The Good Lie by A.R. Torre
CHAPTER 35
I woke up naked in his bed, tucked underneath layers of silky sheets and down feathers. It felt like a cocoon, one that I never wanted to move out of. I closed my eyes and savored the moment before my brain would fully engage and I’d overthink this entire situation.
The mattress shifted, and I turned my head and found Robert seated at the edge of the bed, dressed in slacks and a button-up, his hair already in place, tie already knotted.
He was facing straight ahead, his eyes on the windows. “Tell me what John told you. How much you know about what he did.”
I worked myself up and onto my elbows, holding the covers to my chest. “Excuse me?”
“John Abbott.” He turned his head and stared into my eyes. “Tell me what you know.”
I swallowed, my brain trying desperately to wake up and perform. “I don’t really know anything. I mean, other than what he told me. But I—”
“You’ve been lying to me since the day I met you.” He swore, then ran his hands over his face. “Shit, Gwen.”
“Not lying,” I countered. “I haven’t lied to you.” I scooted farther back on the bed, so I was fully upright.
“You did. You knew all about John.” He measured and weighed his words carefully, as if he were grinding them through a stone. “The monster he was. You could have stopped him.”
I dropped my gaze, avoiding the judgment in his face but still hearing it in his words. Weeks together, and he’d known the truth of Brooke’s death the entire time. Had he been waiting for me to bring it up? Watching to see what I told police? “Yes,” I said softly. “I should have done more. I should have called the police.”
The mattress shifted as he rose, and I searched for something to say, an explanation to give. When I finally found the courage to lift my gaze, he was moving through the bedroom door, his steps sounding down the hall. I waited, listening, but I could feel the emptiness of the house when it took over.
I found my dress and underwear by the foot of the bed, my sandals at different corners of the room. The curtains were drawn, and I parted them enough to see that it was late morning. My phone was probably still in the kitchen, tucked into my purse. The battery was likely dead, and I tried to remember what my day looked like. Luke Attens had finally called the office and was on the books at eleven. Hopefully I had time to swing by the house and shower first.
I stepped into the bathroom long enough to use the toilet and wash my hands. Glancing in the mirror, I paused, taking a moment to smooth my wild, dark hair into place. Looking into my eyes, I took a deep breath.
It will be okay.I repeated the phrase twice, inhaling and exhaling deeply. Maybe Robert was going to the police now. Maybe he wasn’t. After all, he had asked me what I’d known. He hadn’t known my guilt for sure. What he had known was John’s guilt. And now, from my own admission, he knew mine.
Despite what Meredith said, despite all the excuses my mind liked to throw up, Brooke’s death was my fault. If I had answered John’s call that morning. If I had listened more closely during his sessions. If I had reached out to Brooke and warned her, or gone to the police or flat out done a better damn job with my client.
Should I destroy John’s file? Burn or bury the evidence? How much should I do to protect myself? I inhaled sharply as my stomach heaved and I bent over the sink, waiting for last night’s dinner to come up.
It didn’t. The moment passed, my stomach settled, and I straightened. I needed to get out of here. I passed through the arched doorway, back into the bedroom, and hesitated, seeing the black-velvet box on the stained-teak bedside table. The ring. I considered putting it back in its place on the wall but decided to leave it there, my urge to leave outweighing my need to return things to where they belonged.
I’d need to get a client-termination letter prepared as soon as possible. I had a template I’d used before and could have Jacob complete it and send it over to Robert. My outstanding invoice, which I hadn’t yet submitted to Cluster & Kavin, I could void. Have Jacob include an attachment of the canceled bill, just to make it clear that I wouldn’t be asking for any payment.
It all felt too little, too late. I should have ended this the moment it had begun. In the bar, with the peanuts and beer. Instead, I was neck-deep, and everything in my life was in danger of drowning.
Hurrying down the hall, I found my purse where I’d left it. I threw the thick strap over one shoulder, grabbed my keys, and fled.
“You look like shit.” Luke, who was meticulously put together in a powder-blue suit, coiffed hair, and Versace sunglasses, eyed my worn jeans and loose blouse with a critical scowl.
I didn’t bother with a smile. I had barely made it to the office in time for this appointment. “Good morning to you, too, Luke.” I stirred a sugar packet into my coffee and gestured to the conference table. “Please, sit.”
