“No, Thomas stitched me up.”
My jaw drops. “Thomas?”
“He’s not all bad. There are some very good things about him.”
“Can you tell me how you got mixed up with this?”
“No.”
I inch toward him and I feel Teeny try to pull me back. “How about I tell him I know who you are. Will he like that?”
Tyler’s eyes get big and he takes a deep breath. I’ve made him mad. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with or what he’s risking by saving you like this.”
I’m momentarily speechless. What he’s risking…this is the last thing I thought he would say. “What are you talking about? He’s a killer! And a kidnapper! And you’re helping him.”
Tyler looks straight at me. “I will not talk about him with you.”
“Okay, did you know who I really was when we were in Florida?”
A short pause, then he answers, “Yes.”
That answer is like a knife to the gut.
“Were you supposed to hang out with me? Was it like your job?”
Tyler’s head tilts to the side and I can tell he doesn’t want to answer me.
I can’t stop now that I’ve started. “So everything between us was fake. You acted like you cared about me, but you were just doing a job. For a killer.”
His expression hardens. “It wasn’t like that. I was glad we met. I was glad we were together. It meant something to me. Obviously more than it did to you.”
I feel myself getting angry but I hold it in. I need answers, and kicking him in the balls won’t get them for me.
“Were you supposed to be nice to me, too?” Teeny asks.
The lines from Tyler’s forehead loosen and he actually smiles at Teeny. “I wanted to be nice to you. You’re a cool kid.”
Teeny rolls her eyes and mutters “Whatever” under her breath.
“Did you know I’d be leaving Naples that night of the party?” I ask.
“Yes. That was part of the plan.”
I blink a few times. Plan? Whose plan…Thomas’s? “Finish. Tell me what plan.”
“No.”
I clench my jaw and try very hard to keep my cool.
“If you don’t tell me, not only will I tell Thomas I know who you are, but that you told me everything.”
Tyler throws the mask on the floor, frustrated. “Thomas didn’t believe you lost your memory that night Price and his son were killed. And Sanchez told him you said you knew where the ledgers were. He thought the memory thing was just a hoax. He needed the ledgers and you were the only person who knew where they were. He thought if you met someone—someone you cared about—that you’d confide in them.”
Just a mention of that night starts to throw me into a panic, but I push it back. I can’t fall apart right now.
“And you were supposed to be that person?” My voice is controlled. I’m hanging on to my anger by a very thin string right now.
He ignores my question. “But you weren’t talking.”
