Could I live with that?
“I don’t know. I mean . . . could you?” My voice sounds hoarse and shredded, like I gargled a mouthful of broken glass on the way up here.
“I’d be surprised if your brother hasn’t killed someone. Maybe even be a little disappointed,” Holly deadpans.
“Oh my God.” A wave of giggles escapes me. It’s like someone cued the comic relief.
Holly waits until I’m holding my gut and using the tissues to wipe away the tears of laughter.
“Seriously, though, you have to be able to answer that question for yourself. If by some chance what that guy said is true, you need to walk into that conversation with Cav knowing what you can and can’t live with. You love him.”
The last part is a statement rather than a question, but I reply anyway.
“Yes.”
“Do you think he’s capable of something like this?”
That one I don’t have an answer to. “I don’t know.”
“In your heart of hearts, you have to have a sense of him.”
I lace my fingers together and squeeze. “He’s a good man. I don’t care what Creighton says about him. I know that to my soul.”
“Then go with your gut on this. Do you think you’d fall in love with a cold-blooded killer?”
The weight of her question presses me back into the cushions of the leather sectional. Trusting my gut has had varying amounts of success. Okay, that’s a lie, mostly crap results. But with Cav, I don’t have anything else I can trust . . . except my heart.
“I couldn’t. Could I?”
Holly doesn’t answer me. At least, not right away. “I guess he’s the only one who can answer that question for you.”
I reach out and clamp a hand over her knee. A little too hard, so we both jump.
“Jesus, Greer. What the heck?”
“Sorry, but I need you to promise that you’re not going to tell Creighton any of this. Not that I was here. Not about Cav. Or Cardelli. Nothing. I don’t want to come between you, but you can’t say anything. Swear to me that you won’t. Because if this is all a load of jailhouse bullshit, Creighton can’t ever know I considered it seriously. I need a sister-in-law oath in blood.”
Holly draws in a breath and releases it. “If it’s true, he’s going to find out. He always finds out.”
“I know.” I meet her gaze, more serious than I’ve ever seen it. “But it can’t be true. So he’s never going to find out, right?”
I get a nod from her. “But I’m not cuttin’ myself and smearing our bloody hands together. It’s not safe for the baby.”
We both stand, and I wrap my arms around her neck. “Thank you for listening.”
“What are sisters for?”
“Hey, I wondered what happened to you. Hungry? Or did you grab something while you were out?”
I’m holding the mustard bottle in midair when Greer walks through the door, a big black purse clutched to her side. She looks up at my words, but it’s like she doesn’t recognize me or comprehend my question. It’s the long blank stare that clues me in to the fact that something is off.
“Greer? You okay?”
She shakes her head, as if snapping out of the trance she seems to be in. “Sorry, what’d you say?”
I set the mustard bottle down on the counter and come around the island. Greer clutches the purse tighter to her side as I get closer. A file folder sticks out the top. The one from yesterday.
I swallow, knowing it’s time. “You get your work stuff sorted out?”
Greer bites her bottom lip so hard, it goes white. She waits too long before releasing it and answering. “I don’t know.”
A feeling of dread pools in my stomach.
“Why did you tell me he was dangerous?” Her voice sounds pained, as if the words are torn from her throat. “How did you even know who he was?”
It’s now or never. “I need to tell you something.”
Greer squeezes her eyes shut like she can’t bear to look at me. “I’ve heard a lot of things today already.”
The dread multiplies. She can’t know.
“Where were you, Greer?” The words come out rough.
Her eyelids blink open, and the dark brown eyes of the girl I’ve fallen in love with over and over are shiny with unshed tears. “Rikers. Trying to get Stephen Cardelli to sign a letter stating he no longer wanted me as his lawyer so I could withdraw from the case.”
“What did he tell you?” I’ve never wanted an answer to a question less.
“Something that I don’t think could possibly be true.” A tear spills onto her cheek. “Tell me it’s not true, Cav.” Her face twists into the look I’ve feared. The one I knew would cut me off at the knees. Confusion, revulsion, brokenhearted pain. They’re all there.
“It’s not what you’re thinking, Greer. I swear to you, it’s not what you’re thinking.” No, I add to myself, because it’s worse.
“Did you kill a man named Donnigan and frame Cardelli for the murder?” Her voice shakes as she asks the question point-blank.