“Seriously, what’s wrong with you?” He dropped into the closest chair and eyed me with concern. “Blow-dryer on the fritz?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” I glanced through the glass wall and found Jacob and Bart in the lobby, watching. “Can we talk about Randall Thompson without you screaming in my face?”
His concern flipped to annoyance. “I wasn’t screaming. You overreacted and were a huge baby over the entire thing.” He drummed his manicured nails on the arm of the chair. “And why are we still not in your office? I know what’s in there, you know.”
“Yes,” I said calmly, taking a seat that was a safe distance away. “Thank you, by the way, for the broken lamp.” Too late, I corrected myself. I knew better than this. Inflammatory statements weren’t the right way to handle Luke, and if I wasn’t so tied up in knots over Brooke and Robert, I’d be aware of that. I softened my tone. “Luke, in our last meeting, you were trying to tell me something about Randall. What was it?”
“You lied to me, Doc.” He pointed toward my face, and it was a little too aggressive for my liking. “You told me you weren’t working with him.”
“I wasn’t working with him. I was hired to do a psychological profile of the BH Killer.”
“Hired by his attorney.” He lifted his foot and rested the ankle of it on his other knee. It was a good sign, a change in body language, and I relaxed slightly at the new pose. “I saw you on the news, Doc.”
“Yes, I was hired by his defense,” I admitted. “But I quit.”
He looked at me with skepticism. “When?”
“This morning.” Jacob’s email had gone out at 10:15 a.m., and so far there’d been no response from Robert. I thought of the anger that had been in his voice. So raw. So emotional. Why did he care so much about John Abbott? Yes, I had been negligent. Yes, a woman had died. But they had barely known Robert. Service provider and client. If there had been more of a relationship there, Robert had never mentioned it.
Through the glass walls of the conference room, I saw movement by the elevators and tensed. Meredith walked past, and I forced my hand to relax its iron grip around my coffee cup. Would they come for me today? Would it be Detective Saxe or someone else? Or would Robert sit on my confession and continue whatever cat-and-mouse game he was engaged in?
Meredith paused by Jacob’s desk.
“If you aren’t working for Randall anymore, why do you want to know about him?”
“Honestly?” I returned my attention to Luke. “Personal curiosity. I haven’t made up my mind if he’s innocent or not. It would help me if I understood what he did to you. But Luke”—I set down my coffee cup—“you and I are protected by doctor-patient confidentiality. Regardless of whether or not I’m working on that case, I can’t share anything you tell me with anyone. And obviously, if you’d prefer not to tell me things, you don’t.”
“Randall never touched me.” He twisted the diamond bezel on his watch.
I frowned. “I thought—”
“It wasn’t me. He put his hands on my first girlfriend. Kept her after class and pinned her against the wall and fingered her.” His fury was gone, the words delivered in a cold and clinical way that was nowhere near the Luke of before. Where was his rage? Had that outburst been about Randall, or had Luke just been on the bad end of an emotional dip?
I sat back, slightly deflated. “Did she tell anyone?”
“No. Another girl . . . a freshman, had told the guidance counselor that he raped her in the science lab—and she’d been ignored. And remember, this was twenty years ago.” He shrugged. “Back then, the guy wasn’t old and fat. Some of the girls liked him, and the girl in question was already a slut. No one believed her. Kristen didn’t want to be a repeat act. And she didn’t tell me about it until years later, when we were in college.”
I dropped my head back against the chair and tried to push the silenced girls in question out of my head. While the story was tragic, I needed to focus on how this information fit into my profile. The problem was, it was another puzzle piece that didn’t. It matched what Robert had said—Randall was a sexual predator, but toward women, not men.
Maybe Robert was right and Randall wasn’t responsible for the BH deaths. At the moment, I couldn’t find a clear thought in any of this.
I looked back at Luke. “Do you have my wallet and keys?”
“Nope.”
A lie if I’d ever heard one. I gritted my teeth and wondered if I could fire him as a client, too.
I met his gaze, his obnoxious smirk twisting one side of his face, and mentally lifted a middle finger to everything he stood for. Why not fire him? If I was going down in flames, I might as well go out swinging.