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Years Employed: 19
Confusion has me squinting, and I mutter beneath my breath, “Who the hell uses tally marks to count the number of years someone worked for them?”
“That’s not the number of years she worked here.” My eyes dart to his and his jaw is like granite. “There are twenty-seven tallies. Not nineteen.”
“Then why—”
“The fuck?” Daniel’s tone is dangerously lethal, and I follow his focus past the large white space on the page before reading the rest of his sister’s entry at the bottom.
Mackenzie; Eleanor—September 19th
A searing pain rips through my skull, causing my fingers to go slack, and I drop the binder on the desk with a thud. Gripping my head in my hands, I scramble back from the binder as if it’s a poisonous snake about to strike.
My vision grows hazy for a split second as a memory flashes behind my eyes. I see myself holding a piece of paper with a single word written on it, but I can’t recall what it said.
As rapid as the pain had bloomed in my head, it recedes, and my eyes lock with Daniel’s, which are ripe with accusation.
A desperate need to defend myself claws at my throat while the weight of his stare pushes down on my chest. Holding my palms up, I sputter, “I don’t know what the hell any of this is, I swear!” Because I don’t. It’s like I’m in the middle of some practical joke that’s not the least bit funny.
A sinister sensation suddenly tiptoes down my spine. “We need to get out of here.” Urgency colors my words, and even though suspicion still blankets his features, he nods in agreement.
I shove the binder back in place and nearly trip over my own feet in a scramble to get the hell out of the building. We shove through the doors and remain silent until we’re back along the sidewalk parallel with the main road and I start time once again.
My heart’s still racing wildly, and I struggle to drag in steady breaths.
“Wanna explain what the fuck that was back there?”
“I don’t know!” I toss my hands in the air. “Think about it for a goddamn minute, Daniel. Why the hell would I agree to do any of this with you if I were involved?”
Tense lines frame his mouth. “You tell me.”
I stare up at the sky, begging the universe for patience or guidance—anything. “I. Don’t. Know.” Locking eyes with him, I challenge, “What kind of place uses binders and mysterious tally marks in employees’ records? That’s sure as hell not normal.”
He rakes a hand down his face, agitation evident, but never tears his eyes off me. “You know anybody named Eleanor?”
“No.” My answer’s immediate. I silently plead with him to believe me. “And I never met your sister, Daniel. I’m not the Mackenzie they listed in that binder.”
He paces back and forth on the sidewalk, traffic passing by with typical Jacksonville urgency, while my eyes track his distressed movements. My heart twists inside my chest for how frustrating this must be.
He stops pacing to settle the weight of his attention on me. “Mackenzie and Eleanor were listed right beside September 19th.” His piercing eyes bore into me. “You know what that date signifies?”
I shake my head. “No clue.”
It feels as though he’s attempting to delve into my brain to determine whether I’m lying to him. He must decide I’m not, because he finally exhales loudly, his shoulders dropping a fraction. “That’s when she was murdered.”
Thunder rumbles in the distance, drawing our attention. The sky has turned an ominous shade of dark gray, and I tip my head in the direction of the bus stop. “We should head that way, so we don’t get caught in the rain.”
We don’t speak the entire walk to the bus stop, both of us caught up in our thoughts. Eleanor. I don’t know who the hell that is, so why does the name seem familiar?
As I stare out the bus window moments later, my stomach churns with nausea because my memory isn't exactly reliable. God knows there are so many fucking gaps in it, but there’s no way I’m the Mackenzie listed in that binder.
I would know if I were involved in HelixCorp. And I sure as hell would know if I had something to do with his sister’s murder.
And I didn’t. Even as I emphasize that internally, it does nothing to quell my uneasiness. Because that means there’s a Mackenzie still out there who’s somehow connected to Daniel’s sister.
And she may very well have information about Emilia’s murder.
48
