I’m surprised by how sharp I’m being, thinking fast. We know Frank watched me arrive home, find my father, and leave. He has to wonder why I did that instead of calling the police.
His brow is furrowed. Good. Let him be confused. I have the upper hand here in more ways than he can imagine.
“Oh, honey, you must have been so scared.” He hugs me again.
It’s disgusting. I hate him touching me. I want to stab him with a knife over and over until he bleeds to death. I’ve never felt this furious in my life, but I need to control my anger and play along. “So very scared,” I agree, hoping he’s buying my acting skills.
“What did the police say?”
Fucking prick. He knows I didn’t call the police.
I lower my gaze as if I’m embarrassed. “I didn’t call them.”
“Why not, honey?”
Don’t fucking call me honey.
“I don’t know. I panicked. I was afraid. I’m still scared.”
The thing is, me not calling the police really isn’t an option. It’s a hole in my convoluted story. He should realize this. After all, who the fuck does he think came and got the body without the police? There would have been suspicions of foul play.
“Where is your father’s body now?” he asks.
I nearly choke, afraid he’s seeing through me. “I called the coroner. They picked him up. He’s at the morgue.”
He stares at me, frowning deeply.
My heart races, fearing he will question the absurdity of that.
He glances around. “Whose house is this?”
“It’s a vacation rental.” I don’t ask the obvious question that should be on the tip of my tongue, and would be if I weren’t playing him harder than he’s playing me. How the fuck did you find me, asshole? Does he think I’m stupid? Apparently so.
It’s time to extricate myself and let Mace take over. I pull free of him. “Do you want coffee?”
He doesn’t give me any space. He follows me to the counter. “No.”
I turn around. “Oh, okay.” I shiver and rub my arms. “I’m going to grab a sweater. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as I take a step in the direction of the hallway, Frank grabs my arm. “It’s warm in here, Autumn. You’re acting strange.”
I’m acting strange? I’m not the one who killed a man out of misplaced revenge. I glare at him. “Frank, my father died, and I’m scared. How do you want me to act? I’m cold.” I tug on my wrist to free myself from his grip.
He wraps his fingers tighter around my forearm. “I don’t like you staying here. It’s not safe. How about I take you home? I’ll stay with you. You shouldn’t be alone.”
Shit. I need to get out of this room. I’m starting to sweat. How is he going to believe I’m cold if perspiration drips off my brow?
I shake my head, my eyes widening. “I can’t go back there, Frank. What if the killer is waiting for me?”
He rolls his eyes, as if I’m dense. “Honey, I seriously doubt someone actually killed your father. I bet he had a heart attack or a stroke.”
I force my body to relax, hoping it will cause him to release me. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I overreacted.” I chew on my bottom lip, pretending to contemplate the idea.
He gives me a crooked smile. “Come. I promise nothing will happen to you as long as you’re with me.” He pulls on my arm again. “Let’s just go. We can come back for your things later.”
What’s his fucking hurry? My pulse is racing. Why won’t he release me?
“Frank, I can’t just leave. I at least need my medicines and toiletries.” I think that’s a good answer.
