Page 68 of After Our Kiss

I didn't point out that Conway would have found me wherever I was. Part of my campaign was convincing everyone that he wasn't involved in any of the crimes. Lonnie had tried to pin some of it on him—another act of vengeance. But every woman in the house confirmed they'd never seen Conway. Not once.

Lonnie had thrown them in the white van, transported them to the island he'd been squatting in then hid them inside. His first victim had been there for a year.

Watching them getting helped into the ambulances that had arrived on the mainland was both reassuring and unsettling. Conway had made the phone call for help. The police had sent boats. It was a mess as they tried to make sense of what had gone down on our little island.

The prison Facile had been locked up in confirmed his death. He'd been booked in there under a false name, which was how he'd escaped detection for so long. Fake identities are cheap in Mexico.

The inmate who'd stabbed him had already taken a plea deal in exchange for revealing Lonnie had paid him to do it. That was the last thing I'd heard about the case—it wasn't going to trial. There was no need. Lonnie had quietly stated he was guilty. No one knew why, though I had a guess that it was his last rebellion against his own father.

Facile had run.

Lonnie had no intention of shrugging off the blame.

“Thank you for checking in on me,” I said, holding Chelsea by her arms. “And for the fruit basket.” She'd brought me one every single day since I'd been home. “But I need to go.”

Her face shifted. “Can I point out that I'm struggling with you spending so much time aroundhim?”

I tried to laugh her worries off. It came out hollow. “I get it. Conway isn't exactly the shining knight you expect him to be. But Chelsea, please trust me. He's been through as much trauma as I have.”

“Is this where you say he's the only one who understands you?” Her comment took the wind from my sails. Sighing, she gave me one more hug. “You're a grown ass woman, you know what your heart and mind need more than I ever will.”

She tried to disengage but I gripped her tight.

“Georgia?” she whispered.

“Shh, shut up and keep hugging me.” Chelsea petted my hair, rocking me gently. “Thank you,” I said into her shirt. “You're the first person to say that. Ever.”

My friend guided my face up, rubbing away my tears with a half-smile. “Your mom would have.”

I started to disagree then stopped myself. I put my hand on the back of my neck. Chelsea had gotten to know my mother in her last two weeks at hospice. She'd been there as a volunteer, it was how we'd met. I was always grateful for the ridiculous hats she'd bring in to try and cheer Mom up.

My mother had loved it.

She would have loved Conway, too, if she'd gotten to know him.

“You're right,” I finally said. Sniffling, I danced backwards, grabbing a tissue to clear my nose. “If she could see me now, she'd know what I feel for him is real.”

Grabbing her hips, Chelsea pretended to roll her eyes. “Then get going. Mr. Real is waiting for you.”

****

“Are you sure this is the place?” The man who spoke was gruff, his thick body wrapped in a thicker black jacket.

Of course this is it,I thought, staring at Conway's profile. The sun had turned the sky into a melted sea of raspberries and egg yolks. A few clouds dulled the colors. They lit Conway up on every hard corner of his face.

“Yes,” he said solemnly. “She's here.”

The officer grunted. He kept eyeballing Conway like he was a rabid dog. Most of the media had painted him as less of a hero, more of a slippery accomplice. They kept creating headlines like “Will the Horror Island's Brother Show his True Colors?” and “Freedom for the Guilty” with photos of him next to the white van.

I wanted to burn all the papers to the ground.

Waving his arm, the officer directed the men with their shovels to begin digging. While arranging the plans to excavate the site, Conway had made it clear he wanted to help dig. They'd said no. He'd stormed off, threatening to go out alone before everyone else and do it himself.

Talking him out of that had been... a challenge.

Sliding my hand in his, I traced the indent on his pinky. He gripped me back, tight and firm and never loosening. We stood with the sun at our backs as the men revealed the bones in the cold ground.

Anna.

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