Page 121 of Wicked Sins

“To the police station.” I turn and head for the door. “You’re going to tell them everything.” When I turn to close the door behind me, Candy’s face is frozen in shock. I pause for a second, and then pull the door closed.

She couldn’t have known about the pills in Dad’s top drawer, but she could still be lying. I have no reason to believe her, despite how things have changed between us.

Perhapsbecausethings have changed.

Something keeps bugging me about yesterday. I’d heard Dad in the hallway clear as day…but he’d have to have walked past Candy’s door to get to the stairs.

Why the hell hadn’t she warned me? Had she wanted him to catch me in his office?

I hid.

I know my suspicion is getting out of control again. It’s like a fucking see-saw sometimes. People say things, I believe them. The next day, everyone was lying.

Sure, I could be imagining it, but that doesn’t change the fact that some things just don’t add up.

Discrepancies.

If this is real, if my father did what Candy’s accusing him of…then he needs to be brought to justice.

I can’t do that, but the cops can.

And maybe, just maybe, this will clear up everything. Even those other discrepancies…the ones that had him at the station yesterday.

Because if my dad hurt Candy…if he had anything to do with Diana’s disappearance, or Emma’s accident…

Then hehasto pay.

Chapter Fifty

Candy

The cops make us wait in a small room where the recycled air reeks of Freon. It’s cold in here, and I keep wishing I could move closer to Joah so he’d hold me and keep me warm.

Instead, I hug myself and bounce my legs, trying to warm myself and get rid of the nervous tension spreading through my body.

A man in plain clothes opens the door and steps halfway in. Before he closes it, he holds a hushed conversation with someone outside. It shouldn’t, but that makes me nervous as hell. Not just the way he couldn’t give a shit about letting us wait, but how he keeps his voice super low so we can’t hear what he’s saying.

A piece of nail comes off in my mouth. I hurriedly shove my hand between my thighs. I try and keep it there this time, just like I try not to keep looking in Joah’s direction.

He could have been waiting at a bus stop for all the emotion on his face. If anything, it looks like he zoned out the moment we set foot in this room.

Interrogation room.

But it’s not.

It can’t be.

We’re not the suspects here.

Joah just asked to speak to the detective handling Emma’s case. When the police guy at reception asked our names, he only said, ‘Tell him it’s Wayne Bale’s kid.”

Damn it, my thumb’s in my mouth again. I tangle my fingers together and keep them on the table where I can see them.

The detective finally ends his conversation and steps into the room, giving us each a perfunctory smile that fades almost as soon as it arrives, and closes the door behind him.

“Detective Reed,” he says, holding out his hand to Joah.

“Josiah.” Joah shakes his hand. “Candy,” he says, pointing a thumb at me.

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