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He tilts his head, his eyes raking over my face, searching. “What makes you think that?”
“It was in the way he looked at me,” I say. “It’s the same wayyoulook at me. I know you said he loved your stepmother, but I swear it’s true.”
“I saidsheloved him. I never said he loved her back.” He glances out the windshield, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Is that why you killed him? You didn’t appreciate his attentions?”
“He came to the house when my father wasn’t there. I’m not even sure how he got in. But he followed me from room to room and begged me to give him a chance. I asked him to leave, told him that he was scaring me. He decided to grab me and try to kiss me.
“I got out of his hold and ran to the desk drawer my father keeps his Glock in and threatened him. He still refused to leave. The moment he took a step toward me, I shot. It was meant to scare him, nothing more. I could never kill anyone. The bullet grazed his arm, but he was alive.”
“You didn’t follow him out?”
“No. Why would I? Security had just arrived. They’d been alerted when he broke in. I was safer in the house than running after him.”
“What about the ring? How did he get the ring?”
My brows pinch together. “The ring?”
“That’s what led me to you. The Maxton House ring.”
“He had it?” I think back to that day and a shiver crawls up my spine. “I don’t know how he got it, unless he’d been in the house longer than I knew.” Watching me. I grab Noah with a shaky hand. “You have to believe me. I would never kill anyone.”
Although he keeps his sight averted from me, I can tell he’s mulling over the possibility that I might be telling the truth and what that implies.
“Why didn’t you tell me before now? Why didn’t you defend yourself when you thought I was going to kill you?”
I blink, letting his question sink in. Why hadn’t I said something before now? The answer is simple. “You wouldn’t have believed me if I’d told you when my life was on the line. And if you’d killed me, you wouldn’t have deserved the truth.”
He narrows his eyes. “How do you know I won’t still kill you?”
“I know,” I say. “Do you believe I didn’t kill your father?”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe. All that matters is that Sylvia thinks you’re dead. You better keep it that way if you don’t want it to happen.”
I release my grip on his forearm, realizing he’s right. Nothing matters now. “I loved you, Noah,” I say through my tightening throat.
He swallows audibly but keeps his gaze focused ahead. From his pocket, he produces my cell phone and hands it to me. “Have a nice life, Emily.”
Nodding, I exit the car and watch as he drives away, leaving me with that metaphorical bullet through the heart.
* * *
I take my time walking to my house. It’s not that I need to think. If anything, I seem to have finally gone blank. Nothing but white noise, and I’m grateful for that.
When I arrive at my street, however, I come to a dead stop. There’s a familiar black Bentley parked by the front door.
Going cautiously, I enter my home. “Dad?”
“Em?!” My father bursts from the study and before I can say another word, his arms engulf me in a tight, protective hug. He begins to tremble and I realize he’s crying when he speaks. “Shit, I thought I’d lost you.”
“I’m here,” I reassure him, but my voice is also shaky. “I’m back.”
He kisses the top of my head then pulls me away to look into my eyes. Suddenly, he seems more angry than happy to see me. “Where were you? Was it that man, Noah?”
“It’s a long story, Dad. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You have been gone for a week, Em,” he says, his tone laced with accusation. “A fucking week!”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m fine, Dad. It’s okay.”
