Page 72 of Cruel Hearts

A grey cat winds his way around my ankles, leaving streaks of fur along the hems of my pants.

Everyone is quiet. Maybe they can feel how angry Denton is. Maybe they’re surprised I’m here. Maybe they’re just so happy Stella came back there’s nothing to say. Or maybe they don’t want to say anything in front of me, which is probably closest to the truth.

I hand Max the flash drive and stand near Stella. He inserts it into the USB port, and the laptop searches for the storage device.

Denton joins us, stopping just close enough to see the screen.

There’s only one folder on the flash drive, and that folder contains a series of images saved as PNGs.

They’re screenshots of an email, and I read over Max’s shoulder. The email text describes a deal, and Max enlarges the photo so we can read it more clearly. A day and time indicating when weapons will exchange hands. Guns, and lots of them, by the sounds of it. Clayton Black is the sender, and the receiver’s name is in a foreign language I won’t try to pronounce. Middle Eastern, maybe.

Max vibrates with excitement. “Stella, this is amazing.”

“That’s not all,” she says. “Look who’s CC’d.”

Max clicks on an image and enlarges the screenshot of the recipients. The email addresses are all letters and numbers. Coded, to maintain confidentiality. All but one.

It can’t be.

She would never do something like that.

I won’t believe it’s true.

“Lark Maddox,” Max whispers.

“This is proof,” Stella says.

“No,” I rasp.

Sympathy brims in Stella’s eyes and she squeezes my arm. “Zane.”

I yank away. “There has to be a mistake. My mother, she would never—” My voice cracks, and I try again. “She would never be involved in a deal like that. It’s a mistake.”

“Zane, listen—”

“No. This is wrong.”

My heart slams painfully against my ribs.

Denton sneers. He’s so ready to believe the worst after what I did to him and Stella.

Max twists in his seat and looks at me over his shoulder. “Zane.”

I try to breathe. Focus on Stella’s blue eyes. They’re thawed now, full of compassion. I want to run. I want to bury my head in the sand and block it all out. My beautiful, generous, caring mother, helping supply weapons to a terrorist regime, maybe to attack the United States.

“It’s not true, Stella,” I cry.

Max and Denton see how weak I am.

I don’t care.

“It’s not true,” Stella echoes.

“It’s not?” Max asks, surprised.

“No. What’s the one question we’ve been asking ourselves this whole time?”

“Why did Clayton Black want Kagan Maddox dead?” Max says.

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