Page 85 of Sinful Palace

She leaned forward and rubbed her temples. “This is so fucked up.”

“I know.”

“What can I even do about it?” she said in a low murmur, shoulders sagging. “I can’t try to get justice for him, because I can’t trust anyone I talk to. Not unless you count my brother, but he’s ten. He can’t do anything.”

“You can trust me,” I said, grabbing one of her hands and entwining her fingers with mine.

She didn’t reply. She just lowered her gaze to the box and pressed her lips into a flat line.

I squeezed her hand tighter. “Look, I know I’ve hurt you and done horrible shit to you, but I’ve never lied to you, have I?”

“I guess not.”

“So you can trust me. I swear.”

She rubbed the side of her head again. “How did things get to this point?” she asked, nose twitching as she attempted to sniff back a fresh set of tears. “How are you the only person I can trust in the whole world?”

“I know. It’s fucked up,” I said softly, shaking my head. “But I promise I’m going to help you. No matter what it takes, we’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

“Not if Q kills us first,” she muttered. “Like my father.”

“That’s not going to happen,” I said, brows pulling into a deep frown. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

With a tired sigh, she lay down and closed her eyes. “I can’t deal with this,” she muttered.

“You don’t have to. I’ll take care of everything,” I said, grabbing a pillow. I stuck it under her head and rested my palm on her forehead. Her skin was pale but hot to the touch. “I know this is going to sound impossible, considering everything that’s happened, but you should try to get some sleep.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep again. Not unless someone sticks a shot of morphine in me.”

“Just try,” I insisted, pulling a chenille blanket over her legs. “You’re going to feel like shit for a long time, but getting rest and proper food will help a bit. Trust me. I know from experience.”

She nodded defeatedly and pulled the blanket all the way over her head. At the same time, my phone began to vibrate in my pocket.

Assuming it was Connor, I answered it without checking the caller ID. “Did you find something else?”

A feminine voice replied. “Huh?”

“Nothing. Sorry. Who is this?”

“Cleo. I got your number from Connor, remember?”

“Oh. Right. What’s up?”

She hesitated. “I was just wondering about the saliva sample you gave me earlier. Is there any chance someone else used the straw? Apart from the guy you got it from, I mean.”

“No.”

“Are you absolutely positive?” she asked. “No one else touched it at all?”

“Well, I assume whoever put the straw in the water bottle would’ve touched it, so there might’ve been fingerprints or germs from that,” I said, brows furrowing. “But I used gloves when I touched it, and I put it straight in a Ziploc bag, so I didn’t get anything on it.”

“In that case, I’m officially confused.”

“Why?”

“Well, I haven’t started sequencing or analyzing the DNA from the sample yet—like I said, that can take weeks—but there’s one pretty major thing I can tell you right off the bat just from taking a quick initial look at it.”

“What?”

She launched into an explanation, and my jaw dropped more and more with every word out of her mouth. When she was done, my mind had gone so numb with confusion that I couldn’t even find the words to thank her for calling. I simply slipped the phone back in my pocket and stared out the window, eyes wide with shock.

I was wrong about everything. So fucking wrong.

There was no way the saliva sample came from my father. No way any of my theories about him were even remotely correct at this point. He wasn’t Q.

Q was a woman.

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