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Even the hallway of the place looked like a spa center. If Clary wasn’t so preoccupied with running over the list of Seth’s and Zane’s warnings in her mind, she might actually be fooled into thinking she was being led to get a massage.
Holly wouldn’t be the first abuser Clary had met.
But as she stood between the two doors, in the moment before the second door opened, panic struck. Clary almost turned and asked to be let out.
Instead, she locked her muscles and refused to cave to her feelings. Because if she didn’t do this, Seth or Zane would have to do it. And speaking to Holly would do them infinitely more harm than Holly could ever do to her.
She drew a deep breath through her nose. I can do this. I’ve spoken to abusers before. And Holly was no different.
Clary wasn’t in any danger, either. There was a square transparent panel in each door, so the employees and Uncle David could see in.
As the second door slowly slid to the side, revealed a beautiful woman sitting at a small white table. The white, round plastic top had three red oak legs. There was a transparent vase on it, holding a single red rose.
Holly glanced over, and their eyes locked when the door was half-open. Her wide eyes studied Clary, and she blinked once, fluttering her long lashes. Then her lips slowly curved back into a wide smile, as if Clary was a lovely surprise or someone Holly had been hoping to see. “Oh, hello.”
Slow down your smile. Seth had told her that once. It was supposed to make her seem more trustworthy.
Clary had intended to practice, but never got around to it.
Now, she could see it clearly demonstrated by Holly. Had Zane learned that from her? Perhaps the FBI had wasted its resources on him. He’d probably already learned all the necessary body language he needed from his time with Holly.
“Hello.” Clary flashed a sweet smile.
“Clary Fiore. I’ve seen your photos in the news,” Holly said. She had some light makeup on her face, but she’d applied it expertly to take years off her age and give her an air of sweet innocence. In her light pink chiffon top and soft white scarf, Holly looked … vulnerable. “I read your parents used to work for my father.”
Clary nodded. “They did.”
“They were the ones who died in Mexico, right?” Holly shook her head with a soft ache in her eyes.
Even Holly’s tone was full of compassion.
Clary had probably been in the room for a minute, two perhaps. But it was enough for her to understand why Seth and Zane had been so worried, why the Andersons were so wary of Holly Eolenfeld.
If Clary didn’t keep her guard up, Holly could certainly draw her in.
“That’s the problem with the Eolenfeld name.” Holly gestured toward the chair across the table. “But I’m sure you already know all about that. Sit, please. Tell me about my boys.” She put her hands on the table, her nails shimmering with a perfectly done manicure.
Clary supposed the wellness center was somewhat like a spa after all.
“How’s Seth?” Holly asked when Clary was seated. “I miss my boys so much. How are they?”
How could Holly talk about the Andersons like that? Did Holly seriously think Clary would tell her anything about them? Did Holly not think that Seth would tell her what she did to him and his brothers?
“Don’t you already know? You know who I am. Surely you know how they are doing.”
Holly leaned forward and whispered, “I always know what my boys are up to.” Then, her lips curved back into another bright smile.
Clary couldn’t help but feel there was something more to that statement.
“But there’s only so much I can find out,” Holly continued.
“Is there something you want from me?”
Holly pouted. “I just want to hear about my boys.”
“You could ask Pete Laker.”
“Can you blame me, Clary?” Holly sighed softly, and her shoulders sagged. “My father might as well have put me in prison. I can’t access the Internet. I’m not allowed to reach out to my boys. They check everything I do. They go through all my things.” She sighed again. “I just want to know my boys are doing well.”
