Easton lets out an exasperated sigh as he realizes she’s not going to answer his question. Then he points the roll of duct tape at me and Miles. “Because of these two.”
He walks over to the workbench and puts the duct tape back down. Again I try to twist my hands and wrists. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Marcus trying the same.
“Thisimpostershowed up pretending to be Nate.” Easton reaches for a metal stand that looks familiar, though I can’t place where I’ve seen it before. Or the tools it holds. He takes something long, slender, and metallic out of the holder. “I was going to let this stupid game of his go on for as long as he wanted. To be quite frank, I was looking forward to the moment it all blew up in his face.”
He comes back to us. I try to see what he grabbed from the workbench, but he’s holding it in a way that it’s hidden from my view.
“I figured,” he continues, “the longer it goes on, the more it’s goingto hurt. After you pay for his college, his wedding—and what if he had fucking kids? Kids who call you Nanny and Pop-Pop. Then one Thanksgiving, the FBI raids the family dinner.” He smiles with morbid delight. “The possibilities were incredible.”
He comes to a stop in front of me. Then he crouches down so he can look up into my eyes.
“But you had to poke around to try and expose me, didn’t you.”
“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. Easton is toying with us, and I don’t want him to know how terrified I really am. But I’m toying with him back, because the longer he talks, the better the chances of Marcus or me getting out of our restraints and stopping him.
Easton stands and looks at his parents. I try again to pull at the tape, but my arms won’t budge. I twist my wrists and hands desperately, trying to create some kind of weak spot in the bonds. Sweat slides down the side of my face to my neck.
“I knew, obviously,” Easton says. “Remember when you called me, Mom? You said I had to leave school early because they finally found Nate? And what did I say?”
Valencia doesn’t answer. Easton flicks his wrist and metal flashes in the light from the boathouse rafters. And I finally recognize what he’s holding, and where he grabbed it from. It’s from the bar cart in the living room. He puts the thin, steel ice pick to her neck.
“What did I tell you, Mom? When you called and said they found Nate, what did I tell you?”
Valencia swallows, then takes a deep breath. “You said Nate was dead.”
“I did. Now how do you think I knew that?”
Again, she doesn’t answer. Even with an ice pick pressed against the pulsing artery of her throat, she won’t say the truth aloud.
“Nothing?” Easton asks. “No guesses?” He turns to Marcus. “What about you, Pops? Any guesses how I’d know my baby brother was long dead?”
Sweat beads at Marcus’s forehead, and he doesn’t answer. I twist harder in the chair, but there are too many layers of duct tape wrapped around my wrists. It’s impossible to get any leverage.
Easton turns back to me and I freeze. “Fine. I did make you go first, so while we’re on the subject of telling the truth.” He sighs and does his best to look sincere. “Mommy. I killed Nate.”
Valencia’s head falls forward again and she shakes with more silent sobs.
“I killed him out there.” He points the ice pick in the direction of the island in the bay. “He’s been there the whole time. So close.”
Valencia still doesn’t look up at her son.
Sweat slides down the underside of my arm and my wrist starts to move. My heart leaps in my chest, and while Easton’s distracted, I try to twist more. The sweat is making the tape tacky against my skin. If he keeps doing this emotional torture thing, I might be able to get out. But I need more of a plan than that.
I look around me. Trying to find a weapon. Something to use against him.
The gun on the workbench. Marcus’s gun.
No. It’s not Marcus’s because his has that trigger lock that neither Easton nor I know the combination to. So it must be Agent Grant’s.But I need to get my armsandboth my legs untied to reach it. There’s no way I’ll be able to do that without Easton noticing.
But I have to try.
“Did you hear me, Mom? You finally have your answer! After all this time, he’s been right out there.”
She still doesn’t look up.
Easton turns to Marcus. “Right, Dad?”
I stop moving and look up at Marcus. His eyes are red and wide.
