“Why?”
“Because it’s where I was told he’d be.”
“When?”
“The day I left New York.”
“What else were you told?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you know what crimes your father has been accused of?”
If I thought I hated the way Knox was acting toward me before, the way he was now made me loathe him. Couldn’t he ask me these questions without sounding like he was interrogating me?
“No, Ben, I don’t.”
He sat back and glared at me. “What’s that all about? Why’d you call me Ben?”
“Because you’re acting like someone I don’t know.”
“I’m asking you questions, Tara. It shouldn’t be a big deal for you to answer them, unless you have something to hide.”
When I stood, I thought about slapping his face. Instead, I walked out of the room and went upstairs. This time, Knox followed.
“We aren’t finished,” he said as we approached the master bedroom.
“Yes. We are.”
“You can’t keep avoiding having this conversation.”
“I can’t? Or what? You’ll arrest me?”
“Tara! What the hell?”
“Can’t you hear yourself? You’re treating me like a criminal.”
“Are you?”
I spun around and grabbed the handle of the bedroom door. Before I could open it, Knox snaked his hand around my waist.
“Do you want to tell me one more time what you intend to do with all those paintings?”
“Let go of me.”
“Answer me.”
“Right now, I’d like to burn them.”
“To get rid of the evidence?”
“You’ve gone crazy. I don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about. Now, please, let me go.”
He did, but stayed on my heels. “Are you saying you have no idea why your father is on the run?”
I grabbed a bag and started tossing clothes into it.
“What are you doing?”