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But for some reason, he believes me.
35
NICOLE
I’m unsure how long I spend at Knox’s office door, banging on it before I shuffle back to his desk. It could be an hour. It could be ten minutes. Time isn’t easy to tell when you don’t have a single device at your disposal.
I searched Knox’s office high and low since he left. The only thing I discovered was more evidence of his evil ways.
Laken didn’t steal my song as pledged. I found its crumpled remains in the bottom of Knox’s briefcase. It was just below the note Laken had written to say he had to run an urgent errand and for me not to leave the bed until he returned with coffee.
Knox played us from the start.
I’m just lost as to why.
Why go after my family? It makes no sense. If anything, my family should have been hunting him. We probably would have if we didn’t believe the perpetrator was behind bars.
God, the system failed both Colette and Laken. Laken should never have had to worry about River’s guardianship any more than the DA shouldn’t have squashed Colette’s voice for a quick plea. The system is meant to be on the victim’s side. It’s meant to be their voice.
I startle when an unexpected knock hits Knox’s office door.
“Laken,” I blurt out before racing for the door.
I stop partway there when a mocking laugh trills under it. “Not yet, but I’m sure it won’t be too much longer. He seemed so eager when I let him go; I knew it wouldn’t take him long to track you down. I just failed to factor his snitching brother into the mix.”
“Why are you doing this, Knox? Why torment the people who look up to you? River—”
“Stealseveryone’sattention. Even my mother’s.” It dawns on me how he’s spent our time apart when the slosh of a bottle he raises to his lips can’t be missed. After a hefty gulp, he continues. “She happily left me with nothing but set River up with a trust fund big enough to start a record label.”
Reading between the lines, I say, “A record label you’re running into the ground.”
His laugh is downright creepy this time around. “Statistics will prove you wrong. After every musician’s death, sales skyrocket. Some sell more albums in the afterlife than when they’re alive.” He almost sounds sincere when he murmurs, “I hadn’t planned to take this route. Originally, I just wanted to keep Laken around in case I needed another scapegoat, but then you started listening tohimand takinghisadvice. So I had to mix things up.”
He guzzles down enough alcohol to make my stomach churn before he continues. “Tell me you’ve never rushed to buy a physical copy of an album when you’ve heard of an artist’s untimely demise, and I’ll call you a liar.” His plan becomes even more apparent when he adds, “Sales will quadruple on any record when an upcoming music starlet is killed by her deranged stalker at the start of what should have been her illustrious career. He just needs to get here so I can frame him for your murder before making it seem as if he turned the gun on himself.” I hate everything about him when he says with a laugh, “If his sidekick comes with him, he’ll either be an innocent bystander of a tragic obsession or return to cleaning my toilets. I’m not bothered either way.”
“Your plan has more holes than a sieve. I’ve only known Laken a week. He won’t risk his brother’s life for someone he’s only known for a week.”
He sees straight through my lie. I understand why. There’s no pussyfooting around feelings when you’ve read the lyrics I wrote the night I met Laken.
I was instantly smitten, and they expose that.
“Then I guess my guy outside the Dusty Sky Inn was mistaken when he told me they left five minutes ago.” I hear him shrug. “Guess we’re only minutes away from finding out which direction they went.”
Too frustrated not to lash out, I throw anything I can get ahold of in the direction of his chortling tone. His desk. His chair. The pricy curtains hiding the fire exit stairs from anyone scared of heights. They’re all tossed in his direction until the moon bouncing off the steel grates of the fire escape captures my attention.
That’s my way out.
My ticket to freedom.
That’s access to a voice that can warn Laken of the imminent danger he’s racing toward.
I just need to overcome my fear enough to step onto the ledge.
I need to be brave.
“Step onto the railing,” I say to myself, my voice a mix of Jack’s and Laken’s. “No peeking.”
“I’m not,” I reply, confident I’m too scared to look down.
