Page 81 of Fatal Witness

Was Kyle guilty of killing her parents? Dani stiffened her backbone. “Are you afraid I’ll remember seeing you kill my mama and daddy?”

His nostrils flared. “That’s one thing I don’t have to worry about, Missy.” He pointed his finger at her. “And those diamonds they stole—they never showed anywhere. Maybe you have them.”

She gritted her teeth. “And maybe you’re the one who shot at me.”

“Not me. I didn’t even know who you were when you walked in.”

“And maybe you’re lying.” She pulled away from Mark and marched to the entrance.

“I’m sorry,” he said once they were back in his SUV. “I didn’t think it’d turn out this way.”

“I guess I better grow a thick hide—Kyle Peterson probably won’t be the last one to throw the past in my face.”

“No inkling that you saw him that night?”

She shook her head. “Why can’t I remember?”

“What you saw was a terrible trauma for a nine-year-old. You’ve blocked everything about your life here.”

She looked back at the store. “When I first entered the store, I remembered being there before.”

“Good. Maybe seeing some of the places where you hung out will unlock those memories.”

Dani bit her bottom lip. “Maybe it’ll happen when we go to my parents’ house. That’s where it all started.”

“After what happened at Peterson’s, are you sure you still want to go to Eagle Ridge?”

“Want to? No. But I don’t have any choice. What happened there is the source of my memory loss. Maybe seeing the house, being inside it, will jar something loose.”

“You’re really brave to do this.”

She gave a mirthless laugh. “Not brave. It’s a survival thing. In my heart of hearts, I believe I saw the man who killed my parents. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to find out who it was.”

38

Mark turned onto the road to Eagle Ridge and checked his mirrors to make sure Hayes was following. The deputy’s sedan was behind them. He glanced at Dani. She’d been really quiet since they left Peterson’s. “It’s a beautiful day.”

“Beautiful mountains too,” she said quietly. “So different from Clifton and the Badlands.”

“Definitely.” The Badlands were desolate, yet beautiful too. “Growing up there would’ve been different.”

She fell silent again, and Mark concentrated on the curvy road. When it straightened out, he took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at her. Tears dampened her cheeks. “I’m sorry if I said something wrong.”

“You didn’t.” She sighed. “I missed so much.”

“Were Keith and his wife good to you?”

She wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Keith treated me like a daughter. Laura too. But it was lonely. We never had company or friends over, and I never felt like I fit in.”

“That had to be hard.”

“I always felt like an outsider. You know what I mean?”

“Sort of.” All he’d felt growing up was love and acceptancefrom his family, and that may have made what happened in Afghanistan harder. He wasn’t prepared for failure or the harsh realities of war. “Is that why you became a potter and artist—it was something you could do alone?”

“Drawing and painting, yes. I didn’t fall in love with clay until I went to college.” She held up her hand. “And that’s enough about me. Your turn. What was it like growing up here?”

“That’s hard to answer. For the most part good.”

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