Page 99 of Little Deaths

Oh. There was a crashing sensation in her chest, a roaring in her ears.Marco, you absolute bastard.“I don’t know,” she lied. “I never gave him any.” The words felt like thorns piercing her throat. “Was I . . . alone in them?”

“No.” Rafe stood up so quickly that the chair clattered back. “So I’m wondering,” he said, his voice low and dark, “how the fuck my father got them in the first place, and why they were kept locked up with all of his bonds and deeds.”

Donni pushed back her bowl. “Show me.”

???????

She was a better actress than anyone gave her credit for. Her face was almost composed when he came back into the room, holding the faded envelope. Only someone who was really looking for it would have noticed the tripwire tightness of her jaw, the slight tic around the eyes.

Her hand shook only a little when she took it from him.

But then she picked up her half-full bowl of pasta and threw it against the wall. Food and porcelain went flying, leaving behind a starburst-shaped oil mark on the dented plaster.

“That’s going to come out of the sale price,” Rafe said mildly.

“Fuckthe sale price.”

She began to pace. She was still wearing his flannel shirt and it flared out as she walked. Her braided hair whipped back and forth in agitation with each lap.

Always pacing, he thought.Whether in water or wine.

“He told me I was a cold fish,” she said, in short, halting tones. “That I didn’t have any chemistry with the screen—or with anyone, really. That I wasn’tfunto watch.”

She walked faster, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“He said that if I wanted to keep making movies, I had to stop being so uptight.”

“He was a sick fuck.” the words came out harsher than he’d intended. “You were perfect.”

His words didn’t seem to register. “It got him off, the control—watching me perform. Working with wardrobe to make my costumes as revealing as possible and then fucking me out of them in the trailer. That was where we always did it, in the trailer. And then he tried to buy me off with a car. Like he was exchanging one kind of ride for another. Like I could be bought.”

She looked down at the pictures.

“I don’t know how Marco got these. I knew there were recordings because I heard them at the trial, but I didn’t know there were photographs, as well. It makes me sick to look at them.”

Her eyes burned with something too hot to be tears.

“It makes me fuckingsick, Rafe.”

“I’m sorry.”

The two words slipped out, weighted by regret. Heavy enough that they seemed to catch on whatever it was that was propelling her into flight. She looked at him, her face tight.

“I know,” she said, at length. She folded her arms. “I know.”

“Did my father have a laptop?”

“What? I—yes, he does. Somewhere. Why?”

“Because I want to look through it.” He took the pictures back, stuffing them into their envelope. “If there is a connection between Staal and my father, there might be records there.”

“If it’s not in his office, then it’s probably still in the master bedroom. Marco used to keep it under his side of the bed.” When Rafe considered why she would know that, a little flicker of jealousy zapped through him. She nodded at the envelope. “Are you going to give that to the police?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No,” she said. “Please.”

“Then I won’t.” He raked his hand through his hair. “I suggest you don’t mention them tomorrow.”

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