“We need to find them both.”
“Ma’am?” Todd called as he walked in the back door. “Deputies are still working on the barn. They bagged the chalk dust. No sign of a cat.” He paused. “But Juarez at the station called. Farah’s phone records just came in. At 9:45, Rhys Blake called her, and they spoke for fifty-five seconds.”
“He called her?” Bree asked.
“Yes,” Todd said.
“He said he didn’t want anything to do with her,” Matt said. “Why would he call her?”
“I can’t think of any innocent reason,” Bree said to Matt, then turned back to Todd. “Can we track her location via her phone?”
“On it,” Todd said.
“It’s Rhys.” Bree knew it in every cell in her body.
“I agree,” Matt said. “The evidence can be interpreted in two ways. Sometimes, you have to rely on your gut.”
Bree looked back at the photos of Farah and Rhys and wondered if both of them were still alive.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I hear the knock on my back door. An electric thrill rushes over my skin. I’ve been waiting for her. I almost can’t believe she came, but then, I played my part well.
Farah. Beautiful Farah. You think you’re so smart.
But I’m smarter.
I open the door, putting an apologetic mask on my face. “Hey, thanks for coming.”
She smiles but not with her normal exuberance. Instead, her expression is pained, the smile fake, reminding me that she isn’t here for a date.
Reminding me why I summoned her.
But if she can act, so can I.
I focus on looking sincere. Stepping back, I gesture for her to come in. She enters my kitchen. She’s been here many times before, but tonight, she doesn’t toss her keys on the counter or hang her jacket on the back of a chair. She doesn’t even remove the jacket. She doesn’t intend to be here long. That’s obvious.
She keeps her keys in her hand, toying with them. “I’m glad you called.” But she looks anything but glad to be here.
“Can I make you some tea?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I can’t stay.”
“OK.” I shove my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. The silence stretches out into awkwardness reminiscent of middle school.
She jingles the keys. She clearly can’t wait to leave.
“I wanted to apologize,” I begin. “I didn’t mean to mess up your alibi. That sheriff . . . She kept firing questions at me. She threatened me . . .” I close my eyes and exhale through my nose, as if the experience were humiliating. “I got confused, then there was no going back.”
In reality, the cops are stupid. I have laid them a trail, and they are following it like hounds on the dragged scent in a fake fox hunt. They will go where I have sent them. They will believe whatever I wish them to believe.
Her eyes soften, just a little. “The sheriff is a bitch.” She swallows. “But I shouldn’t have asked you to lie. The sheriff kept at me too. She made me feel like I needed an alibi. I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t do anything wrong, but she sure made me feel like I should worry. I panicked.”
Because I made Sheriff Taggert suspect you.
My face remains passive, but inside I’m gloating. I want to tell her everything. I put the chalk on the bodies. I left the receipt at Julius’s house. I nurtured her anger with both men and encouraged her to confront them.
She looks away for a minute, her face tight. When she turns back to me, there’s a new look in her eyes. Something final, and I realize she’s going to say goodbye. My apology wasn’t good enough.
I’m not good enough.
Love and hate war inside me. There are parts of her I can’t get enough of. That fit, toned body. Her strong features. The long, thick hair I want to bury my face in. I want to inhale her, to love and cherish her, to have and to hold. I want the whole package.
But she will not have me.
And I can’t bear for anyone else to have her.
It’s vicious and destructive and selfish. But then, so am I. This is where the hate takes over. I hate the power she has over me, the way that I cannot get her out of my system.
“Anyway, this whole thing has made me rethink our relationship.” Her gaze finds and grips mine. I see something akin to empathy in her eyes. “What I’ve been doing isn’t fair to you. I know how you feel about me.”
Oh, do you? You think you know everything.
She probably expects me to disengage, to be embarrassed and distance myself from the conversation, but I don’t break eye contact. I hold it, my gaze steady. She seems disconcerted by my unexpected reaction.
She looks away. “I, um, wish I felt the same way. I really do. I enjoy your company. You’re a great friend. We have a lot of fun together. I hate for it to end. But I can’t force a romantic connection to happen. I can’t make myself be attracted to you, and you can’t stop feeling the way you do. For me, the chemistry is either there or it isn’t.”
But she’s right about one thing: I can’t stop wanting her. I have no control over my emotions, and my lack of self-control fuels my rage. I will not be at any bitch’s mercy. No woman is worth sacrificing my self-respect.
I hate her just as much as I love her.
Of course, I say none of this. I shuffle my feet, as if I’m uncomfortable instead of angry. “I get it. I appreciate you being up front with me.”
She nods, and the single, abrupt movement feels final. “Take care of yourself, OK? You’re a great guy. Some woman is going to be really lucky to have you.”
You condescending bitch.
I swallow my response. Soon—very soon—she’ll learn an important lesson about stringing men along. For now, I mirror the curt, final nod she gave me. She turns to leave. As she reaches for the door, I pull the stun gun from my pocket and thrust it at her torso, aiming for the largest target for the initial strike. Once she’s weakened, I can zap her wherever I choose. But she sees my motion out of the corner of her eye. She twists her shoulders, and I miss.
Surprise stops me for two seconds. I can’t believe it. I never miss. My first two kills went off without a hitch. But then, Farah is fitter and quicker than either Spencer or Julius. They were gym-fit. Farah climbs walls and hangs off cliffs.
Her eyes go wild, and I can see her brain connecting all the important dots. I shake off my shock, and I see her do the same. She needs to go down. She cannot escape, not after I’ve given myself away. Tonight’s plan is a must win. There is no plan B. If she gets away, she’ll go right to the sheriff. I’ll be done.
Can’t have that.
She takes a defensive stance, hands in front of her body, one foot slightly ahead of the other. Her balance shifts to the balls of her feet.
I lunge, the stun gun extended. She pivots sideways, again evading me. She doesn’t bother yelling, questioning, or asking for explanations because she is also smarter than either Spencer or Julius. Words are a waste of breath at this point. She knows exactly what is happening. She reads my intention and doesn’t question her deduction.
Farah is a survivor.
She eases back a step, wary as a deer facing a wolf. We circle like that for a few seconds, sizing each other up, each of us seeing the other in a new way. There’s respect in her eyes. Finally. This pleases me. I shift my grip on the stun gun. My hand is sweating. I should have foreseen her resilience. I should have known she would fight back. A person who is willing to scale the face of a cliff won’t give up easily.