Page 67 of Swerve
Did he really believe that?
She certainly didn’t.
Not possible.
Wouldn’t ask if it weren’t necessary.
Necessary? Seriously?
Irritation needles her, but she pushes it away. Senator Hagan is the perfect client. Pays in cash. Takes care with the girls. No power plays or kinky crap.
But this is a big ask.
Will need dossier.
Already prepared it. Will send it by courier this afternoon.
If dossier pans out, when would account 98 like a meeting?
Tonight, if possible.
Booked.
Tomorrow night then.
I will let you know.
Look forward to hearing from you.
She does not like being strong-armed, but resists the urge to wage a power play. Hagan has brought her a number of good clients, but none with such short notice. Something about it raises her defense hackles. She’ll look at the dossier, but the intuition she has always prided herself on tells her this one will warrant extra scrutiny.
One cannot be too selective or too careful.
Emory
“Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, ‘It might have been.’”
?Kurt Vonnegut
WE’RE ON THE way to the store where Madison had worked. Knox wants to ask some questions of other employees there. He’s already warned me we’ll have to wait if there’s any sign of other cops or detectives doing the same. Clearly, he’s trying to avoid another entanglement with his chief.
We’re sitting in traffic on I-66 when he looks over, one hand draped on the steering wheel. “What happened to your parents?” he asks, his eyes intent on mine.
I glance out the window of the Jeep, not sure how to voice the real answer. I could give him the one believed to be true by the rest of the world, the one that didn’t make me look like the awful person I know myself to be.
The silence expands to fill the vehicle with a heavy expectation. He says nothing further, just looks straight ahead, driving. When I finally speak, my voice is laced with the heavy, bitter price of regret. “I’m fairly sure I killed them.”
He swings a glance my way, and I can feel the question in his eyes. “What does that mean, Emory?”
“That people can die from hurt.”
“How did you hurt them?”
I’m quiet for a stretch, weighing the words. “By rejecting them. Rebelling against who they were.”
He’s quiet for a good bit, and then, “Do you think you’re unique in that?”
I shake my head, still refusing to look at him. “No. I’m sure I’m not. But that doesn’t make it any easier to live with.”
