Page 159 of The Colour of Revenge
This just went from bad to catastrophic.
Nate
“You were supposed to take care of it!” I snarl, my voice a low, vicious growl that cuts through the air like a blade.
“I did!” Kai snaps, his usual calm cracking under pressure. “I swear, I did! I weighted him—double-checked everything!”
“Then why thefuckdid they find him in the Thames?” My voice rises, fury bubbling over as I pace in tight, frantic circles. My hands clench and unclench, itching to break something, my pulse a violent thrum beneath my skin.
Kai’s face pales, but he holds his ground. “This has never happened before. Never. I don’t know how—”
“Well, they fucking did! And now we have detectives breathing down our necks, not to mention mymother.”
Kai throws up his hands, his frustration matching mine. “I don’t control the fucking currents, Nate! You think I wanted this to happen?”
“Stop!”
Carina’s voice cuts through the rising storm, quiet but firm. We both freeze, turning to her. She’s perched on the couch, knuckles white as she grips the cushions like the only thing holding herself together.
Her voice softens, but there’s an edge of steel beneath the surface. “Do we knowhowthey found him? Is there any chance they’ve connected it to us?”
I rake a hand through my hair, trying to claw back some semblance of control. “Piece of him washed up on the south bank. A fucking dog walker found it.”
“Shit.” Kai exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. He looks rattled.
The weight of it presses down on the room, thick and suffocating. Carina swallows hard, but she doesn’t look away. She’s holding it together better than I expected.
For now.
The next few days are full of panic, tension, and damage control.
Kai spends hours wiping anything that could lead back to us—phone records, security footage, anything digital—but even he can’t shake the unease.
“There’s no guarantee this’ll hold,” he mutters, fingers flying across his laptop. “If they dig deep enough—”
“They won’t,” I snap. “Just focus.”
Meanwhile, Carina and I rehearse her alibi over and over, until she can recite every detail without a single slip. But even as she nails it, I see the strain in her eyes, the exhaustion pulling at her edges.
She’s quieter than ever.
No hypothetical questions. No teasing jokes.
She’s pulling away. I can feel it.
But I don’t know how to stop it.
Then the cops come knocking.
Detective Harris studies me from across the table, his gaze steady, unblinking. “Funny thing about grief,” he muses, tapping his pen against his notepad. “Some people cry. Others get quiet. You?” He tilts his head. “You seem... prepared.”
I meet his stare, keeping my expression neutral. “Guess we all grieve differently.”
Across the room, Carina plays the grieving daughter-in-law to perfection—voice trembling just enough, eyes red but not too red. Mum’s raw, real grief does the rest of the work for us.
Every second stretches too long. Every question feels like a trap. But in the end, they leave.
Kai pulls me aside hours later, his face tight but relieved. “The misdirection is in place. The trail’s cold. For now, they’re looking in the wrong direction.”
