Page 135 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
The stranger shoved his hands into his pockets. “It’s illegal to hinder a federal investigation.” He sounded young, but I still refused to look at his face.
“It should be illegal to be a dick.” It slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.
He laughed, the full-bellied type that traveled all over your body and left you warm. “It should be, but it isn’t. I’m glad, because I’m not made for jail. Are you?”
No. Neither were the Prescotts, not that they were going to jail. Not even Nash, whom I hated for sleeping with me and acting like a jerk after.
“I’m not going to jail.” I kicked at a loose brick on the path to the house. It wiggled a bit but remained an immovable force, reminding me I needed to plant my feet and stop this madness from touching Reed and his family. “The Prescotts have nothing to do with this. I don’t even know what this is, but there’s a family living inside that is completely innocent and does not deserve to have their belongings torn apart and searched.”
“Who lives there, Miss Winthrop?”
Liar, my lips begged to scream. You already know, you snake.
Magic words couldn’t heal this, but I mouthed one anyway.
Querencia.
Noun.
A place where one feels safe.
A place from which one’s strength of character is drawn.
The Prescott cottage was my querencia.
“Who lives in the cottage, Miss Winthrop?” he repeated.
“You don’t know?”
“I do. I want to hear you say it.”
“The Prescotts.”
“No, Emery.” My name rolled off his tongue so naturally, as if we were friends. Filthy snake. “Their names.”
Not a snake.
A fiery serpent.
It reminded me of the Book of Numbers, the story some of the nannies would tell to scare us into behaving. God had sent fiery serpents to punish people for speaking out against him. Moses built the Nehushtan as protection against the serpents. A staff in the shape of a cross, a serpent coiled around the wood.
My hands itched to wrap around one and brand it as a weapon against the world. A weapon against him.
Instead, I whispered their names. “Betty. Hank. Reed. Nash.”
Maybe he wasn’t the snake.
Maybe I was.
A weak one, raised in captivity, not meant to be wild.
“Tell me about Nash,” he said.
“Why?”
“The way you say his name—”
“Is none of your business.” Venom slithered up my throat. If I were a snake, I would poison this man before he touched my Prescotts. “He doesn’t live here anymore. It’s just Betty, Hank, and Reed. And before you accuse them of anything, Reed is just a kid, and Betty and Hank are good people.”
