I found out my parents were killed, I felt it best to hide who I was.”
It feels awkward that he knows my history, this small part of me that no one has ever really truly seen, but in order for us to find the real truth, he has to.
He nods. “Now it’s time to tell me everything. I can’t help you piece together what you need to find if you don’t.”