“Good. That’s good.” He looks tired. The past twenty-four hours haven’t been kind to him. First, he loses his childhood friend, then his girlfriend is hauled off in a police cruiser.
He laces his fingers in mine. “What’s going on, Evie? That cop said you’re wanted for questioning as a material witness in a death of some woman in Atlanta. They think you were there when it happened.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was told too. I was as surprised as you were that they wanted to talk to me. I had no idea there was a warrant out for me,” I say, making sure I don’t say anything that I wouldn’t say in front of the cops, since they’re probably listening.
“Does that mean they think something is suspicious about her death? I mean, why else would they need a warrant to talk to you?”
I take a deep breath and blow it out. “I have no idea why they think I know anything.”
He’s nodding while I talk as if he’s weighing the truth of my words.
Before he can say anything else, Rachel opens the door and slips into the room. Her eyes bounce back and forth between us, the judgment there very clear. I’m lying to her friend.
“Evie,” she says with heavy emphasis on my name, “I made the call. It seems to have been successful. We’ll know for sure soon.”
I nod because I knew it would be.
She looks at Ryan. “Can you give us a few minutes? I need to go over some things with Evie.”
He looks between the two of us, I’m sure wondering what we could possibly talk about that he can’t hear.
When I don’t say it’s okay for him to stay, he says, “Of course. I’ll be just outside.”
And then he’s gone.
She waves her hand, gesturing at the room. “Mics and cameras are back off.”
I nod, waiting for whatever she wants to say that no one else can hear.
“Are you going to tell him who you really are?” she asks.
“I hired you to handle the legal aspects of my life, not the personal ones.”
She’s not deterred. “He’s my friend.”
I don’t respond, and we stare at each other a few seconds before she says, “I’ll be back as soon as the release comes through. If it comes through.”
“It will,” I say.
She throws me a look as she leaves the room.
I sit back in the chair and clear my mind so I can start planning.
Lucca Marino—Six Years Ago
I take my time driving from Hilton Head back to Raleigh, North Carolina, with the last twelve hours heavy on my mind. I shouldn’t care what Andrew Marshall thinks about me now, but I do.
I’m off the grid. Matt has called my phone a million times and texted threat after threat, but I am not fazed.
I park in front of AAA Bail Bonds midmorning on Monday, almost forty-eight hours after I left Andrew at that resort in South Carolina, even though I was instructed never to set foot back here.
Matt is not expecting me.
The last time I was here I was terrified. I had just fled the Kingstons’ house after leaving a bleeding Jenny Kingston dying on the floor and a sleeping Miles on the couch.
Today is different.
Today I walk into his office like I own it.
There are a few random people scattered around the waiting room and the same girl at the front desk. She gives me a halfhearted smile when I walk toward her, but her expression changes quickly when I bypass her desk and head down the hall.
“Wait! You need to check in first!” she yells, hot on my heels.
I twist open the door to Matt’s office, and she stops herself just before colliding with my back.
“Where the fuck have you been!” Matt yells the second he sees me, then he looks at the receptionist behind me. “Get the fuck back out front!” She makes a U-turn just as I shut his office door.
I sit in the same chair across from his desk that I did two years ago.
He looks like he hasn’t slept since Friday. Since the last time we spoke. Since the last time he could see the video feed he had set up. Right before I cut it.
“My girl looked for Andrew all fucking weekend! Even went and knocked on his door! And where did you disappear to? You pulled a fucking Houdini on this job!” His face is red and bits of spit are flying from his mouth.
I take my time answering him. “Your plan was stupid. I improved it.”
He grits his teeth and his eyes scan me at a frantic pace. “What does that mean?” he finally asks.
“Get Mr. Smith on the phone,” I say. And now he looks like he wants to murder me.