go through it together.”
Ignoring her, Trinity stuffed her feet into the Louis Vuitton stilettos and dragged her suitcase off the bed. It hit the floor with a loud thud. Josie stood resolute in the doorway, giving Trinity a once-over. “You’re going out like that? Sweatpants and stilettos? You are still a celebrity, you know. Are you driving back to New York like that?”
“Not New York. There’s nothing there for me now. It doesn’t matter what I look like or how I dress now. Nothing matters anymore.”
“Where will you go? Home to Mom and Dad?”
“Are you crazy? No. I’ll rent a place. Somewhere out of the way. A cabin in the woods or something. I need to be alone.”
“I don’t think this is the best time for you to be alone,” Josie said. “Please, just stay here, get some sleep, and we’ll figure this out together.”
“That’s easy for you to say, isn’t it? Everything always works out for you. The great Josie Quinn. I’ll just let her swoop in and fix all my problems.”
Josie felt as though she had been slapped. “What are you talking about?”
Trinity pointed a long, manicured nail at her. “You always land on your feet, don’t you? Your whole department was turned upside down and somehow you ended up as chief. Then you lost that position and yet you still ended up with a job. You always solve your cases. You always get your man. It must be nice to be so perfect.”
Josie said, “You think I’m perfect?”
“You’re famous and loved by everyone. You’ve got a great career—no matter what happens or what you do—a beautiful home and a fantastic boyfriend. You’ve got everything. This house is always full of people. Friends, colleagues, family. People who shouldn’t even like you—like Misty, your late husband’s girlfriend—yet, they’re here for you. No one is here for me. Not one person.”
With each word, Josie felt as if Trinity had snapped a small but critical bone inside of her. Still, she managed to eke out the words, “I’m here for you.”
“Oh sure, you’re here for me now. What about my whole entire life? Where were you? I needed you. Things could have been different if you’d been there, but you weren’t.”
A flare of anger ignited in Josie’s stomach. “You know that wasn’t my fault.”
“But it doesn’t change anything, does it?” Trinity cried. “You were never there. I was alone. Now you’ve got the perfect life, and I’ve got nothing. The one thing I cared about—the only thing I ever cared about—has just been taken away from me. You don’t even get it. My own sister. My twin. But how could you understand?”
Josie pointed back at her sister, mirroring her. “You weren’t alone, Trinity. You had our whole family. You know what I had? A closet. I was in hell. Actual hell. You grew up in a beautiful home with two loving parents and a sweet little brother. You never wanted for anything. You always had money. You always had food in your stomach, a roof over your head.” She pulled back the hair on the right side of her face and pointed to the long, faded scar that ran from her ear to just under the middle of her chin. “No one ever held you down and tried to cut your face off, did they? You don’t want to play who had the worse childhood with me, because I will win.”
Dropping her gaze to the floor, Trinity walked over and pushed Josie out of the way, staggering into the hallway as she pulled the heavy suitcase along behind her.
At the top of the steps, she turned back to Josie. “Did you ever think that maybe we should have just left things alone? Sure, we have DNA in common, but that doesn’t make us family. We weren’t meant to be sisters, not really.”
“Trinity—”
“It’s true. You didn’t even like me before we found out about our DNA. You hated me.”
“There was a time that I disliked you, yes,” Josie admitted. “But that was before I really got to know you—”
“But you don’t know me, not really,” Trinity said. “How long have we been ‘sisters’ now? Three years? What do you really know about me?”
“I—I—” Josie stammered.
“What’s the worst thing that ever happened to me? Besides losing my anchor position, obviously.”
Josie racked her brain. Trinity was right. The things she knew about her were superficial. They’d never had the chance for the kinds of conversations where they’d spilled their guts and divulged every detail