And then I know. Solomon gave her exactly what she was looking for. Whoever this is, whatever she wants, she knows what consists of my darkest hour, what consists of his.
They haul him out like he’s a cold side of beef, a carcass hanging by a rope—and he might be.
“What did she look like?” I shout after him.
“Fuck, I don’t know.” He writhes in their arms. “She looked like that.” He points to Kennedy with his chin as they haul him away.
“Why is he so upset, Caleb?” Kennedy inhales a measured, even breath, struggling to keep calm. “This person—she knows something doesn’t she?” Kennedy pulls me in hard by the collar. “What exactly is your secret, Caleb?”
I close my eyes and pray this entire day away.
“It’s bad isn’t it?” Her voice dips just below a whisper.
“It’s bad.”
IdropKennedy off at her house and head back down the mountain. Zoey called when we were five minutes from the lake and said another envelope came, same as the first. I didn’t want to worry Kennedy. She has enough to worry about without the added bonus of knowing there could be more fun waiting around the corner.
Solomon’s case has been televised. It’s not hitting the national circuit, he’s no OJ, but everyone in the lower region of the state is privy to the fact the trial is barreling toward its inevitable end. Whoever has this info doesn’t have long to act. That leaves me with the one option I’ve been weighing since the beginning—acting on it myself. Come tomorrow morning, I’m headed to court. It’s time to say my peace.
I plan on turning this rodeo on its ear. My brother never deserved to be behind bars. I don’t think I could have lived with myself if they put him away for something he didn’t do.
The building that houses Westfield and McCarthy comes up, glittering in salmons and golds as the sunset drips off its mirrored lens. I speed in and head up the elevator, my mind traveling a million miles an hour when my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Kennedy.
Zoey just told me you’re headed to the office. Said this might be big. I’ll be there in ten.
Note to self: Fire Zoey.
I’m not anxious to pull Kennedy into any more grief, and if there’s anything waiting for me in one of those envelopes, it’s more grief.
I race to my office, trip the lights and speed to my desk where a slim manila envelope sits patiently for me, pretty as a hand grenade. Mercilessly, I tear the seam and sure enough, there’s a bonus this time, a note on plain paper, written in flowery handwriting.
She’s lying to you. She paid me ten thousand cash to send you the first envelope and visit your brother. She has all the dirt on you that she needs. I’m washing my hands of this.
I flip the envelope upside down, and a CD tumbles out. Whoever this is desperately wants me to believe Kennedy is behind this. My stomach churns with doubt. As much as I want to believe Kennedy has nothing to do with it, something tells me not to underestimate her.
“Take two.” I pop in the CD and turn up the volume all the way. The room ignites with the crackle of static.
“I made the delivery and saw his brother.”It’s a female voice. Unfamiliar, scratchy as hell.“I wrote down all the details for you. There’s enough to nail his coffin shut.”
“All right. I think I’m locked and loaded and ready to go. I can’t wait to bring this bastard down.Caleb McCarthy won’t know what hit him.”
My blood runs cold. My heart feels as if it’s finally stopped beating. That last voice belonged to Kennedy without a doubt.
I replay it again and again, and each time her words are a fresh knife to the heart.
A set of footsteps click over from the hall. Heels. Kennedy. I shut my laptop and slip the note under a stack of files just as she breezes through the door.
“Where is it?” Her eyes dart around the vicinity like balls breaking over a pool table. “Caleb? What happened?” She pants out the words as I rise to meet her.
“Maybe nothing happened.” I walk over to her, our eyes bound like links on a chain. “Maybe it was just a ploy to get you here?” I offer a crooked smile, but not one part of me believes in happiness right now. “Come here.” I wrap my arms around her, and we rock like we’re dancing for a good long while. I never did tell her what I had done for Solomon. I told her I’d let her in on it tonight by the fire, but we’re not by the fire, we’re in it. Hell, we’re not even who we thought we were. If what my ears heard is right, then we may never even get close to where I thought we were headed.
My lips find hers, and I offer a desperate kiss, an angry, fueled with rage and harrowing sorrowful kiss. My tongue moves over hers as she sighs right into my throat.
Her mouth glides over my cheek until she buries it in my ear.
“I’ve been framed very well, haven’t I?”
My chest heaves against hers as we continue our melodic slow waltz, our heads buzzing with a haunting rhythm of these daunting threats. It’s nauseating, treacherous, much like life without Kennedy has been all these years.
