Page 114 of Kill Your Darlings

“I didn’t.I was thinking Milo had drowned Colby in the pool when Colby tried to blackmail him, too.I had no idea the brother was hanging around.I was just trying to get you out of there safely.”

I was silent thinking of the irony—or maybe the poetic justice—of that.

“I hate that we’re lying to protect Milo,” I said abruptly.

“We’re not.We’re lying to protect you.And we won’t be lying for much longer.”

“No.”I said, “But.”

He prompted gently, “But?”

“I know I said I was glad to have the chance to tell Judge Baldwin how sorry I am, and that’s true.I owe him that.But after hearing everything Milo said; we don’t haveanyleverage.If the judge is dying, he’s not going to give a damn about his reputation or anything else.He wants revenge, end of story.”

“I agree,” Finn said.“We’re not going to waste time talking to Baldwin.He’s already going to have a pretty good idea of what’s happened because I’d bet money Geo is desperate enough and dumb enough to call on him for help.”

“Jesus.Then what are we doing?”

Finn hesitated and my heart dropped.

I shook my head.“Finn… I can’t.”

“Just listen for a minute.We have to control this narrative.It’s only a matter of time before Milo’s dumbass stranger danger story falls apart.Even if Geo is willing to confess to killing Colby, there are going to be questions.The police are already curious, they’re going to keep poking around, and it’s not going to be hard to find more than they ever dreamed of.”

“But it won’t necessarily tie back to me.There’s no reason for Milo to drag me into it.It’s not going to help his situation.”

“That’s how you look at these things.That’s not how everyone looks at them.Milo is first and foremost concerned with Milo.He’s going to jet back to Scotland and talk through his lawyers; he’s going to stall telling the truth about anything and everything as long as possible.And one of those stall tactics might be cutting a deal and throwing you to the wolves.”

That gave me pause.

“I don’t think he…”

Actually, I had no idea what he might do.He was a complete stranger to me.

Finn didn’t bother arguing.“We have to get out ahead of the narrative, whatever it’s going to be, and we have to do that quickly.This is an evolving situation.It’s not how I wanted to handle it.But we’re out of options.I think our best bet is to go straight to whoever is your sheriff now and be absolutely honest.”

“About everything?”

“All of it.Everything.”

I could see the sense in what he was saying, but the idea of turning myself in—that my time might have just run out—left me feeling cold and hollow.

When I said nothing, Finn’s arms tightened around me.He said fiercely, his breath warm against my ear, “I’ll be with you every step of the way.Whatever happens, it’s going to happen to both of us, and we’ll work through it together.I promise you.”

I had no words.Couldn’t have dislodged them from the vise my throat had become, if I had.

I nodded.

The Steeple Hill sheriff’s station sat on the edge of town, a small, white building with a cracked asphalt lot and a flag that always seemed to hang half-mast, no matter the weather.

Finn parked in the empty “visitors” lot and we got out and went inside.

Indoors, it still smelled faintly of old coffee and pine disinfectant.The front counter was more scuffed, the plastic plants more dusty, and the bulletin board more cluttered with curling wanted posters, bake sale flyers, and a faded handwritten note about a missing bike.A handful of desks, a radio that occasionally crackled to life, and a coffee pot that was surely a direct descendent of the one I remembered.

Nothing high tech, nothing fancy, but this wasn’t a town that required a large police presence.

Granted, there had been a few technological advances since my day—or, more accurately, my father’s day: flat-screen monitors sat on the desks instead of the old CRT monitors.A security camera feed, visible behind the front desk, offered split screens showing different corners of the town.(Nothing was happening as usual.) Body cam dock chargers were lined up in the corner like they’d been sent to detention hall.

Lunchtime on Sunday was never busy, but I honestly thought there was no one in the station at all, until I heard the slide and scrape of the filing cabinet in the sheriff’s office.

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