Page 42 of Cruel Hearts

Pretending bafflement, I shake my head and lift my hands, palms up. “I have no idea. I don’t see how. I’ve been out of the country for five years,” I say, playing up what I’m sure they think they know, “and before that I was only a lowly payroll clerk. What could I have done?”

They exchange glances, and I don’t like it. I’m infamous, and I don’t need the attention or the hostility. I’m already dealing with enough. Denton receives the same treatment as a terminated employee of Maddox Industries.

Finally, they ask us to fill out a form listing what we lost in the vehicle. We leave most of it blank which makes matters worse, but there’s nothing we can admit to having. Zarah’s engagement ring? Quinn’s phone that had all her illegal contacts in it? I write down a backpack and my purse. Cash totaling a little over three hundred dollars. Denton inks in the value of the car. Jumper cables in the trunk. Loose change in the console, total value: six thousand, five hundred dollars.

The way they handle us borders on harassment and abuse, and the sun has set by the time they let us go, ordering us not to leave the city in case they need to question us further.

Our clothes are still damp and we stand on the front steps of the police station. They didn’t offer us a ride, and we’re stranded.

Trying not to cry, I sit and rest my head against the metal handrail. Denton drops next to me and pats my knee. “If this proves anything, it’s that we’re a threat. That’s good, Stella. It means they have things to hide and that they’re scared of us.”

I don’t have anything to say to that. We may be a threat, but how can we use their fear to fight back?

I want to suggest we ride the train or the bus to his apartment, but the burn in the back of my throat stops me. I can’t speak around the lump. The loss of my high schoolgraduation picture of Maryanne and me threatens to push me over the edge. They didn’t take my life, but they’ve ripped everything else out of my possession.

“Come on. A shower and a hot meal sounds good right about now.” Denton holds my hand and gently tugs.

A man not much older than me wearing wire-rimmed glasses, a blue dress shirt, vest, khaki pants and carrying a messenger bag stops on the sidewalk in front of us. “Can I give you a lift?”

“We’re okay,” Denton says, barely looking at him, his jaw tense.

Undeterred by Denton’s dismissal, he says, “My name is Max Cook. I’m a reporter for theKing’s Crossing Chronicle.I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Buzz off. You know we almost drowned earlier?” Denton growls, standing in agitation but not letting go of my hand.

Max is unaffected and even smiles. “I was there. I thought we could help each other.”

“You don’t have anything we need.”

I’m happy to let Denton do the talking. I’m heartsick and homesick. Though I’m not sure how that can be when all my life I never felt like I had a home.

Until Zane hugged me.

Now he’s gone.

“I might,” Max says.

Denton scoffs. “What could you possibly have that we need?”

“You’re looking into the plane crash that killed Kagan and Lark Maddox, aren’t you?”

“How do you know about that?” Denton scowls.

Max chuckles. “I’m a reporter. It’s my job to know things. I also know this. Clayton Black caused that crash.”

“How do you know?” I ask, my voice quavering from fatigue.

“Because the black box the FBI keeps saying the NTSB can’t find?”

Denton nods and the grip on my hand tightens.

“They’ve had it all along.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Zane

Ihave nothing else to do, and I go to the office. There’s no word from the private investigator about Stella or Denton. In fact, there’s less than no word. The PI called earlier and said he couldn’t find a trace of either of them.

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