Page 107 of Oliver

Flinching, he raises stricken eyes to mine and says, “You don’t understand.”

“Don’t I? You sick shit. You killed your own daughter!” I snarl.

“I didn't,” he cries and Oliver grunts.

“It's true,” he says holding out his hands but Oliver steps between us and he falls to his ass.

“Don’t touch her,” Oliver says icily, and he nods, wiping the rivulets of sweat from his head.

I’m trying to find pity for the fucker whose shiny bald head practically touches the floor but I’m fresh out.

“How do you know Charming Charlie?” I spit and he looks up at me with wide eyes.

“My daughter?”

“No fucker, the asshole who’s been stalking innocent women on the dark web.”

That may be a stretch because I can’t exactly proclaim Dixie innocent of anything, but she was once…

“Huh?” he blubbers, and I roll my eyes.

“Pull it together,” Oliver barks and he shakes his head, snot dripping from his nose.

“I don't know! Charming Charlie is what I used to call my daughter.”

Mulling over his words, I try to parse out what he’s saying because if he and the news are accurate, his daughter disappeared years ago.

“How do you know Frank McCafferty?” Oliver says and the man sits up.

“Frank? I bought the boat from him. I couldn’t resist when I found out the name. I thought…maybe…but no.”

“Did he know your daughter?” I ask and he shakes his head.

“No, I bought this after she disappeared.”

“So, you’re saying you didn’t kill your daughter?” I ask.

“No.”

“Frank?” I ask Oliver and he shrugs. I suppose my guess is as good as any but we’re not going to figure it out now. Besides, even if Frank took this Charming Charlie girl, he sure as shit didn’t kill the girl in the room beside me.

“What? What? Do you think it was him?” he snivels, and I sigh.

Who is this guy?

“Who’s this?” I ask, pointing toward the dead girl with a shiver.

Bowing his head, he says softly, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Why?” I hiss, kicking out my foot. He dodges me easily enough which leaves a sour taste on my tongue.

“I don’t know,” he sobs.

“This is fucked up,” I mutter while Oliver prods him with his shoe.

The man finally looks up again, wiping his snotty nose once more. His hazel eyes move between us before he says, “I know you.”

Oliver just grunts as he says, “At the—"

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