I crouched slightly, studying the wound again.
“But if you tell me the truth, I’ll look at it myself.”
“You will?” he whimpered.
“Yes. And I never break my promises.”
Myers stared at me for a long moment. Then he flinched.
“I was there,” he murmured.
“Rot in hell,” I muttered under my breath and rose. Calmly, I walked toward the door.
“No, wait!” he shouted. “Please! Wait!”
I kept walking. “Piss off.”
“I waited for them!” he blurted out.
That made me stop.
Slowly, I turned and looked at him lying there, blood pooling beneath him.
“On the country road to the lake,” he said quickly. “It was already late. Nobody ever drives on that road that late. I waited there for them. For the fancy car.”
I walked back to the chair and sat again. I flicked my hand, telling him to continue.
“I opened my hood,” he said. “Pretended my car was broken down. When I saw the Mercedes drive down the road, I waved it over and asked for help.”
He coughed.
“First, the man got out.”
“You mean Zach?” I clarified.
“Yes, that guy. I walked up to him and told him my car wouldn’t start. Said I might need help. But that asshole didn’t want to help me.”
“And the woman?” I asked.
“You mean your mother?”
My jaw tightened. “Yes. My mother.”
“She offered to help,” he said. “She said they couldn’t just leave someone stranded.”
That sounded like my kind mother.
“And then?”
“Then”—Myers’ breathing turned rough again—“I pulled out a gun. I told the guy to get back in the car, or I’d shoot him. He did, and I got in the backseat behind them and told him to start driving down a gravel road not far from there. He did everything I told him to. Even pissed himself when we stopped at the end of the gravel road in the woods.”
“And my mother was there with you?” I asked quietly.
The image cut through me. Her in that car. Trapped. Terrified.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, she was.”
“What then?”
