“You think I care what happens to those men?”
“They didn’t kill Rebecca.”
She stops. The blade does not move, but her breathing catches, and her eyes narrow. “Don’t lie to me.”
“They saved her. Please. Malia, look at me. I’m not lying to you. I’m begging you. They saved her, and she’s alive.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You’d say anything right now to save yourself.”
“I have proof.”
Her wrist twitches. “What?”
“On my phone, I have a photo of her. My brother found her. Please, Malia, just look. You have nothing to lose.”
Silence.
Upstairs, another thud, but smaller now, duller, like the fight is moving somewhere else. I strain to hear voices.
“If this is a trick…” Her voice has grown hoarse. “If you are trying to make me put the knife down, I promise I’ll cut you deep.”
“I understand. Please look.”
She pulls the phone out of her pocket with her left hand. The blade stays up. She holds the phone out toward me without taking her eyes off my face. “Open it.”
I lean forward, careful, my hands shaking so hard I have to try the passcode twice. The screen unlocks. She takes it back.
“The thread with Clio.” Her thumb moves. Her eyes flick to the screen for a fraction of a second and then back to my face.
“Scroll up. There’s a photo.”
Then she pauses, and her mouth drops open. “When was this taken?” she demands.
“Yesterday morning. My brother, Chris, walked past the bakery where she works. He saw her through the window. He took the photo through the glass so she wouldn’t see him do it. She was laughing with a customer. She’s alive.”
“This can’t?—”
“Look at her. Look at her face.”
She stares at it for a long moment, then her shoulders start to shake.
The knife slides out of her grip entirely. It hits the floor beside her foot with a small, sharp sound, and she doesn’t bend to pick it up.
She sits down on the ottoman across from me, puts her face in her hands, and starts crying heavily.
I can’t stop shaking but quickly scramble to grab the blade and grip it like my life depends on it, standing across from her, my knee still aching like a bitch.
“Where is she?” Her voice comes out a whisper through her fingers.
“I can’t tell you. She’s somewhere safe, has a new name and life. Some old boss wanted her dead, and he’s still alive, but right now, he thinks she’s dead, so she is safe.”
Upstairs, the thudding has stopped. I can’t tell when it finished, as I’ve been too caught up with Malia. A thud against the basement door at the top of the stairs, and I jump in my skin.
The door opens.
