Page 178 of What's Left of Us

I roll my eyes. “Like you’re any better. When was the last time you even talked to the opposite sex that you weren’t related to?”

She goes to answer, then stops herself.

I give her a pointed look. “Maybe we’re both doomed.” I eat the chip she threw at me.

All Hannah says is, “I hope Mom and Dad will be okay with four-legged fur grandchildren then. Because we’re both going to be disappointments otherwise.”

My eyes go down to a text from Beaugard asking if I want to meet up with him for lunch tomorrow.

Shooting him a text back instantly, I stand up and snatch the bag of snacks from my sister before she can finish the bag. “You’re young. There’s hope for you.”

“And not you?”

I shrug. “I think that boat sailed, sis.”

“You’ve always been a good swimmer.”

I roll my bad shoulder, feeling the twinge of pain in it. “Not anymore.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Georgia / Present

When the dooropens to the interrogation room, I turn from the one-way mirror over to Jack Powell as he walks in. “Sorry. This was the only open space here when I asked you to come in.”

Somehow, I doubted that. I walked by at least two empty offices, but I don’t comment on that.

“Christ. Is the fucking AC on?” He opens the door and yells out, “Someone get some damn heat in this room!”

He closes it, pulling the chair out from across the table, and sitting under the draft coming from the vent. After a minute, it shuts off.

“I’m looking forward to going back to my own office,” he tells me, sipping a cup of coffee and making a face. “Especially to get away from whatever this shit is. Did they offer you anything to drink?”

“They” are the two officers who escorted me through the station. I wasn’t cuffed, but I might as well have been. “I’m fine.” I pause. “Thanks.”

He pushes the full cup of coffee away from him and leans back. “We had to make it look like you were being questioned,” he apologizes. “It would have looked suspicious otherwise, given the state of your father’s affairs.”

I already figured as much. “Is he going to strike a deal?”

Powell shifts. “I haven’t spoken to his lawyer, but I’d be surprised if they didn’t try going for a plea. I’ll know more within the next couple of weeks.”

All I do is nod, my eyes going back to the mirror and wondering who’s behind it.

He glances behind him as if he senses my curiosity. “There’s nobody back there.”

My eyes go to him.

His smile is friendly. “But if there’s somebody you want me to call…”

“No,” I say quietly, rubbing my goose-pimpled arms. “There’s nobody.”

He hums, stretching his legs out. “It’s none of my business—”

“Then don’t say anything,” I cut him off.

His chuckle is low. “I’m starting to see why you two got married. Look, I think Detective Danforth is a cocky motherfucker. You’re not going to see me trying to advocate for him anytime soon.”

“So, what is this?”

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