Not yet, at least.
I couldn’t—not until I had my ring on Della’s finger and her last name forever stitched to mine. And that was how a wet day in spring brought at least some answers to my prayers, along with a threat to my time-restrained freedom.
Martin Murray knocked off slushy snow from his boots and strode into the kitchen with a red nose from icy breezes. John had invited him onto his property with the taut wariness of a soldier being drafted for battle.
Ever since I’d been told what lived inside me, John had been overly protective of me.
Della sometimes raised an eyebrow at the way he layered my plate with vegetables and filled my palm with vitamins. He’d overstepped a few times, but I didn’t have the heart to tell the old man to back off.
He’d done so much for me.
The lawyer he’d arranged—in case I was still prosecuted for Della’s kidnapping—had now been given other duties, including drawing up my Will and Testament—leaving everything I had to Della, even though I had nothing of value—and arranging my funeral so it wasn’t yet another burden when I was gone.
Rain turned to snowflakes as we all sat at the well-used dining table in a fire-warmed house and prepared to find out what happened with the Mclary case.
Nerves danced down my spine. Worry that I might be thrown in jail filled my broken lungs, granting a rattling cough. What if the investigation had finished, and I’d still been found at fault?
Della sensed my tension, running a gentle hand over my lower back.
Never again would I take her touch for granted.
Never again would I be annoyed at her or be short-tempered or argue.
It was a struggle not to count each time she touched me, keeping tally of how many I could earn before I wasn’t there to earn more.
Shaking my head, I banished those thoughts as Martin cupped his hands around a cup of steaming coffee and looked at John as he lowered his big bulk into the chair at the head of the table.
“Thank you for seeing me.” Martin cleared his throat, his eyes catching mine, then Della’s.
Long ago, Della and I had sat here and been interrogated in a different way. I’d been coughing with pneumonia, and a five-year-old Della had tried to fight my battles. That had ended in a happy conclusion.
Would this?
“Why are you here?” I asked, not impolitely but with a reminder that the sooner this was over with, the better.
“I have news.” Martin reached to the briefcase by his chair leg and pulled out a file. “Here.” Skidding it across to us, he waited until I’d opened it and pulled out a page. It looked like gibberish full of police terminology, dates, reference numbers, and findings.
“What is it?” I looked up, stifling a cough.
“It’s a summary of the report finalising the case of Mclary versus Mclary.”
“And am I still in trouble?”
The thought of dying in prison?
Of living my last ticking time without Della?
Fuck, it was more than I could bear.
Della stiffened beside me, ready to leap up and strangle the detective, just like I was ready to commit murder to ensure I stayed out of jail.
Screw treatment and houses and towns, I’d take her back to the forest and live for however long I could, happy and content, just her and me.
“You can’t blame him,” Della snapped. “He didn’t do anything—”
“Ribbon.” I placed a rough hand over her soft one, keeping her steady. “Quiet.”
She flashed me a look, her gaze lingering on my mouth.
I had an insane urge to kiss her, to kiss her as much as I possibly could before…I couldn’t.
Martin shook his head. “No. We’ve ruled Miss Mclary was placed in that backpack by her mother, and you were unaware. Under that proviso, we aren’t calling it a kidnapping.”
“What are you calling it?” I asked around a slight cough.
Della narrowed her eyes, her fingers flinching under mine.
“A rescue.” He smiled gently. “A miracle that two kids survived against all odds.”
“Wow.” John cleared his throat, tears glittering in his big eyes. Ever since losing Patricia, and now my secret malady, he wore his emotions on his sleeve—a gruff, grizzly bear turned into a teddy.
He was against me not telling Della. He hated that I’d forbid him from informing anyone.
But that was my choice, and he had to honour it.
Otherwise, well—I’d promised he’d never see us again if he did.
It was my secret to tell…when I was ready.
John flicked me a glance before asking the officer, “So…what does that mean?”
Martin grinned. “It means he’s free.”
My shoulders sagged as if someone cut my strings. Della slouched too, a massive sigh exploding from her lips and making the pages dance.
“Now that there’s a surviving heir to the Mclary estate, I advise you to get in touch with a lawyer to see what value you’ll receive once the bank has claimed the outstanding debt. You’ll have to undergo a DNA test to confirm you are their descendent, but that’s just a formality.”
I stiffened, recalling what poison existed on that farm and that I hadn’t been the only one living there. “Should she undergo any other tests? To make sure she’s healthy?”
John smothered a heavy sigh laced with sadness. “Shit, you don’t think she has—”
“Quiet,” I hissed.
“What’s he talking about?” Della asked. “Ren?”
“Nothing.” I clutched her hand in mine. “That house wasn’t exactly sanitary. It might be best if you have some tests to ensure you’re healthy and nothing infected you when you were a baby.”
Things like asbestos…a killer that took ten to forty years to make itself known.
She could’ve been infected by me and second-hand contamination. Or by her father or mother or crawling around in silicate minerals and fibrous crystals in the dirt.
I’d researched.
I’d studied.
I knew my enemy intimately.
Della had taught me the power of education, and I knew enough to understand what risks she faced and what conclusions I’d have in my future.
How I would die.
How it would feel.
How I would look to Della as I slowly traded life for death.
That was the hardest part.
Knowing how much it would hurt her…seeing me that way.
Martin raised an eyebrow. “Um, I can ask. I know a few officers found asbestos onsite, so it might not be a bad thing to rule out.”
I froze.
I hadn’t meant for him to blare the damn word.
John tensed in his chair as we both looked at Della.
Pleading that in this, she wouldn’t be too smart.
That in this awful, awful matter, she’d not see the truth.
Martin scribbled something down. “Heaven forbid anything comes back positive, but there are open litigations and settlements for anyone who may have been exposed.”
Please…don’t let her know.
Della studied the table, her mind racing before she bit her lip and asked something that made my heart gallop for different things. “What about the other kids? Are you tracking them down? Have you found any of them who were sold to that Kyle Harold my mother’s letter mentioned?”
Martin took a sip of his coffee. “We’ve sent the names to a larger police force and, as far as I’m aware, they’re in the process of going through missing persons and wanted offenders. I’ll ask for an update and get back to you.”
“Okay.” Della nodded. “Hopefully, a few can be found before it’s too late.”
Too late.
Too late.
The words echoed in my skull.
Despite my anger at my body’s desire to kill me, I couldn’t be greedy.
I’d had so much longer than those kids.
I was the lucky one.
Once again, the guilt that I never went back settled heavily.
“We’re also looking for your mother, Ren.”
“Don’t.” I balled my hands. “As far as I’m concerned, she’s dead. I never want to hear about her again, got it?”