“Is it because you don’t like it? Or because you do?” he whispers, his voice rough and gravelly.
“Please, not tonight.”
He observes me for a moment, halting his play with my hair so he can focus on me. For a moment, I think he might ask another question. Ask me what my dream was about. What could I tell him? That my dream involved a masked man chasing me down a street? Grabbing me and pulling me back against him, just like he had done. Calling me princess, just like he did. I could never admit that to him. He’d hold it against me for eternity. I’d lose every argument, every game, every fight. I’d never make myself that vulnerable in front of him. Even if it means begging him to stop with all the questions. Losing now so I can win again later is a sacrifice I’m willing to make. He says nothing, and we hold each other's gaze. Is this another game? To see who cuts out first?
It’s like he can read my mind when he says, “You’d better get comfortable, Katie. Because after you just threw yourself out of bed because of a nightmare, I’m not letting you go all night.”
“That seems unnecessary . . .”
“You screaming and waking up the rest of the hotel as if I’m murdering you is unnecessary,” he quips, turning off the light before sliding his arm beneath my neck, his hand firmly placed on my back again.
“Jonesy . . .”
“Don’t make me repeat myself, prin— Katie. Close your eyes and pretend that I’m not someoneyou hate.”
He said the same thing last weekend when we stayed at Lottie’s. But now I’m worried that I don’t hate him. I’ve been hiding behind my anger for so long, and I don’t know what to do with it when he’s kind like this. When he takes care of me, it actually works. I’ve loathed him for so long. Tolerated him only for the sake of our mutual friends, whom I love.
His breathing steadies out; low huffs rumble from his throat, and I watch him in the dark, his chest rising and falling. I try to sleep, but I’m too wired. I think about it all. Anthony, the case, Thomas, and his relentless letter-writing hobby, Jonesy. Of all the things I need right now. Something sensible and stable isn’t it. Without turning into a completely self-absorbed person who thinks the whole world revolves around her, could Jonesy coming into my life right now be a sign? I’ve always believed that the universe doesn’t give you what you want; it gives you what you need.
And Anthony is the kind of man you should want. He’s principled, kind, and loving. He’s so patient it hurts. He hasn’t rushed me in over a year. He understands the toll the Thomas Vale case has taken, and he’s waited, anyway. He’s been my friend, my colleague, remaining professional only up until this week when he felt threatened by Jonesy’s presence.
Jonesy, however, is not what I want at all. Is itpossible he’s the only person who could give me what I need right now? He’s willing to take care of me. He’s not afraid of me, even when I’m at my worst, and somehow that makes me feel like he knows me better than anyone in the world. No one else has seen how awful I can be. My competitiveness doesn’t scare him; it makes him step up.
When I push him away, he tells me to fight him. When I steal the blanket, he steals it right back. And when I wake up screaming and shaking, he holds me even when my pride is wounded.
I think Jacob Jones might be the only person who can save me.
Chapter Nine
Jonesy
“Mrs. Maddox, thank you for talking with us today.”
She shuffles toward the kitchen, and Katie and I follow her down the dim hallway. There aren’t any lights on, but walking past, there is an array of photographs on the wall. Connor is one of five kids, and the wall shows various stages of life, including a recent one of Connor at a medal parade in his uniform.
We head to the living room where Connor’s father is sitting in a worn armchair, his eyes sunken and stubble long enough to suggest he hasn’t shaved for three days. He’s a big man, broad in the shoulders and chest, with a round middle. But even his large frame can’t hide how wilted he looks. The stress of his son’s arrest is clearly taking its toll.
“Mr. Maddox. My name is Major Jacob Jones. I work at the Seattle army base with your son. This is my colleague and friend, Dr. Katie Murphy.” I extend my hand for him to shake, and aftereyeing me for a second, he stands up, shaking it firmly. He turns to Katie cautiously and extends his hand again, which she takes.
We take our seats around the coffee table. Katie and I sink into a thread-worn couch as Mr. and Mrs. Maddox sit on the couch opposite. After Mrs. Maddox has brought out some coffee, I take the lead. After last night and Katie’s nightmare, it was clear she didn’t sleep much afterward. The dark rings around her eyes concern me, but we have a job to do. She reluctantly agreed that I could take control of today’s conversation, and we would reevaluate tomorrow if we needed to stay an extra day. Given that we both hope to be flying back to Seattle tomorrow morning so we can attend Mia’s birthday dinner, we are hoping to have everything we need by tonight.
“So today, we’re going to ask you some personal questions about Connor. Some of these questions may seem odd or unnecessary in your eyes, but I can assure you, they paint an all-round picture of the kind of person that Connor is. We are representing the police here, so it is important that you answer everything as truthfully as you can,” I say as calmly as possible.
“So you can lock up our son?” Mr. Maddox spits as Mrs. Maddox puts a hand on his arm. He relaxes immediately, pulling her hand into his and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
“Mr. and Mrs. Maddox, we want to find out what happened that night. We’re both psychologistsand will be determining Connor’s state of mind, and part of that is his upbringing with you. This isn’t a test, and we certainly have no preconception of whether Connor committed this crime. We want to work out the truth for everyone involved,” Katie says softly.
She sits on the edge of the couch, her normally straight posture slightly slumped today, like a flower that hasn’t been watered in a while.
“How long have you been married?” I ask.
“Thirty-two years.” Mrs. Maddox smiles. “With five children and two grandchildren now. We had thought maybe it wouldn’t be long until Connor and Hannah started their family...” She stops for a moment, her chin wobbling.
“It’s okay to be upset, Mrs. Maddox.”
“Please call me Christine. My mother-in-law is Mrs. Maddox.”
I smile and give her a small, reassuring nod. “Have you always lived here?”
