Page 198 of A Curse On Black Lake
Wyatt tilts his head, studying me and rubbing his chin, keeping his cool. “All I’m asking, well, trying to understand, is why you thought you would be dead today?” he asks, totally leaping over the fact I basically accused him of murder.
Interesting.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I grit.
“You seem to think it does, despite what you’re saying,” he says, reaching into his desk and popping a peppermint in his mouth.
“My stalker is the one who ripped up my garden, is framing Killian, killed Hazel and put her in my garden, and made her look like me. It’s blatant that the killer isnotKillian, but as you can see, there’s literally no way for me to prove that, and frankly, I’m really tired of repeating myself.”
Wyatt’s jaw is wide open.
Maybe it’s not him … I study him carefully, and he looks genuinely surprised at everything I said.
I puff out a breath. Maybe I’m wrong, but Killian said Wyatt left last night, and for all we know Wyatt simply went home. Regardless, I’m tired, frustrated, and flat-outangry.My patience isgone.
“Can you please let me see Killian? Unless you’re arresting me for something I didn’t do either,” I snap at Wyatt.
“No, I’m not,” Wyatt grits.
“Great, could you?” I ask, gesturing toward the door.
His jaw ticks. “I want you to know, Eliana, that I take no satisfaction in putting my flesh and blood in there. But the evidence is against him,” he says and opens the door to all the holding cells.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Isn’t that funny? How it all perfectly points to Killian?” I ask him.
Wyatt’s eye twitches, and I leave it at that, rushing to Killian, and the door slams loudly behind me.
“Hey, baby,” Killian says. His face is haggard, like he hasn’t slept for days.
“I don’t have enough money,” I mumble, and burst into tears.
“Come here,” he says, pushing his arms through the bars.
I lean my head against his arms, and his hands awkwardly pat around my body through the bars.
“I wish you could hug me without these bars between us,” I rasp.
“I know, me too.”
“I tried to get a personal loan. I even offered my land, but they said that could take a month. You don’t have a month.”
“Hey,” he says.
I lean back to look him in the eye. He grabs my face, wiping my tears with his thumbs as they fall. “Thank you for doing that for me. I would never want you to sell your land. That’s been in your family for generations.”
“Does it matter if I don’t have you?” I ask.
He tilts his head but doesn’t ask the burning question I know is running through his mind.
“It does because if this doesn’t work out, my land will probably go up for sale with everything on it. If that’s the case, I’m going to have you sell it all before that happens,” he says.
“You didn’t do this. They know it. We know it. Why won’t they let you go?” I ask him, choking on tears.
The firetruck sirens echo through the narrow window cracked open for air.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but … they found my DNA on Hazel’s body.”
“What do you mean they found DNA? How is that possible?” I ask him.
