Page 99 of Wicked Sins

The study.

I pad silently on bare feet. When I grab the handle, I expect it to be locked. It always is, except when my father’s inside. No one could live through that constant banging, not even him.

But the handle turns.

I throw open the door.

Bang.

Not a door after all, but a window shutter. Despite that window standing open, it’s stuffy and warm in here. I sweep my gaze over the room and spot the fire burning on the hearth. I stare at it for a moment, utterly perplexed. Why the hell would Dad leave it unattended? He could burn the whole fucking house down.

Bang.

Window first, fire second. As I get near, a gust of wind sends the shutter slamming shut again.

Bang.

“Christ,” I mutter, pulling closed the window. It refuses to latch, so I jam the shutter tight and will it stay.

“What are you doing in here?”

I spin around at the sound of my father’s voice, a hand to my bare chest. He’s dressed like he’s off to meet a client—pinstripe charcoal suit, hair immaculate.

“I’m closing the window.” And then, because he just keeps staring at me, I add, “You left the fire going.”

“Keeps the place warm,” he says. “I’ve told you before, you’re not allowed in here.”

A rough laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. Dad tilts his head, watching me like I’m a new species of maggot that’s just crawled out of his apple. “Don’t worry, I’m not expecting us to sit down for a fucking chess game or anything.”

My body tightens, my hands curling into fists. Fully expecting violence.

Instead, my father hauls in an audible breath and washes his hands over his face. When he looks at me again, I notice the shadows under his eyes for the first time. He walks over to his desk and turns his back as he fiddles with something by his computer.

A white cord falls to the floor—he’d had his phone charging, and I hadn’t even noticed it.

“They need me down at the station,” he says, voice as flat as his eyes. He walks to the study door and holds it open, staring out into the hall. I pad past him, careful not to make eye contact, and start down the stairs as he locks the study door behind him.

“The police station?” I ask, turning as he comes down the stairs.

His face is grim. “Put on some clothes,” he says instead of answering me. “It’s not decent, you walking around like that.”

Dear God, I almost laugh. But thankfully, my all-too curious mind is whirring away again, insatiable.

“Dad. Police station?”

He walks a few steps, and then stops. Sighs. He speaks without turning back to me. “They…” He waves a hand toward the middle door in the hallway. Emma’s room.

My skin prickles.

“They need me to go down and give a statement. There were some discrepancies during the autopsy.”

I’m still rooted there when he disappears down the stairs. His car starts up a few seconds later, barely audible.

Movement catches my eye. I turn to face Candy, who’s peeking out of her door with heavy-lidded eyes. “Hey.”

“He’s gone?”

I nod. “How are you feeling?”

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