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Even after his explanation of Inez being an associate of the club, she couldn’t shake the feeling there were missing pieces to his story. Jekyll was vague and brushed off the encounter as nothing more than coincidence. Imogene pressed a little more, but when he announced he was staying the night, she got sidetracked. When he’d suggested they hang out the next day, her curiosity about their connection ceased to exist. Details weren’t really important, right?
She covered a yawn and considered going back to the apartment before she heard faint footsteps.
Imogene jerked in her seat and leaned across the breakfast bar when she heard the door creak open. From her vantage point, she couldn’t see him until he had passed the kitchen wall from the hallway. Jekyll was shirtless, only in his jeans. He hadn’t even bothered with boots or socks.
“It’s three in the morning. What are you doing up?”
She shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”
He gave a slow nod and walked into the living room. The boxes of files hadn’t been sorted just yet. Most of them were stacked against the wall.
She slipped off the chair and wandered into the room opposite of him. “What are you doing up?”
He dragged his hand over his beard, eyeing the boxes. “Got up to take a piss, you weren’t there, came looking for you.” He lifted the top of one of the boxes. “What’s all this?”
“Files on my dad’s case.”
His hand stilled, and he angled his head, staring back at her.
“It’s more for me than him.”
His brows dipped. “What do you mean?”
She forced a smile and shrugged, hoping he’d let it go. He didn’t.
“Asked you a question.”
She drew in a breath. “Not sure I want to answer.”
“Why?”
“Because sometimes the truth is ugly.”
“You gonna explain that to me?”
She moved closer to the boxes, glancing over them. “I know that with him being gone, it seems pointless to pursue the case. It won’t change his outcome anyway. He’ll still be gone. But there’s a part of me that needs validation that I was right.”
“What’s so ugly about that?”
Everything.
She flattened her lips, staring down at the ground. She heard his steps get closer but kept her head bowed, not wanting to look him in the eye. It only lasted a few seconds before he cupped her jaw, forcing her to look at him.
“Tell me.”
She swallowed the knot in her throat. “Because if I’m not right, and he was guilty, then I spent the last four years advocating for a murderer to be set free.”
This was the first time Imogene had ever admitted that to anyone.
“You want to be right, or you want the truth?”
“I want both,” she whispered. “I want them to be the same thing.”
“But you got your doubts?”
Her eyes welled. It was a vulnerable spot to be in. Admitting that she had her doubts about her father’s innocence had never been anything she was willing to vocalize. At the beginning, it wasn’t an issue. She wholeheartedly believed in him. But now?
“We should go back to bed.”
