Page 52 of A Killing Cold

“He’s always been one for dramatics,” Alexis says. She pats her hair into place. In control once again. I rise slowly.

Liam Dalton didn’t fall.

And Mallory—if she had killed him, Alexis wouldn’t keep that secret, would she?

He killed himself. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. It’s the kind of secret Alexiswouldkeep—from her brother, from her mother. It’s a secret that would wear on her. That she might let slip to someone at last. A near stranger. The one person who wouldn’t be wounded by it.

But how did she find out?

“Do you need to crash here tonight?” I ask.

“No. No, I don’t think so,” she says, avoiding my eyes. “Paloma just needed a little bit to—you know. I’ll go back to Red Fox. Thank you, Theo. I should go.” She gives me one quick look, eyes bright, hands gripping her upper arms tight enough to bruise.Don’t tell him, she seems to be asking me. I give her the slightest nod, and a measure of relief breaks across her expression as she allows Connor to usher her out the door.

Connor sees her out, then picks up the bottle of Scotch from the coffee table and eyes the level. “She all right?” he asks.

“I don’t know her well enough to say for sure. But I think she will be,” I tell him, her words still echoing in my mind.

“Do you know what…?” he says.

For an instant my mind goes blank. I wet my lips. “She should tell you, if she decides she wants to,” I say. “As far as I’m concerned, none of that was any of my business. She did tell me about Trevor. About Kayla.”

Connor sighs, shoulders slumped. “It’s a shit show. Not exactly our finest moment.”

I hesitate. “I saw some photos in Alexis’s things,” I say. At his sharp look, I add, “I was looking for a book for Sebastian, and I came across them. There was a woman. Covered in bruises. Was that Kayla?” Thebruises I’d assumed were from a beating could be from an accident, the marks on her shoulder from the bite of a seat belt.

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then he drags both hands down his face, sighs. “Yes. I guess she took them in case she changed her mind. Or, I don’t know, if she wanted more money. Which, good for her, I guess.” He looks past me at nothing as he speaks, his voice dull.

Alexis’s anger makes a lot of sense, if she’d seen the evidence of the damage Trevor’s actions had caused directly like that. And I get her wanting to talk to Connor about it in private. Suddenly the conversation I overheard in the kitchen makes more sense as well—when Louise asked if Connor had told me anything, it must be about this. About avoiding the whiff of scandal. They need to secure the Japan deal, and Alexis seemed on the verge of telling me something else as well. Some reason the deal is so important.

“Are you—is the family in some kind of financial trouble?” I ask. It’s hard to imagine.

Connor sighs. “No. Not exactly. Granddad is selling the company.”

“Oh,” I say, startled and unsure how to react. “Is that… good?”

Connor shrugs. “Alexis is the only one still working there, and she’s been wanting to move on for a long time. And Granddad should have retired properly years ago. If the new deal goes through, the company’s value will be a lot higher, and he’s got a buyer waiting in the wings if all the pieces fall into place. If things don’t work out…”

“The family loses out on millions,” I say.

“Try billions,” Connor replies.

“I try not to make myself contemplate numbers that big, it makes my tiny peasant brain overheat,” I tell him, deadpan, and he cracks a weary smile. “I’m not supposed to know any of this.”

“Not yet,” he acknowledges.

“Don’t worry. I’m good at keeping secrets,” I tell him.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” he says darkly. He reaches into his pocket. He takes out an ornament, the same as the rest, and sets it on the coffee table, then regards me.

It’s a photo of me. Sixteen years old. My hair a rat’s nest. Even shrunk down to fit in the frame, the photo shows the shadows of bruises on my ribs, my stomach. The random patterns of dull brown on my cheek, neck, hands where the blood has dried and not yet been washed off.

“What is this?” Connor asks.

I pick up the ornament. A strange blend of feelings churns through me—the urge to protect that girl, to tell her it wasn’t her fault, and at the same time a vicious sense of disdain.You should have been smarter. You should have been more careful.

It was Trevor, then. He’s the one who found out. Who sent me those taunting messages and left that gift on the windowsill.

“Theo,” Connor says. His voice is worryingly level. “Trevor told us he looked into you. He said that you were lying to us. That your parents are still alive. That you have a history of criminal behavior. That you were institutionalized.”

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