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But I laugh.
“We fought about it,” Stellan says easily, like we’re talking about a policy debate, or which Georgetown Thai restaurant is best. “I thought we should set up a murder-suicide, but we have other reasons for keeping Drew alive.”
Keeping Drew alive.
“But not me?”
He gives me a sad smile. “Sorry.”
He’s not sorry.
Not one bit.
“Before you kill me, just tell me why.” Saying the words kill me makes me shake harder. I blink over and over, trying to let the truth of what’s happening sink in. I am alive now.
I won’t be soon.
My psyche isn’t equipped to think this way. Four years ago, I didn’t see it coming. They drugged me, slipping something in my drink. What happened in the past happened while I was unconscious.
This? I know everything as it unfolds. This is so much worse. I didn’t know it could be worse.
“Why? Because you deserve an answer?” he says in a mocking tone. “This isn’t a stupid police procedural show. We don’t owe you a monologue.”
He’s using acting jargon. I flatter him.
“You would know. You’ve been in enough thrillers. I heard about the one where you play the detective who solves everything.”
“You’ve barely been home from your nuthouse. How would you know?”
“My mom was bragging about what a good actor you are, and how you’ve risen so high,” I lie.
“Your mom?”
I nod and give a cynical grin, trying to match him. “Yeah.”
John walks in and frowns at Stellan. “You’re not here to chit chat.”
“Yes, I am,” Stellan argues. “Lindsay was just telling me how Monica loves my acting skills.”
“High praise. She’s a fucking phony,” John says, as if they talk about my mom like this all the time.
“She’s well preserved, though. Not MILF territory, but close.” Stellan gives me a look when he says MILF. It’s a look that makes the air freeze in my lungs.
Buy time, I tell myself. Drew’s coming.
“Any sign of him?” John asks.
Stellan reaches in his back pocket for his phone, reads something on the screen, and says, “Jane says he’s out.”
Jane?
My friend Jane?
I don’t say a word, but Stellan gives me a withering look. “Lindsay’s piecing it together. You can see the tiny little gears turning behind her dull eyes.” He reaches for me, one fingertip grazing my body from chin to the space between my breasts. My chest and throat heave.
As his finger drops, he asks John, “He thinks it’s Paulson who got him released from detention?”
“Yeah. We’re keeping Paulson busy in D.C. Broken planes and bureaucratic crap. By the time Drew realizes what’s happened, it’ll be too late all around.”
