Page 43 of Trust

“She knew she was in danger. Thought my father was responsible.” She turns toward me now. Her eyes glisten, pinning me in place. “There was an investigation. The files were sealed, closed to the public. He has connections. He’s too smart to have it done himself, but he could’ve paid someone to cover up her death, make it look like an accident.”

My throat goes dry.

Her eyes cut through me. “Someone like you.”

A thousand denials choke me. I didn’t know. I’d never take such a job. I don’t touch people who don’t deserve it. The words stay locked behind my teeth. I barely tip my chin and stand beside her. My research about her was limited to current relationships and routines. Her family history wasn’t relevant. No mother. No paternal grandparents. No extended family. Only her father and her mother’s parents in the picture. That was enough.

She turns, wordless, and goes inside.

Leaning into the railing, my gaze drifts across the lake. The door clicks shut. Cash steps onto the porch from around the corner. He must’ve secured the back, in case our revelation had sent her running.

“You think all that’s true?”

I exhale slowly, eyes on the lake. “I think she believes it.”

“You know anyone who’d sign up for this? Mayor-to-be taking out his wife? Not your typical campaign strategy.”

“Not sure. You?”

He shrugs. “Not off the top of my head. Too risky. Too public. With the money right and cops in your pocket? Someone might’ve said yes.”

We’re both lost in thought as birds chatter in the distance.

“The better question is why would he want her gone?”

He hums in agreement. “Motive. Shouldn’t be a problem. I can get my hands on those files.”

“I’m sure you can.” But I’m not sure he should.

He leans on the railing beside me. “You really think you should take her back? If there’s even a chance this is true, you’d be walking her straight into the same trap.”

He’s dragging this somewhere it shouldn’t go.

“She could be wrong,” I argue, “and Whitmore threatened to resurface my record. That can’t happen. She doesn’t stay.”

“Fuck.” He slams his hand on the railing. “If she’s in danger, don’t hand her back to the same people who might’ve had her mom killed.”

“Don’t,” I snap. “She’s not our responsibility.”

“Bullshit. She became yours the moment you brought her here, and mine the moment I did. If someone really killed her mom and her father’s behind it, I don’t care about our records. We’ll figure it out.”

“So what, you wanna adopt her?”

Cash tilts his head. “That’s what you think of when she’s around you? Adoption? Cause I most definitely don’t.”

My teeth grind together. “Is that why you told her your real name? To have a reason to stop me from bringing her back?”

“Not like you didn’t do the same thing, Chris.”

Hearing him say my name sounds wrong, and he knows it. It’s not the same, though. No last name, no background.

I don’t comment on his remark. “She. Is. A. Job.” I stress every word. “This job keeps me breathing. I’m not going to disappear again because my face is all over the news. You had parents to pull you out. I didn’t and still don’t.”

Cash goes still, as always when his background comes up. His parents care about the name, not the son. The name protects him anyway. They wiped his records clean. No one even knows he was in. No one went after him. I didn’t have that. I needed Mendoza. To them, I’m the reason their son enlisted in the first place, and they despise me for it.

“I know you don’t, but there are other ways.”

He’s done listening. Cash pushes off the railing and heads for his truck, unleashed.