Page 9 of These White Lies
Luke’s voice is steady. “Elizabeth, the police didn’t charge you yesterday, but you’re still a person of interest. And the circumstances… They’re potentially bigger than just a homicide.”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to hang on to my rapidly fraying temper. “The dead body of my ex-husband in my house isn’t a good look. I get it. But I can account for almost every minute of my day before I got home.”
“That’s good.” Luke gestures toward the chairs in front of his desk, walking around to take a seat behind it, not waiting to see what I’ll do. “But there is a larger problem than the police. Something outside of my expertise.”
I sit in the seat farthest from where Brady is still lounging, desperate for the space. I can feel him watching me, and it’s throwing me off.
“Elizabeth?” Luke has an expectant look on his face, and my brain scrambles to replay what he said.
“Right. Bigger problem.”
I’m not stupid. I knowexactlywhat he’s talking about. I spent the entire night tossing and turning, unable to think of anything else. “Someone clearly has it out for me and Keith, and that’s why they tried to frame me for his murder.”
I stiffen when the two men exchange a look.
“What?”
“It might not be that simple,” Luke hedges, and I frown, sensing he wants to say more.
Brady straightens slightly. “Your house was broken into. Someone bypassed a top-tier security system and dumped a dead body there. That’s not something you ignore.”
His voice has changed. The teasing lilt is gone, replaced with something else. Something darker. Something that gives me goosebumps on my arms.
He’s watching me too closely.
I lift my chin. “Then maybe the person they should investigate is whoever hacked my security system.”
Brady’s eyes bore into mine, and a shiver runs down my spine.
“Funny thing about that,” Luke says. “There was a blackout in your neighborhood thirty minutes before you arrived home. Cameras. Doorbells. All surveillance devices were down.”
My breath catches.
“Thirty minutes?”
“Timed to be sure you would be the one to find him,” Brady points out.
The room tilts, and I grip the arms of the chair, forcing myself to nod, even though my heart’s trying to crawl up my throat.
“Whoever did this, leftyoua message,” Brady continues.
“We don’t know that.” The words rush out. “Maybe it’s like a red herring or something. To throw off the police.” I know I sound desperate.
“Elizabeth.” The way Brady says my name, soft and deliberate, makes my lip wobble.
“It can’t be for me,” I insist. “I don’t know what it means.”
The fear I’ve been holding back roars to life.
How can I give back whatever it is the killer wants if I don’t know what it is?
“You have no idea? None at all?”
I shake my head, biting hard on my lip.
I can’t lose it. Not here. Not in front of them.
Not in front ofhim.
