part0038

EVAN RELAXED, the tension in his rigid muscles releasing as Guillory’s fingers loosened their grip in his hair, her nails withdrawing from the refuge they’d sought in his flesh. At some point during the telling of her story, he’d pulled her into his body, held her tight.

He’d felt his ribs move in the strength of her desperate embrace, felt the horror and loathing flow from her body into his as if he’d been there with her. It had saddened him, brought a lump to his throat, that it might flood into his veins and fill every cavity of his body until he was huge and bloated and finally exploded but it could never lessen what was still left inside her.

So he’d held her tightly to him, looking out over her head at the rows of graves stretching away into the distance, knowing that the relief was only temporary and it was going to take a lot more than a sympathetic ear and a comforting hug to mend her.

He’d have felt a lot better about it all if he’d only known that very soon he would be given the opportunity to do just that.

For the moment, they disentangled themselves from each other and stood with their own thoughts in the quiet of the cemetery beside her brother’s grave. He was the first to break the silence.

‘That explains your bad mood when we met for breakfast.’

Guillory allowed herself a small smile.

‘Bad mood? Yeah, you could call it that.’

He took hold of her chin, turned her face to get a better look at the scratch on her face.

‘It makes you look pretty tough. I wouldn’t mess with you.’

Two things he wasn’t saying. One, he wouldn’t have messed with her before the scratch. And two, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering if any of her blood was on the bucket. Ryder’s parting words to her were stuck in his mind.

Had they found her DNA on the bucket? If so, all of the ridiculous charade with Lydia had been for nothing. Not to mention him having tampered with a crime scene by removing her earring.

‘You think the people who killed him were in the house while you were there?’ he said.

She gave a gentle shrug, one that said less about not knowing the answer and more about wishing she’d been more focussed, less wrapped up in herself.

‘I don’t know. I thought I recognized the smell of the guys who beat me. But I was so desperate to get out and clean up. And with all the other stuff still on me . . .’

He did something then that he wouldn’t have risked in the recent past. He put his arm around her shoulder, gave her a squeeze. And got it thrown off again for his trouble.

‘I don’t need sympathy. Or pity.’

He held up his hands, heaven forbid. The woman who’d poured her heart out to him with her head on his shoulder a minute ago had clearly left the cemetery while he wasn’t looking, her place taken by a prickly creature that would bite if you weren’t careful.

They started walking, her with one last look over her shoulder at her brother’s grave. They weaved in and out of the graves, pausing at some of them, then moving on. Like two people trying to find the oldest one or the most poignant epitaph. Not much was said. Then they were at the entrance to the cemetery.

‘The Jerusalem’s only a couple of blocks away,’ he said.

She gave him a look that said she might have just re-lived one of the worst days of her life, but she wasn’t directionally challenged to go with it.

‘No, maybe not,’ he said.

He put a sad, downcast expression on his face. It didn’t do him any good.

‘Sorry,’ she said.

‘You know I’ve got to go back to Florida—’

‘To see your girlfriend, Ana Maria.’

It struck him that the last time he spoke to her before everything kicked off with Lydia, she’d said something similar: Have a nice time with Ana Maria . The sentiment behind the two remarks couldn’t have been further apart. They’d definitely moved on. Or was it so far away that she no longer cared?

‘You looked her up.’

Guillory spotted a speck of mud on her shoe that had gotten stuck there as they wandered on the grass between the graves. She made a point of rubbing it clean on the back of her leg.

‘Might have done,’ she said to the newly-shined shoe.

‘You missed a bit.’

Then he wiped some from the edge of his own shoe onto hers.

She didn’t bother to clean it off.

‘You want to come with me?’

‘I can’t. I’ve got to tell them what happened before they find out anyway.’ She pointed to the scratch on her cheek, let him know that she was well aware of all the implications. ‘My DNA is probably on that bucket. I’m sure that’s what Donut wants to talk to me about. What’s she like?’

The abrupt change of direction threw him for a moment until he realized what she’d really said.

‘I thought you looked her up.’

‘It’s an old photo.’

‘She’s not wearing well.’

‘Idiot. You can tell me the truth.’

‘It’s nice and warm down in Florida.’

‘I’m not going to get any sense out of you, am I?’

‘You’ve got a point. Is she pretty?’

It went on like that until they said goodbye, went their separate ways. Him down to sunny Florida and her to bring about what could be the end of her career. If he’d thought it would do any good, he’d have stayed around to lend moral support.