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“He—”
She lunged at him and jabbed her finger into Oliver’s chest.“You are wrong.”
“Lark—”
“My brother has never killed anyone,” she whispered.“But you have him locked up with murderers and rapists and drug dealers.”
“Lark—”
“Not anyone,” she said again, voice barely above a breath.
The furrow between his brows grew deeper.
“But I have,” she confessed.“Yet I’m the one walking free.”Her finger still pushed into his chest, so she pulled her hand back and let it fall.“The profile you made?The one based on the murder of our father?It was wrong.Or maybe it was right.Maybe you just had the wrong twin.I’m the one who’s guilty.Not Lane.Never him.”
Oliver’s gaze swirled with so many emotions.
“Gonna arrest me now?”she asked.She looked down at her hands.Slowly, they lifted, with her wrists up.“Want to slap those promised cuffs on me?”
He didn’t speak.
“Because that’s what you do, isn’t it?You lock up killers.”She licked her lips and forced herself to peer into his eyes once more.“Are you going to lock me up?Because I just confessed to murder.”
A muscle jerked in his jaw.
She nodded.“Think about it.Promise you, I won’t be running.In fact, when you’re ready to put those cuffs on me, I’ll be just down the hallway.”She turned away.Kept her spine completely straight and her shoulders squared.And she left him.When Lark reached the guest room, she pushed open the door.He hadn’t followed her.Probably was too stunned.
I just told him the biggest secret of my life.
She closed the door.
Only then did she cry.
It had really been one hell of a night.
***
Fuck me.
Oliver waited until he heard the soft click of the guest room door closing, then he rushed toward his study.Awayfrom the guest room.In the front of the house.He threw open the French double doors that led to his study and hurried around the desk.His fingers flew over the keyboard as he pulled up his case files.
Or, rather, one very specific file.
The death of Roger Lawson, Lark and Lane’s father.
He read through the details.Details he’d already reviewed over and over again.But this time…
Investigating officer Derek Lashay noted that Lark Lawson and Lane Lawson both claimed responsibility for the shooting.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Lashay noted that there were bruises on Lark’s arms.Thick fingerprints as if she’d been grabbed.Bruising on her face and neck.
Fuck.
Lashay and his partner, Jo Wells, both agreed that Lark was traumatized at the scene.They had her transferred to a local hospital for evaluation.And for treatment of a possibly broken jaw.
Lane stayed at the home while the body of his mother was bagged.He confessed over and over.Said everything was his fault.
