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I came across a quote in my quest to come to terms with the truth, and it calls to me now as I write you. “...family can be the very devil in disguise. More powerful than any drug, more alluring than any sin. They can demand a loyalty that will rip your heart out and chew it up without the thought of apology.” ~ Liz Reinhardt
I’m sorry,
GG.
Chills crept up her spine at the parting quote, but GG’s words did little more than confuse her. All she did was confirm assumptions Abby had grown to believe to be true. She already suspected Lawson had been murdered to keep quiet, and she had already found the storage unit. If the contents inside were proof, then Kaden was right. The only explanation was blackmail. Her grandfather made his money off the expense of Irma Mentz’s freedom. Unless there was something else in the safety deposit box. Some missing piece to the puzzle to form a different picture.
The knob of Abby’s door jiggled and twisted as the sound of metal-on-metal broke the silence.
Her mother. She was running out of time.
Abby shoved the letter inside her messenger bag, then rushed to her closet to retrieve the others. Flinging open the door, she shifted aside the bag of old clothes she placed over the box of evidence to obscure it from plain sight and froze. The lid was off. The contents inside were shuffled instead of neatly placed as she had left them.
Lifting the box, a cursory check told her nothing was missing, but as she turned around and scanned her room, she noted her dresser drawers askew. The drawer to her desk was open, its contents spread out over the typically tidy surface.
Someone was in her room, searching through her things.
It was probably just her mom, she told herself.
When GG’s letter came, she went snooping. A perfectly reasonable explanation, so why was her stomach tangled in knots?
Something clicked in the lock of her door. Her gaze turned to the twisting knob.
She had no time to think. Only react.
She raced to the window and slid it open. Pushing herself up with her arms, she hoisted her body until she managed to perch herself on the edge of the window, with her feet dangling above the porch roof.
She stared down at the yard, which looked farther away than she had imagined, and muttered, “Maybe you didn’t think this one through.”
But as she heard her bedroom door slam against the wall, along with the sound of her mother’s voice, she slid her body down the window until she hung by her fingertips. Closing her eyes, she let go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Abby ignored her cell phone. It had rung incessantly with calls from her mother since she snuck out, trying to stave off the guilt of what had probably given her mother a full-blown panic attack. She texted her that she was fine. She told her she had something to do and would be home in a couple of hours. That was enough reassurance, right?
She shook her head, pretending like she wouldn’t be brutally punished when she got home. Abby wished she wasn’t alone but knew there was no way she could drag Kaden into this. She had already involved him too much, and the last thing she wanted was for him to get in trouble.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, Abby tried to shake the feeling she was being followed but failed. Maybe the secret was finally getting to her, making her paranoid.
Or maybe the same person who killed Lawson was out to get her.
Her thoughts flickered to the car she swore tailed her from Lawson’s house to the man she noticed watching her twice at the coffee shop—once with Kaden and then with her grandfather—then to the items moved in her room.
What if Kaden was right and her grandfather was blackmailing Irma Mentz? What if he had caught up to her?
Someone knew she was searching for the secret, and she’d be lying to herself if she said it didn’t scare her.
Breathe, Abby. Just breathe.
Inhaling, Abby focused on the road and the task at hand. As much as she wanted Kaden with her right now, if she got caught doing what she was about to do, it was one thing. She could handle getting arrested, but with Mr. Oliver’s job at st
ake, Kaden couldn’t.
Somewhere between Fairfax and D.C., Abby had convinced herself this was her only recourse. Breaking into Mr. Klein’s office was the only solution. She needed her grandmother’s files—everything he had on her. The remaining letters were crucial, and she was almost certain the answers she needed to put all the evidence together was in his office, wedged inside a filing cabinet, waiting.
Abby parked at the bus station and retrieved the jack from her trunk, tucking it into her bag. She walked the rest of the way to Mr. Klein’s office, ignoring the blare of horns from passersby and saying a little prayer he was not working on a Sunday afternoon.
The heavy glass doors opened, which seemed odd, but there were double doors. She stepped inside the first set, mentally preparing herself for what she was about to do and convincing herself it was the only way.
