Page 13 of Warped

Chapter Seven

V

There was no way in hell I was going to tell anyone what really happened in that warehouse. Those last few minutes of my mother’s life were between me, my sister, and my father. I wouldn’t even say what I’d done out loud, never mind stand in a courtroom full of people and tell them what had actually happened. Yes, there had been other witnesses there, men who my father paid, but none of them would come forward either. To do so would mean owning up to being in the same room as a mother and her children, while my father forced me to shoot one of them. Besides, he may not have pulled the trigger himself, but at the end of the day he was the one to have killed her. He used me, gave me no choice. I couldn’t let him get away with it. I would see him behind bars for her murder, even if the story I told wasn’t strictly the truth.

I’d kept my sister completely out of this. The last thing I wanted was for her to be involved. They might try to make her testify, and then she would be in the middle of a nightmare, just like me.

“Can you run through what you said in your statement one more time for me?” Caroline Bailey asked.

I nodded and opened my mouth to speak. As I did so, the sudden certainty that I was about to throw up filled me. Saliva flooded my mouth and I clamped my hand across my face. With a lurch, I shoved back my chair and staggered to my feet. I knew I wouldn’t stand a chance of making it to the bathroom in time, so I did the only thing I could, and threw myself to my knees in front of the small trashcan intended for wastepaper. Clutching the edges, I heaved the coffee I had drunk out into the can, emptying my stomach with several more urges, until I had nothing left to throw up.

The lawyer offered me one of the tissues kept on the desk—more often used to mop up tears of victims, I suspected—and I used it to wipe my mouth. I sat back on my heels, panting, tears streaming from my eyes, and clear snot running from both nostrils. Fuck. I was a mess. The sweat that had formed on my skin now grew ice cold, and I shivered.

What the hell had just happened?

The sudden bout of nausea I had experienced passed as quickly as it had arrived. I felt shaky and weak, but otherwise all right.

“Hey, are you okay?” Caroline asked me.

I found a flimsy plastic cup of water being pressed into my hands, and I took a sip then wiped my face again. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

She helped me up and back into the chair. I was very aware of the trashcan of my vomit sitting beside us, and I shook my head and rubbed my hand over my face.

“It’s okay, don’t be embarrassed,” she said. “You won’t be the first person to throw up under these circumstances. It can be traumatic to go through all these details again.”

I nodded, as though I understood and agreed. But I didn’t. I wasn’t one to get squeamish at death. I’d killed people without feeling the need to throw up. I’d been around more dead bodies than any other woman my age, and I’d barely done so much as wrinkle my nose. This wasn’t my normal reaction, but I couldn’t tell her that. To do so would make me look like a cold-hearted bitch, and that definitely wasn’t the look I was going for in court.

“Do you want to reschedule?” she asked me. “We’re on a tight deadline, but if you think—”

“No.” I cut her off. “I don’t want to reschedule. I’ve been waiting for this for the past few months. I want to get it over with.”

“Okay, as long as you’re sure. I’m going to find a janitor to see if we can get this cleared up, so why don’t you take ten minutes and we’ll meet up back here.”

I nodded. “Sure.”

Tony’s men were still waiting for me in the corridor outside, like my own personal body guards, which I guessed was exactly what they were. I wondered if any of my father’s men were around, ready to feed back to my father whether or not I had turned up. Would they shoot me if they got the chance?

I threw Tony’s men a glare as I headed to the restroom. “Are you going to follow me into the bathroom as well?”

They stopped and exchanged a glance.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I told them both. “I want to get this done as much as Tony wants me to.”

“Okay,” the older guy, Warren, said. “But don’t be long.”

I rolled my eyes then pushed my way into the bathroom. A couple of other women were in there, but I avoided eye contact with them, knowing I probably looked, and smelled, awful. I waited until they’d left then went to the basins. Mirrors were placed above them, and, as I ran the water to splash my face, I caught a glimpse of myself. My skin looked waxy, my cheekbones hollow. There were inky smudges beneath both of my eyes.

Perhaps the lawyer was right. I’d been through more over these past few months than most people would have to go through in a lifetime. I was grieving for two people now—my mother and X. I was fully aware I protected myself by pushing my emotions so deep inside me I couldn’t feel them—only numbness—and perhaps getting sick like that had been my body’s way of rebelling.

A banging on the door made me jump. “You done in there?”

One of Tony’s men.

“One minute,” I called back.

I splashed some of the running water across my face, and rinsed my mouth out. The small amount of makeup I’d worn had been wrecked when I’d thrown up, so I did my best to repair it with what I had in my purse.

I left the bathroom and flashed a smile at the two petulant looking men outside. They didn’t want to be on babysitting duty any more than I wanted them to be. Pushing the vomiting incident far from my mind, I went back in to the room to finish being cross examined about the lie I had told about my mother’s death.

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