The thin skin around Quinn’s mouth tightened, as if she felt the slightest bit guilty about bringing up one of the worst things that had ever happened to me.
But that wasn’t unusual in a courtroom, I supposed.
I didn’t give her any indication of my emotions. That, at least, was something I could do. Pretend that I didn’t feel anything at all.
“That is correct,” I answered.
“At the time, did your family believe her murder was related to a serial killer known to the media as the Shadow Stalker?”
Quinn’s lips thinned, and I resisted the urge to shift in the uncomfortable chair.
“That’s what we thought at the time,” I said with a tight nod. “But it was later discovered that she had been murdered by her own boyfriend, who wanted to make itlookas if that crime had been committed by the Shadow Stalker.”
My eyes cut to him—Amos Anderson. Rage lit inside me, but I refused to give him any sign of it. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been the one who killed my little sister; his sins were much worse.
He wasn’t even looking at me. He seemed almost bored, sitting there with his lawyers. His silver-streaked hair was even more white than when I’d seen him last, the only sign that his time in jail was wearing on him.
Quinn ignored the last part of my statement. “You and your family continued that belief up until two years ago, correct?”
“I cannot speak for other members of my family,” I said, pointedly. She was trying to lay the foundation for something that I didn’t want her to. “But I personally believed that, yes.”
She lifted her chin. “But didn’t you just state for the record, Doctor, that ‘it was whatwethought at the time’?”
My stomach dropped. I hadn’t even comprehended that she’d referred to my family in the previous question. Gritting my teeth, I silently cursed those distracting pale-blue eyes. They were stunning, in a strange way. Like the ocean turned to ice.
“Considering the question referred directly to your family—and given your own phrasing—you clearly included your familyin the belief that the Shadow Stalker was responsible for the murder of your sister, up until two years ago, correct?”
I clenched my jaw, annoyed at myself. She was…as frustrating as she was impressive.
“I suppose you’re correct.” I relented.
“Thank you for that clarification.” She nodded curtly. “Are you aware that my client has been referred to as the Shadow Stalker serial killer?”
I tried to let some of my tension go, but couldn’t. “I am aware.”
“Is it in fact true that all media referring to my client calls him by that name?”
“I can’t say.” I shrugged. “I haven’t consumed all media regarding your client, nor am I interested in doing so.”
Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Your family sought grief counseling after the loss of your sister, correct?”
I wasn’t sure how she would know that, but it wasn’t a lie. Reluctantly, I said, “Yes.”
She didn’t pause before releasing the next question. The question that connected everything. “Is it true that, inspired by the loss of your sister, your brother started the business of Hearthstone Security and Investigation?”
She was sharp. Defeat loomed over me, circling like a vulture waiting for the kill. “That statement is true.”
“And you work for this business, correct?”
“I do.”
“You see your brothers daily in the course of running the business?”
“Yes.”
She tilted her head, a ghost of a smile wanting to pull up her lip. Dread slid over my skin like ice. “Doctor, your brothers are married to Emersyn Hawthorn and Lark Meadows, is that correct?”
And there it was. The conflict.
