Rory runs his knuckles down the side of my face. “Because you matter. Because you don’t deserve a life in prison. Because we’re the last people who would judge you for something like this.”
How can they accept the fact that I murder people to decompress? No one can bethatunderstanding…can they?
I scoff. “You do realize this isn’t a hobby like knitting or swimming, right?”
“Yes, we’re all well aware that killing pedophiles is different from knitting and swimming,” Rory returns with the same amount of sass and sarcasm I just dished out.
Despite my resistance, my lips curve the smallest amount. It’s impossible to resist Rory.
Rory continues, “I think you deserve a medal.”
His humor pulls a small laugh from my throat.
“Honestly, we’ve seen worse,” Luke adds.
What does that mean?
Before I can ask, Hunter reaches behind him with one hand, then holds up the bag containing the gold necklace and earrings. “We really need you to tell us about these.”
Seeing them up close, I marvel at how something so small holds so much meaning. They’re not just gold daisies. They’re reminders of the worst parts about being raised by John.
Sitting up, I sigh and answer with the minimum. “The necklace was on my doorstep about a week and a half ago, and a few days later, the earrings showed up.”
Hunter sits up next to me. “Did you tell anyone about them?”
My eyes are glued to my lap. “No.”
“Why not?” Luke questions.
My head snaps up to look at him with raised brows. “Because if I have the police snooping around, then I’m more likely to end up in prison.”
Rory snaps his fingers. “That’s a valid point.”
“Who is ‘Your Shepherd’?” Hunter continues the interrogation.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head.
“Are you sure?” Hunter pushes.
Groaning in frustration, I run a hand through my hair. “I really don’t know. I thought it might be my father, but it’s impossible. He shouldn’t be able to send me jewelry from prison. Besides, he never referred to himself as a shepherd.” My eyes venture back to the gold jewelry.
“But there’s something about these that makes you uncomfortable,” Luke deduces.
“That’s one way to describe it,” I admit vaguely.
“Spell it out for us,” Hunter prompts.
I point to the little gold flowers. “The daisies. That’s what John liked to call me. His Daisy.”
“That’s not weird at all,” Rory comments sarcastically.
Hunter sets the bag in the middle of our little closet huddle. “So, there’s a chance these could be from him.”
Luke rubs the back of his neck. “Unless there are other people who knew about the nickname.”
Breathing out a sharp breath, I reply, “I don’t exactly have a list. The nickname wasn’t a secret.”
“What about the notes?” Rory opens the bag, pulling out the little pieces of paper.
