wasn’t interro—” Reed cuts off with a twist of his mouth. “I didn’t bring them in. They came by themselves.” He waves toward me. “She has something to discuss.”
“I’m sure she does, but no one is discussing anything without me around,” Dench snaps. “Now please…if you’d be so kind…”
He sweeps his arm toward the door and holds it there.
Reed stands with ill grace, throwing both Josiah and me a scathing look before storming out of the room.
Dench takes his seat, slapping a briefcase onto the table so hard that the impact dislodges my hands.
“Now, what’s this about?” he asks, fixing pale, watery eyes on me.
My jaw locks.
Before, I thought I’d be speaking to a policeman. Someone with a badge. But now?
I shift in my seat. A moment later, Josiah slides his chair closer to mine. He puts a hand on my knee and gives me a squeeze.
I wilt from the wave of hot shame that consumes me.
I try to push off his hand, but he seems to misunderstand the gesture and, the next thing I know, he’s got me in his grip.
“It’s okay,” he says. I don’t dare look at him because I’m sure he’s smiling. “You can trust Uncle Quinten. He’s our family lawyer.”
Mr. Dench is Wayne’s lawyer? I guess Josiah’s never heard the way his father speaks to Uncle Quinten, because if he had, then he’d realize Wayne has this man wrapped around his finger.
And this is the guy I’m supposed to speak to?
“It’s…uh…it’s kinda private,” I murmur. “I’d rather just speak to—”
“Candy, just tell him what happened,” Josiah says.
My cheeks are on fire. “I really don’t want—”
“You trust me, don’t you?” Josiah ducks his head to try and catch my eye, but I keep my gaze fixed on my hands.
I give him a slow nod.
“So then tell him.”
A whine floods my ears.
The first thing Uncle Quinten will do is go to Wayne. Then they’ll start conspiring between them. I heard them on the phone—I know this guy’s here to protect Mr. Bale and no one else. It’s not like Josiah pays him. If Wayne were to go to prison, this paycheck would dry up faster than a lake during a drought.
“…just tell him the stuff you told me. About the pills, and the—”
I rush to my feet, throwing Josiah a glare. “I made it up, okay?”
I do trust Josiah, but I don’t trust this man with his watery eyes and prissy manner.
I guess I could have said something else, maybe delayed this and gotten hold of the detective some other way…but I just want out of this tiny room with its clinical air. Out and away from Uncle Quinten’s now too-intense stare.
“Candy—?” Josiah’s up a second later. He grabs my wrist, but I shake him off.
Quinten’s eyes narrow, and he starts scanning us both as if he’s trying to figure out some puzzle.
He knows we’ve been intimate. In a moment, he might even figure out just how far it’s gone. It’s like he can read my body without having to take into account anything I’m saying.
“Let go!” I pull out of Josiah’s grip and storm to the door.
The handle opens before I can turn it. Luckily, the door opens out, or it would have come crashing into my face. Instead, I’m dragged into the hall when the door swings out.
Wayne catches me before I face-plant the hallway floor. Shock flashes over his face a second before something much darker creeps into his eyes.
Anger.
He steers me back inside the room, his fingers digging into my bicep, and uses that grip to shove me into the closest chair. “What the hell’s going on?” he asks, voice dangerously low.
Quinten scrambles up, hand extended. “Good to see you, Wayne.”
Wayne ignores him, instead focusing entirely on Josiah, hand still on my shoulder. He’s keeping me down, making sure I don’t bolt out the door.
I’m in a goddamn police station, but I’m still terrified. Not so much for myself, but for Josiah.
There’s no denying the hatred boiling in Wayne Bale’s eyes when he looks at his son.
Now I know those memories weren’t concocted by my own twisted mind.
Mr. Bale is capable of drugging and molesting me…so how difficult could it be for him to take it one step further and kill someone?
Emma.
Mom.
Josiah.
My heart’s in my throat, but it doesn’t move no matter how hard I swallow.
Where’s the detective? If he walked in on this scene, he’d know who was guilty in an instant. What will happen if I yell for help?
“I was just