Colton's Killer Pursuit
“No.” Crossing his arms when she still didn’t give him books, he raised his chin and gave it to her. “I have a problem with the fact that your book is so much older than my copy. You might have come from what some around here call ‘the wrong side of the tracks,’ but you didn’t let that define you. Instead, you took charge and made more out of your life...”
He was saying it all wrong. He knew it as the words came out.
“And you have a problem with that?” she repeated. Her frown was back.
“Of course not.” He bit back more words. “The opposite, in fact. You probably have an older copy because you used the book and its advice to help make a better life for yourself. In contrast, I had a lot of opportunity, and instead of being grateful and taking advantage of that, I squandered away the first ten years of my adulthood and spent the next five earning back the respect I’d lost in the process. I’ve got the book. But I only read it for the first time four and a half years ago.”
As the words escaped him, giving her more than he ever gave anyone, her expression changed. She was still assessing him, but with more curiosity and respect than the earlier frown had portrayed.
The frown probably had been better for his libido. And for their current situation. He needed her to trust him to keep her safe. And to pretend to like him when they went to her mother’s the next night.
Not to respect or actually like him...even if he now respected and liked her.
* * *
She’d saved Fritz’s den for last. Hadn’t been in the room for a month before her husband was killed, and hadn’t been in since, either.
“I have no real idea where things go,” she said, scooping stuff up off the floor...papers, an ashtray she didn’t recognize, a box of cigars, baseball cards. “This was his space, even when our marriage was...well...a marriage,” she amended. At no time had it been healthy.
And how she’d managed to avoid that fact for eighteen years was about to drive her nuts. About as much as the fact that her own parents had thought her capable of murder.
It was like her whole life she’d lived in a little world of her own—until recently. How did she trust herself to know anything now? And if she couldn’t trust herself, how did she trust anyone else?
The only trustworthy person had been Gram, apparently. At least, it seemed that way to Everleigh, as she tried to get the room in shape as quickly as possible so they could get out of there.
The silence started to overwhelm her...the deafening white noise inside turning her inner thoughts into a loudspeaker.
“The more I think about it, the more I realize that Fritz and I had been living separate lives for most of our marriage,” she said aloud, caring more about getting out of her internal hell than exposing herself to Clarke Colton. It wasn’t like this PI was a part of her life, like she’d ever see him again once whoever had tried to kill her was caught.
“It kind of seems that way,” he said, his tone agreeable. Nonjudgmental. “You said he didn’t move much out of the house, but pretty much every room, they all have your touch. Except here.”
Straightening, she turned to look at him righting Fritz’s basketball memorabilia on the shelves allotted to it.
&nb
sp; “How do you know what’s my touch and what’s his?” she asked, curious. And kind of wanting him to be right, too.
“This room is nothing like the rest of the house. And you just told me it was mostly Fritz’s room.”
The answer was so simple. And yet...right, too.
Right under her nose.
Like her failing marriage had been? She and Fritz hadn’t been as close, but she’d told herself marriages had ups and downs. And maybe she’d buried herself in charity work so she didn’t have to see just how far apart they’d grown.
“My guess is that’s why you didn’t know about the cheating,” he continued in the same conversational tone. Hitting a chord deep within her. Batting at the doubts trying to suffocate her ability to think straight. “Because you were living separate lives.”
She stared at him. He’d just been making conversation, but could he be right?
She wanted him to be right. Sort of. Needed the explanation he was handing her.
And yet...why had she stayed?
“I wanted kids,” she said, stuffing fishing tackle back in boxes. “He said he did, too. We tried for years and he seemed as disappointed as I was that we weren’t having any, but kept putting off going for testing, and yet kept saying we should go together. Didn’t do me much good to find out it wasn’t me, if we didn’t know it was him. And if it was me...maybe I didn’t want to know that, either.”
Why in the hell was she bringing that up? Except that...she’d asked the question. Silently, yeah, but...
Some things had been in there too long. Her life was unraveling faster than she could hold on to it and she had to find a way to make sense of enough of it to move forward. To give herself a future.