Page 71 of The Hangman's Rope

I took it and a coffee mug down from the cabinet, and turned around to another face from her that made me burst out laughing out loud.

“That’s for coffee, not for tea,” she said with a small smile and I shook my head.

“Bet. I’m out of my league on this one Sweetpea – might want to go out with the girls to find what you’re looking for on that front.”

Her smile grew and she nodded, “That sounds like a good idea,” she said. “I went along with what Julie wanted to do when I was here and never did get to do what I wanted to do, which was visit a couple of tea rooms here.”

“Bet ‘cha Lainey might dig it. Not sure about Mini-Syn, but she might too.”

“Mini-Syn?” she asked.

I felt my smile flicker and grow in intensity.

“Yeah, a play on her and Synister’s name. She spells her name M-A-D-I-S-Y-N and Syn has always spelled his S-Y-N to start – she really did turn into a Mini-Syn, though and gives that poor bastard a run for his money sometimes.”

She nodded and said, “She’s definitely, ah –spirited,” she said kindly, blushing faintly.

“If that’s your way of sayingintense?”I nodded. “She certainly got to be that way. Those two complement each other. She brings Syn down, and he amps her up, and between them they sort of balance each other out.”

She nodded once and dropped her eyes to her hands which she held flat against the stone countertop.

“You good?” I asked softly, recognizing her mind wandering into dark places.

“Mm?” she made a questioning sound, her eyes distant and not really looking at anything as her thoughts seemed to consume her and she nodded a little vacantly.

“Hey,” I said softly, and covered her hand with mine. She jumped and her silvery eyes flew up to meet mine.

“What ‘cha thinking about so hard?” I asked.

She sighed and rocked back on her seat, withdrawing her hand from beneath mine and dropping them into her lap.

“A lot of things,” she confessed finally, looking away from me, toward the dining area, and out the windows beyond.

“Talk to me, baby,” I said quietly.

“The cops keep pressing me for information,” she said finally. “I’m scared to tell them anything.”

I cocked my head and considered her and she sighed. It was a very weary and unhappy sound.

“Why?” I asked softly.

She sniffed, and looked up to me and said, “I’m afraid they’ll find something or say that —” she choked on a sob that bubbled up from the deep well of sadness she held within her.

“That it was your fault?” I asked quietly, with a sudden flash of inspiration.

She nodded mutely, miserably.

I sighed and went around to hug her tight and she buried her face in my chest.

“Wasn’t your fault, baby. Doesn’t matter what you look like, what you were wearing, how much you did or didn’t drink… that’s all stupid shit. Window dressing and white noise.”

She quivered against me and looked up at me and I smoothed some of her long auburn hair back from her elegant face.

“I’m afraid they would tell…”

“Tell what?” I asked and she looked so distraught. “Talk to me beautiful. I can’t fix what I don’t know.”

She thought that the fact that she’d had an orgasm when they’d been raping her meant that it was all null and void. That it wasn’t rape if she’d gotten off and I could tell it really fucked with her that she had… but the body didn’t always get the fucking memo on what was consensual and what wasn’t.

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