“I’ve heard they’re good for introducing to boyfriends. Will’s here. Want to meet him?”
I jerked against the restraints, suppressing a curse. “Youbroughthim? What happened to keeping the past separate?”
Jack’s eyes searched the wall above my head. “When Eric and I first made this plan, I wasn’t optimistic. I was worried Eric wouldn’t be able to pull it off, get you guys to talk.”
“He was a pretty effective interrogator, actually.”
“Well, as much as I didn’t want to be let down, I started having this dream that I finally got to come back, like a normal student. Show my boyfriend around campus, cheer on the Crimson, get my old coffee order at the Frothy Monkey. I decided no matter what, I wanted that dream to come true.”
“And here you are.”
He was silent for a moment. “I still can’t believe it was Mint.”
“I can. But I don’t know how to explain.”
Jack eyed me. “Well, you did know him best.”
“No. No one knew Mint, it turns out.”
We were quiet for a while. Then Jack smiled sadly. “Can you imagine what Heather would say if she was here?”
“She’d tell me I look awful in this hospital gown.”
“She’d say it was about damn time we solved her case. And that she’ll kill us if we ever forget her.”
“I need you to know I loved her,” I said, voice thick. “Please tell me you know.”
“I know, Jess. Me too.”
Jack leaned and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Listen. Before I go, I just want to say that I don’t know what’s going on between you and Coop—why he’s dropping everything to stay here and fight to get your charges dropped—”
“He is?”
“And one day, I’m going to ask you about it.” Jack let go of my shoulder and stood. “But today you get a reprieve.”
Making peace with Jack was like taking an antidote to the twin poisons of anxiety and guilt. My need for forgiveness was so intense it was nearly physical. So I made a second vow, right there in that moment. A silent one, only to myself: for as long as I lived, I would never tell anyone else the truth of what I’d really done.
***
A day later, the same cop who’d dragged me burned and bleeding from Blackwell Tower uncuffed me from the hospital bed.
“No charges,” he grunted. “Free to go.”
I rubbed my wrists. “Thank you.”
He squinted. “If it were up to me, you’d be behind bars, and we’d let a jury decide whether you’re innocent. But I guess the court of public opinion won this time.”
He waved me from the bed. I took a staggering step up, clutching the bed for balance.
“Clothes are on the chair. Get changed in the ladies’ down the hall.” The cop eyed me. “Wouldn’t want to greet your adoring public looking like that.”
I frowned as he hustled away, then shrugged and gathered the clothes—purchased by Jack at a Target nearby, bless him—and went to get dressed.
I was free.My hands shook and wouldn’t stop as I dressed and washed my face. With nothing left to hold me, I wound through the hospital corridors and stepped out the front door. I took a deep gulp of crisp autumn air.
Then I heard yelling. Across the parking lot, a group of reporters were watching the entrance to the hospital like hawks. They must’ve been tipped off I was getting released today. I froze as they ran for me, the photographers lifting cameras, each click a bright pop that stung my eyes. The reporters belted questions:
“Jessica! How did it feel to push your college boyfriend to his death? What do you think about the allegations that he murdered Heather Shelby? How do you respond to her parents’ statement that you’re an avenging angel?”
