Page 89 of House of Lies

Another tear courses down my cheek, and Ethan’s gaze switches to it, watching it fall with morbid fascination.

“Did she tell you why she left me?” I whisper. “Did you even bother asking?”

He takes a huge, stuttering breath. “Cassidy, Christ, I…I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

The world blurs as more tears brim on my eyelashes. It’s a relief, actually. I cried a lot the first two or three weeks after she disappeared. I’d wake up day after day and have to face my swollen reflection, my red eyes, the creases on my cheeks from the pillowcase.

“I just want to know why,” I murmur.

Ethan’s throat moves as he swallows. He releases me, his hand going into his pocket. I slump against the bookshelf behind me, not caring what he’s about to take out—a knife, a gun, ropes, that flogger he keeps threatening me with.

I don’t care anymore.

Because I still don’t have any answers.

And I guess I never will.

“Here,” he says.

I stare wordlessly at his cellphone as he unlocks it and turns the phone to me.

There’s a photo of a pretty brunette on the screen. She’s ten, maybe fifteen years older than me. It’s a selfie he took of them together, and he doesn’t look much older than he does today. Glenmont Manor is visible in the background, and they’re standing beside a FOR SALE sign with a red SOLD sticker obscuring most of the words.

“That’s Becky Hearst. And unless she was pregnant with you when she was in kindergarten, there’s no way she’s your mother. Now are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

Chapter 36

Ethan

Cassidy nurses a glass of wine, staring into its ruby depths like it’s an oracle that will reveal the answer to everything. I wish it could. Cassidy’s not the only one who’s been asking questions no one wants to answer.

She’s just spent the past half an hour getting me up to speed on her mother’s disappearance, this Rebecca Monroe she was convinced eloped with me.

Any other person hearing her story would have told her to go see a therapist…but I get it. I was clutching at straws too when Becks first disappeared. Even after all these months, I’m still convinced there’s some shred of evidence somewhere I’m missing, a puzzle piece that will finally reveal the full picture of what happened the night she left me.

“When was the last time you spoke to the detective handling your mother’s case?”

She takes a sip, sighs. “Tuesday. He wasn’t prioritizing the lead I gave him?—”

“Me,” I cut in dryly.

There’s the hint of an apology in her eyes when she glances up at me from her glass. “You,” she concedes. “I had to take matters into my own hands.”

I rub my thumb down the side of my wineglass. It’s late afternoon—I’d planned to be on the road already, but there’s no way we could just put a pin in this.

“Wait a minute…” I grab her hand, forcing her to look at me. “Myles didn’t send you, did he?”

She gives me a rueful smile. “I don’t even know who that is.”

I pull my hand away, wrapping my fingers over my mouth as I lean back on the kitchen stool. The remnants of the open house’s snack platters are nearby. There wasn’t much left, but we’re making a point of emptying them as we hash out everything.

“And I just…” I can’t bear to look at her. “I treated you like…”

She laughs softly. “That’s what’s worrying you?”

“Why the hell did you let me?”

Cassidy takes another sip, her lips crooking into a warmer smile. “I was undercover, remember?”

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