They didn’t have him. They wouldn’t find him if he stayed where he was. “Right.”
“No, Foley. Nothing is right about this. Where were you last night?” When she didn’t answer, Nat barked, “Foley, answer me. Where you with him last night?”
She closed her eyes. Her stomach was rioting, her head thumping. Drum wouldn’t hurt anyone. He wouldn’t—though that’s what he insisted he had done. Over and over, he’d told her he hurt people. She could barely get the word out. “Yes.”
“Then you know where he is now.”
“No, I don’t.” It’d stopped raining, though the clouds hung heavy, and the wind was bitter, technically he could be anywhere. She could keep him safe if he stayed put.
Nat swore. “If you know where he is and you’re protecting him, you’re protecting a violent man who brutally attacked a woman.”
“He would never do that.”
“Oh, Foley. You can’t know that. You can’t know what a person is capable of just because you’ve slept with them.”
She gasped a breath and choked out. “I haven’t.” But she would have. Had Drum’s compromised reluctance not been so present, had there been more time this morning.
“Thank God for that. Tell me where he is. I can keep you out of this. Tell me where we should look.”
“No.” She wouldn’t be complicit in this. She wouldn’t help anyone corner Drum.
“What?”
“No, I won’t.”
“Listen to yourself. You can’t shelter him. You can’t. Are you crying? Oh God. Where’s Hugh, does he know? I’m calling him.”
“No. No. He doesn’t know.” She wiped her face. “I’m not crying,” another lie, “but it’s a shock.”
“Okay, good. We can keep you out of this as long as possible.”
“I don’t want to be kept out of it. Maybe I can alibi him.”
Nat groaned. “This isn’t a TV cop drama. They have a statement that implicates him. They have evidence.”
“What evidence?” He’d told her he wasn’t a common thief, a murderer, a rapist. He’d used those words and she believed him.
“Something the victim took from the cave, a t-shirt, a book, maybe DNA, I don’t know about that. But she named him. They’re not looking for anyone else.”
A victim. Those words, associated with Drum, it couldn’t be. Foley put her hand on her stomach. “Anyone could name him. You made him famous.”
“Foley, there is no defending this.”
There had to be a way to defend it, exonerate him. “What book?”
“Of Mice and Men. You said he reads classics.” He’d had a lot of second-hand books, but most of them had been destroyed, the timing would be important.
“Who is she?” This accuser, this victim.
Nat was agitated. “Does it matter? What woman deserves to be attacked and assaulted? I can’t fucking believe we’re having this conversation.”
Now Foley was really crying. Now salt tears burned her face. She’d been a fool. It was Jon all over again. She’d fallen for the obscure romance of Drum and there’d been so many clues he wasn’t stable. That he’d caused hurt. She’d ignored them all.
“Foley, are you there?”
“I can’t take this in.”
“You can’t go near him again. Promise me or I’m calling Hugh. You can’t rescue him. He’s dangerous. He hit a woman. He hurt her. Maybe raped her. There is no excuse for that. None and you know it.”