Deceptions
Page 106

And there it was. The confession. I sat there, processing it, accepting it. That came more easily than I might have expected. There’d been such a slow build to this moment, so many possible answers, so many times I’d been certain the answer would be “my parents are sociopaths.” Gabriel was right—this was a good answer. Imperfect but acceptable.
“Okay,” I said. “I understand why you did it—”
I was going to say I understood even if I didn’t agree, but as soon as I said “you did it,” she flinched, and I stopped.
“It was both of you,” I said slowly. “Wasn’t it?”
A shot in the dark. But when I took it, the look on her face, guilt and more, so much more . . .
“It was him,” I whispered. “All him.”
Her head snapped up. “No. Never. It was a joint decision and a joint action. We both—”
“No, you didn’t,” I said. “He did. Only him.”
“I . . .” Her mouth worked, panic filling her face as if she was trying to get the words out and couldn’t. “I . . .”
“Why are you in prison, then?” I said. “If it was my father, and only my father—”
“I couldn’t do it,” she blurted. “My nerve failed and I failed. I failed you. I wasn’t strong enough. He told me the deal, and I refused to consider it. So he did it without me knowing.”
“But you were together on those nights.”
“We . . . we didn’t have a lot of money. We wanted a house for you, and it all went into that, so on our date nights we’d just go for walks. In the forest. Your father always liked the wilderness.” Not surprising, given his bloodline. “We’d walk and then . . . we’d take some time alone.” Uh-huh. Pretty sure I knew what that meant, but I sure as hell wasn’t asking for confirmation. “Afterward, we’d fall asleep for a couple of hours, with his watch alarm set. All I remember from those nights is that I slept very well. I presume there was something in the wine. We never discussed it.”
“But you went to jail. For something you didn’t do.”
Her eyes flashed. “For something I should have done. We should have done, together. The DNA evidence was mine, Eden. I’m presuming someone planted it there. Maybe the Cwn Annwn—I never trusted them. Or maybe one of their enemies. After that, how could I claim innocence without turning him in? Turning on him? As long as we both proclaimed our innocence, there was a chance we’d both be freed. I was willing to take that chance. I still am, and I always will be.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
You should celebrate,” Gabriel said as he pulled out of the prison parking lot.
“Um . . .”
“When we first met, you were trying to reconcile yourself to the fact that your parents were cold-blooded serial killers. You know now that they are not. Your father killed four people, all of whom, I suspect, deserved it, and he did it out of love for you. Your mother is completely innocent. That’s a long way to come, Olivia.” He looked at me. “It is.”
“I know, but . . .”
“Yes, perhaps ‘celebration’ is the wrong word. But you deserve an evening to appreciate what you’ve accomplished, and to relax. So that is what you’re going to do. I insist. We’re going to . . . not celebrate.”
I managed a laugh.
“You know what I mean,” he said. “We’re taking the night off, and you’re going to enjoy it.”
“Yes, sir.”
His fingers tapped the wheel. There’d been an electricity in the car, an excitement after I’d explained. I could be brutally pragmatic and say Gabriel was happy at learning his client really was innocent. He was also happy that resolving this would free us to investigate James’s death and clear Gabriel’s own name. But I’d like to think he was also happy for me, for us, having gone through all this together and finally finding an answer, the second-best possible solution.
He’d made his offer of a celebration in a surge of ebullience. Now, when my reaction wasn’t what he’d hoped, that wave crashed and the energy seemed to suck back into him, like a black hole.
“That sounds good,” I said. “Really good.”
His hands relaxed on the wheel. “Does it?”
“A moment to lift our heads from the cesspool and recognize how far we’ve both come before we dive back in again.”
A soft chuckle. “That doesn’t exactly invoke the mood I was aiming for . . .”
“You know what I mean. Yes, I’d like a not-celebratory evening, please.”
My phone buzzed, and he tensed. “Ricky?”
“Mmm. Hold on.” I texted back. “He’s just checking in.”
He kept his gaze on the road. “If you would rather spend the evening . . .”
“He has homework to catch up on.”
He drove two blocks in silence. Then, “I would understand if you wanted to spend the evening with Ricky. A lot has happened today, and he’s . . . better with that sort of thing. We could do this another time. I mean that. I would understand.”
“You’re the one who had to put up with me through this whole mess. So you’re the one who has to not-celebrate with me, too.”
A flicker of a smile. “All right, then. We will do something special. Not dinner. Something different. Something fun.” He paused, and I could smell smoke as his brain whirred, furiously searching for a fun activity. The longer he struggled, the harder I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing.