“I don’t need your protection, Andrew.” Lucy saw the darkness cross Sean’s face. She took his hand. “What do you want from me? Do you want me to talk to my family? Convince them to cooperate? Talk to this reporter?”
“Actually, I want you to listen to what Revere has to say. You’re an FBI agent. You have the training and experience to weed through the bullshit and get to the meat. I know you’ve had a rocky start to your career—but I have friends in high places, Lucy. You have closed some extremely difficult cases.”
True, though she hadn’t been the only agent involved in those complex cases.
Andrew continued. “In hindsight, I don’t think anyone understood the pain you went through when Justin died. He was as close as a brother to you, we all knew that, but after his death everyone seemed to forget that you were grieving. They shielded you from the investigation, from the truth of what happened that night because you were only seven years old. You’re probably the only Kincaid who doesn’t have a preconceived notion as to what happened. I think you’re the only one who can look at the evidence with an unbiased eye. Who doesn’t blame me.”
“No one blames you, Andrew.”
He laughed, but it was filled with anguish and sorrow. “I wish that were true. Connor said it when the truth came out—when your family found out I was having an affair. He said if I’d been there, at home that night and not in bed with my mistress, Justin would be alive. A bit more crudely, but that was his message. There’s not been a day that has passed that I haven’t thought about that, whether it was true. If I am ultimately, even indirectly, to blame.” He took a deep breath. “Nell and I have made peace with each other. I talk to her, once a year, on Justin’s birthday. We made a lot of mistakes, but Justin wasn’t one of them. She’s content now. She has Tom, he’s been good for her, and while I don’t know if she’s happy, I know she’s at peace. I don’t want to hurt her. I will keep her out of this as best I can, but in the end, she may have information that she doesn’t know she has. I know that no one, not even Dillon, will discuss it with her. Except you. I think you would do it.”
What did that make Lucy? Cruel? Is that what Andrew thought of her, because she had a reputation for being cold?
“Andrew—”
“I don’t know that it’ll come to that,” he said, interrupting her. “I’d just like you to hear what this woman has to say. If you tell me there’s nothing, that going down this path will result in no answers and only heartache for your family, I’ll do everything in my power to stop her. But if you see what I see, that we might finally get answers as to why Justin died, that we might find out who killed him … I don’t have anyone else, Lucy.”
“A moment, Andrew,” Sean said. He put the phone on mute. “It’s your choice, Lucy. Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”
The grief Lucy had experienced when Justin was killed nearly twenty years ago had been young and immature, but no less painful. She didn’t know what had happened to him, not right away. She didn’t know why her mother cried all the time, why her sister Nelia wouldn’t talk to her, why there were policemen in her house, why Carina needed a lawyer, why no one would let Andrew come over for dinner anymore. All she knew was that Justin, her best friend since birth, was gone. One day he was there, playing catch with her in the backyard, swimming with her at the community pool, teasing her when she lisped after her two front teeth fell out. Her mother watched Justin during the week because Nelia and Andrew both worked so Lucy spent more waking hours with Justin than any other person her age. They’d even been in the same first-grade class together. And that summer was supposed to be the most fun ever. They were going to go to a sleepover camp for the first time for two whole weeks. It was all Justin could talk about, he was so excited.
But that never happened because he was killed two weeks before they were supposed to leave.
He was gone. One day there, the next not. She’d been gutted, but she didn’t talk to anyone about it because everyone was so sad and talking about Justin seemed to make them sadder.
Maybe that was why she’d always kept her emotions deep inside. Partly because of her own kidnapping and rape when she was eighteen … but it had started a long time before then. It had started when she grieved for her best friend and couldn’t talk to anyone about it.
While she understood death, had faced evil, and knew that bad people did horrific things to innocent people, she didn’t always know why.
Maybe finding out who killed Justin wasn’t as important as finding out why he was killed.
And if there were other victims of the same killer, did that mean the killer was still out there? After nearly twenty years? Would he kill again? Destroy another family?
“I have to,” Lucy whispered to Sean.
He kissed her hand. “I know.”
She would have smiled if she wasn’t so melancholy. “I love you.”
He winked. “I know.”
Now she did smile, because if she didn’t, she might cry. And tears weren’t productive.
She unmuted the phone. “When is this reporter coming?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. I don’t have the exact time.”
“Text me the details. I’ll be there.”
Chapter Seven
Danielle Sharpe didn’t like going out with people from work, but it was expected. For every time she declined an invitation, she had to accept one—otherwise people would look at her too closely. She just wanted to do her job and go home, drink a bottle of wine, and try to sleep.
Try being the operative word. Sleep was a rarity for her. When she felt herself being dragged under from exhaustion, she would take a sleeping pill or three. Her body needed the rest, even if her mind couldn’t.
There had been a time … more than once … when she considered taking the entire bottle of prescription sleeping pills with a large glass of wine and recline in her bathtub. Just fall asleep. Slip under. Disappear forever.
But would death end her nightmare? Or would Earth’s cruel God force her to relieve the worst day of her life? Over and over and over …
Nina Fieldstone poked her head into the bathroom. “Danielle, are you coming?”
“Just touching up my makeup. Two minutes?”
Nina smiled. She was a pretty woman, smart, and one of the few in the office with whom Danielle felt a rapport. Nina was technically her supervisor but had never made Danielle feel stupid or unvalued. Because Nina had been the one to ask her to join the group for their “Wine Wednesday,” Danielle had agreed.
“All right, but remember, happy hour is over at seven, so don’t be long.”
Danielle turned to the mirror and pretended to put on more mascara. She didn’t wear a lot of makeup, but too many sleepless nights required it. She pulled out a tube of concealer and hid the dark circles. Added a little color. Better.