Page 180 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

“The cat finally comes inside,” he said. His voice was low, almost bored. “I wondered how long you’d circle the house.”

I stopped ten feet away. My cat pressed close under my skin, alert and ready.

“You knew I was here,” I said.

“I knew you’d come eventually.” He took a slow sip of whiskey, watching me over the rim of the glass. “You always were persistent.”

The fire crackled softly between us. For a moment neither of us spoke.

Then Thomas sighed. “You know what bothered me about you?”

I didn’t answer.

“The scent.” His gaze settled on my face. “It was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Close enough to nag at me. Not close enough to name.”

He let the silence stretch for a beat.

“The eyes didn’t help either.” Thomas tilted his head slightly. “I kept thinking I had seen them before.”

The smile that followed was small. Almost thoughtful. “Then I started looking.”

I took a step closer. “When did you figure it out?”

“A week ago.” He swirled the whiskey in his glass. “I suddenly had a great deal of free time, after all.”

He watched me for a second longer before continuing.

“I remembered your mother first.” His gaze never left mine. “Once that piece fell into place, the rest wasn’t difficult. You have her eyes.” A short pause. “You were supposed to be dead. On paper, you are dead. But somehow a little girl survived.”

He took another sip. “Impressive, really.”

My hand dropped to my hip and closed around the hilt of the hunting knife. I drew it smoothly and let it rest loose at my side. Thomas noticed. He didn’t seem to care.

“It seems you’re remarkably difficult to kill,” he said. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Even Naomi failed.”

“You sent her.”

Thomas snorted. “As if Naomi needed much encouragement.”

I didn’t respond. The kidnapping didn’t matter. Not really. It had never been the question that kept me awake at night.

“Why?” I asked.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Why what?”

“You know exactly what.”

The amusement faded from his face. He stared into the fire for a long moment, the glass loose in his hand.

“You had money,” I pressed. “Power. Connections. You already controlled half the county. So why my family?”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. The fire popped behind him, throwing a brief flare of light across the side of his face.

“You think this was about land,” he said finally.

“Then what was it about?”

He laughed, a short, humorless sound. “I suppose I can tell you, since only one of us is walking out of here tonight.”