Page 146 of Brutal
I almost laugh.
Almost.
Instead I step in.
Her hand is still on my wrist. Her pulse is jumping in her throat.
It’s not fear.
Never fear.
It’s the same dangerous awareness from the house.
From the dock.
From the locked door.
“What he said,” she asks, voice lower now, “about the lawyer. What does that mean?”
“It means he wanted us looking in the wrong direction.”
“Us?”
“Yes,” I say.
Her fingers tighten slightly. “You don’t know that.”
“No,” I admit. “I don’t.”
“Do you have a lawyer in mind?”
I think of Nathaniel immediately.
Nate, with his clean hands and sharper lies. Nate, who could bury a body in contracts and call it following the law.
But no.
Not yet.
I’m not giving that thought air until I know it deserves it. Nate may be merciless, but he’s still my brother.
“Not enough to say,” I tell her, but I already know that won’t satisfy her.
“He said ask the lawyer. Not a lawyer. The lawyer.”
“I heard him.”
“And?”
“And we don’t move the word of some asshole who’s clearly just a messenger.”
Her eyes flash. “Easy for you to say.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you can decide what to hold back.” Her voice stays even, but just barely. “You can decide which parts matter and which parts wait. I can’t.”
Because I killed a man and she’s hunting a truth.
