Page 58 of You Know Why

She would do anything to keep him. Anything he wanted. Anything.

At the landing, she heard a gasp of delight. His smile could light the whole town.

She bit her lip and descended the rest of the way. Her dad was filming, his phone up, a grin on his face, maybe a tear in his eye, too. Her mom stood next to him, and they both looked so pleased. Eden was watching from the dining room, a calculating glare, but honestly, Chloe couldn’t care less. The way Andrew was looking at her, the light behind his honeyed eyes, made her feel special in ways she couldn’t begin to explain.

He made her cool. He made her popular. He made her, period. Chloe Barrow would forevermore be Andrew Locke’s prom date. No matter where they went from here, she had that.

“Hi,” Andrew said when she reached the bottom. “You look amazing.” His tie and cummerbund were pink to match her dress, and he had a corsage of pink roses in a clear plastic box. He looked bigger than usual in the unfamiliar tux.

He put the corsage around her wrist awkwardly, those hands so agile with a football—and other things—now clumsy with nerves. The pressure they were under, both of them, was showing, little cracks in the painting of their young lives.

They posed for a few more pictures, then Andrew asked solemnly, “Are you ready to go?”

Chloe nodded. She hadn’t spoken more than a few words since she came downstairs; everyone was cooing and positioning and yelling “Say cheese!” and she was more than ready to abscond. A few minutes of quiet would be wonderful.

The second they got into the car, he kissed her deeply, told her how beautiful she looked. How special tonight would be. All of her earlier worries disappeared as they drove to the town center, both of them grinning with joy.

The Grand March went extremely well. She didn’t trip or stumble; her hair stayed in place; she kept her shoulders back and smiled radiantly for the pictures. That’s what was so wild about the whole event: When they looked back on the photos, how her nerves were buried, how thrilled and happy she seemed.

They danced. Andrew was voted prom king. The night was perfect.

Later, in the darkened back of his truck, under blankets and soft things, he confessed his dreams. Things he’d never told anyone. That the surface of everything she knew about him was a lie. His parents were forcing him into a life he didn’t want. They made him apply to the Air Force Academy; they wanted him to be an airman like his father. They had a football team. He could play for them and learn to wing it through the clear blue skies.

His parents refused to let him do anything but this. The scholarships, the attention of all the scouts, none of it mattered to them. He would be a cadet, learn to fly, and be a credit to the family name.

And because he had no choice, not really, he had planned it all out for Chloe, too, if she’d go along with him. He laid out his plan for life together. There were great schools nearby, like Colorado College or the University of Colorado Colorado Springs, places she could be close to him. And when the time was right, they could get married.

She said yes. Of course she did. Chloe would follow Andrew to the moon if it meant having him. A life with him. That’s what he was talking about. Not just dating. Not just prom. But a life.

They made promises to each other, deep, meaningful promises that would shape their futures forever. They sealed this vow the only way two teenagers with hopes and dreams could, bodily, fusing together under the stars.

None of it happened the way they wanted. Of course it didn’t. They were two romantic kids who thought they had control of their lives, and they didn’t understand that you control nothing in this world except the love you have to give others, and even that is tested time and again.

But for the moment, they took their joy under the stars and made a pact to stay together forever.

That was the night everything changed.

That was the night Eden died.

December 15

Now, Investigate

Theresa

Two days after the Locke murders and the day after the attempt on Brooklyn’s life at the hospital in Atlanta, having gotten exactly nowhere, Theresa flies up to Quantico to see Drake. Walking through Hartsfield, she is on alert, as if Andrew might appear out of thin air and present himself to her. He has managed to disappear entirely. And there’s been nothing more from the stranger. It feels like the world is holding its breath, waiting for her next move.

Brooklyn has been successfully moved to Vanderbilt in Nashville, where she was under round-the-clock security. No one knew for sure what happened, but the sudden cardiac arrest, the strange man fleeing the room, and the cameras being shut off certainly pointed to an attempt on her life. Another attempt, if the SUV hadn’t been a terrible accident.

The autopsies of the Lockes had been completed, and Theresa’s initial assumptions were correct—Andy was alive when he was hanged. Worse, his wife’s finger was found in his pocket. She could imagine that scene only too well, the threats that must have occurred, the fear and terror they must have experienced. The house was searched for evidence, and they’d gathered plenty, but processing was going to take time. The only DNA identified so far belonged to the Lockes. The only suspect they had was Andrew, and that was based on his passport being found at the scene.

That, and the lone blond hair. It didn’t have a follicle, so getting nuclear DNA from the shaft was tricky. It was also coated in Lucy Locke’s blood, which degraded it further. GBI had sent it to a cutting-edge genomics laboratory in New Orleans with very specialized equipment. It would be at least a week before they had answers, if at all.

A blond hair, though. Like the man at the airport, and the man at Theresa’s kitchen table. But that wasn’t enough. Not yet. She had been motivated to find Andrew before, but now she wasn’t going to rest until he turned up.

She gets a rental car at Reagan National and drives the forty-five minutes to Quantico using the directions Drake provided. She meets him at the Globe and Laurel restaurant. Inside is a tribute to the military, the walls covered in memorabilia. There is a crackling fire and cheerful servers. It feels like a cozy pub, warm and safe. A bummer that it will be closing soon. All that history, lost.

Drake is waiting by the front door, still wearing his suede car coat. He pulls her into a long, very unprofessional hug, and she lets him. Enjoys it, even. They get a table near the fire, and she begins to thaw out. They chat about nothing important while perusing the menu, both ordering Quantico burgers and truffle fries. He’s keeping it light, and she’s happy to do so. There’s enough darkness ahead for them both.