His town. I don’t like the words, but what I really hate is the: “We have too much happening already.” What is happening? This is a small town. The most that can happen is someone stealing the signs for the festivals or . . . well gossip. There’s always good gossip flying around. My grandmother told me something about his younger brother, Ledger, getting married. The Doherty Mansion caught fire. Those are the headlines in this place.
“Why do you even care?” I snap.
“Because I saw the report.” His voice is even, unreadable. “From the old sheriff. The one you filed before you disappeared. There’s a lot more than you leaving that night.”
Cold creeps into my chest.
“That’s not?—”
“Don’t lie to me, Nysa,” he cuts through my words like a blade. “I know something happened. Bullets, broken windows, blood. And until you tell me what, I can’t help you.”
“I’m not hiding anything.” My voice wavers.
He crosses his arms. “Then why did you run?”
I hesitate, the truth pressing against my ribs. I can’t tell him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“I had my reasons,” I force the words out.
Malerick exhales, frustrated but patient. Instead of pushing, he pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the handprint, then taps the screen several times, muttering under his breath.
“A team will be here soon to sweep the place,” he says, shifting back into business mode. “In the meantime, I’m driving you to your grandmother’s. Or next door to my brother’s. Pick one.”
I straighten. “I’m staying here.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I won’t bring danger to my grandmother. Or your brother.”
His mouth quirks, but there’s no humor in it. “So you do admit you’re in danger.”
“That’s not?—”
“Then I’ll take you next door with my niece. She’ll be safe with you, won’t she?”
His words are bait. I know it. But still, I flinch.
“Whatever you’re running from, it’s not going to stay buried forever.” His voice lowers. “You know that, right?”
I do know that. I’ve known it since the moment I stepped foot back in this town. I just didn’t expect things to unravel so fast. I was hoping I would be able to leave with Grandma before anyone would notice.
“Maybe I should just leave,” I whisper.
He glances at the slashed tires. “Can you?”
“I’ll have someone fix them?—”
“You can’t run forever,” he says, tone softer now. “What happened to you?”
Nothing. Everything. Probably just enough.
I close my eyes, inhale slow, exhale slower. Then, finally, I tell him. Enough for him to swear under his breath.
“Where?” His voice is rough now, all business. “Where in the perimeter did you see them bury the body?”
I shake my head. “I don’t remember. It was three years ago.”
“Fuck.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I’ll send a team out anyway. You—” He gestures at the house. “You pack. We need to figure out what to do with you.”
