Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,66

what I will become.”

“Victoria . . .”

“I saw the blood on his fingers. I saw the knife. I knew what he’d done. I went to the police. I ran from my house, just in my gown, and I went to the cops. They didn’t believe me. My mother was missing for years before anyone would believe me.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“And all that time, I was with him. He chided me for telling stories. But he said he forgave me. After all, how could he not? I was . . . just like him.”

“He was wrong, okay? Fucking wrong. The guy was a killer. You aren’t. You are not like him—­”

“I am.”

He barely caught those murmured words.

“You don’t understand,” Victoria continued softly. “Because you . . . you are good, Wade. You go after the criminals. That’s always been what you did. You never became one.”

His heart thudded dully in his chest. “I’m not a cop anymore.”

“My father was found innocent. A jury listened to my story, and they didn’t believe me. Or maybe . . . maybe it was like the D.A. told me. There just wasn’t enough evidence. She’d been in the ground for so long, there was too much decomposition. They couldn’t find a strong enough tie to link my father to the murder. And me seeing blood when I was thirteen . . . it could have just come from him accidentally cutting himself. That was what he said, you see. That he’d sliced himself on a knife while he was cutting apples for me. For me.” Her laughter was bitter and mocking. “But the bloody knife was in his bedroom. I saw it there. And I even think my mother was still there . . . when I saw that knife. I think he hadn’t moved her yet, but the cops wouldn’t listen. No one would listen to me. And they didn’t search the house that day.”

“And that’s why you speak for the dead.” Everything clicked into place for him. “Why you went on to focus in forensic anthropology—­you want to work on the bodies that have been lost for so long, don’t you? Because you want to find a way to help them.”

She was silent.

“Viki?”

“I’m more like him than you realize. Proving his guilt became my obsession. Punishing him was an obsession.”

“He’s dead, too, baby. He can’t hurt anyone any longer.”

The sheets rustled as she pulled away from his arms. “You’re right, of course. He can’t.” Her voice was so cold. She’d moved away from him, lying down once again. “We should both get some sleep. I—­I’m sorry for waking you. I won’t do it again.”

What. The. Hell? “Wake me up a thousand times, I don’t care.” He reached for her in the dark, curled his fingers around her shoulder. He hated that she’d turned from him. “And don’t pull away, okay? Because I want you. Your secrets, your past? That shit doesn’t matter. You matter.”

“He couldn’t let her go,” Victoria whispered. “He killed her because he wasn’t going to let her live without him.”

“That isn’t you.” Why couldn’t she see that?

“Oh, Wade . . .” Now sadness slipped into her voice. “If only that were true.”

“It is true.” He knew it with certainty. So why didn’t she?

He pulled her close. Kept her right against his heart. Victoria didn’t speak again, and after a while he felt her breath ease into the deeper pattern of sleep. Her nightmares didn’t come back.

And he didn’t let her go.

“I DIDN’T KIDNAP anyone!” Matthew Walker yelled. He was in an interrogation room, a freaking interrogation room, at the police station. Cops had arrived at his door and they pulled him out—­right in front of his neighbors! He’d been escorted to the station and left in this damn interrogation room for far too long, with only the briefest of explanations.

He stared at his reflection. Matthew knew he was looking into a one-­way mirror, and cops were probably on the other side of that glass. Cops who thought he was some kind of killer.

“This is a mistake,” he said, giving a firm nod. “I’m a professor at Worthington! I am a respected member of the community. I. Am. Not. A. Killer!” He was sweating, though, because one of the cops had told him that Melissa Hastings was dead.

The door opened behind him. In the mirror, he saw the dark-­haired detective who’d been in before—­Dace Black—­heading his way. Matthew whirled to confront him. “If I’m not being let go, right the hell away,