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She looks at me again, surprised and relieved. “You do?”
“I…” I sigh, just like she did a moment ago. I hate admitting things. It means I was wrong somewhere, at some point, and I hate being wrong. In my life, I can’t fucking afford to be wrong. “I remember your face. At the trial. All the cuts and bruises.”
“You… you do?”
It was hard to forget. “I kept thinking how fucking stupid everyone was. They wanted to blame Tolya for all those injuries, but they were too fresh.”
“It wasn’t brought up during questioning.”
“It didn’t have to be. I saw that jury. So did you. No one had to say a word. All they had to do was look at you. Look at you, listen to the stories, and look at Tolya.” I feel the worst kind of laugh bubble up in my chest. “All this time, it was fucking Greg Everett. Honorable public servant Everett, Good Guy Greg, who used his own daughter like a punching bag until she sang the song he wanted her to sing.”
Clara picks at her fingernails. “Until I said what he wanted. Which was what I said on the stand.”
“Can you remember anything at all? Any specific part that he didn’t like in your testimony?”
She’s pulling into herself. And away from me. I hate that even more, but I can’t just reach over and hold her hand through this.
Actually, Icould…
No. The last thing either of us needs is more mixed fucking signals.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice catches like she’s about to cry, but she chokes them back. Whether for my sake or hers, I don’t know. “It’s like there’s just… gaps.”
A memory of my mother suddenly flashes unbidden through my mind. She had gaps, too. She’d forget things all the time. But I always chalked that up to her terrible choices in life.
Now, seeing and hearing Clara echo some of Mom’s behavior…
I give myself a little shake.No.My mother made her bed. She chose to lie in it with dozens of other men, right in front of my father. She didn’t care enough about Tolya and me to lift a damn finger to help us.
She’s no parent. Not like Clara is to Willow.
“Do you remember seeing anyone else there? Or hearing? Even if you thought you imagined it?” I need to pull myself out of my own thoughts before they get the best of me.
Clara stills. She’s silent. Then… “No.”
“You’re sure?”
More silence. “No. I’m not sure about anything.”
I try not to give her a scowl. It’s obvious she’s not deliberately trying to frustrate the fuck out of me. She’s as confused as I am.
“I want to get this right.” Clara looks at me again with those big, beautiful eyes and flutters her long lashes. The fact that she definitely doesn’t know she has that little habit makes it all the more alluring.
I may have held strong opinions about her—hell, I still do—but I have to give credit where credit is due: Clara Everett is no manufactured beauty. She’s one hundred percent genuine.
As is the erection now straining against my pants. It grows even worse when I flick my gaze to those sweet, plump lips that are currently trembling as she searches for the right words.
If I wasn’t driving…
Blyat’. It’s like all she has to do is breathe and I’m ready to go.
“I don’t remember much. Not right now, anyway. But I don’t think Tolya killed Michael Little.” Clara’s serious voice succeeds in pulling me out of the sharp left turn my brain just took. “I do think he was just… wrong place, wrong time. And my dad took full advantage of that.”
“The big question is, why?”
“Exactly. Why? Especially when Michael Little was my Dad’s partner.”
I scrub a hand over my face. “So instead of hunting down the actual killer, your father just landed on whatever, whoever, was convenient and quick. Justice at any cost. I’m no cop, but I don’t think that’s how the police department is designed to operate.”
