Page 69 of Silent Vendetta (Vendetta Duet)

“I’ll start with the paint chips.” Barry spread out an assortment of papers and X-ray photographs on Hunter’s desk. “The paint chips were from a vehicle,” he continued. “Paint used for automotive manufacturing—specifically, a Jaguar.”

“A Jaguar?”

“As you know, an autopsy involves examining the body and all other evidence from the scene. Anything that can determine the cause of death.”

“Which was deemed a homicide,” I said.

“And I would agree with homicide,” Barry said.

I clenched my hands. How could he get my hopes up like this?

“I thought you said you had proof my dad didn’t do it.”

“The second medical examiner we hired took a close look at the reports. Specifically, the injuries the victim sustained. The victim had several broken bones which were, at the time, believed to have been caused by a beating. But if you look closer at the leg bones, they tell a different story.”

“Which is?” Hunter asked.

Barry pointed to a break in the bone. “The kid was hit by a car.”

A cold wave of shock washed over me, my breath catching in my throat.

“How can you be sure?” I asked.

“You see this break right here?” Barry pointed to a gap in the white bone against the black backdrop. “This is a break you see when someone is struck by a car. It’s on both of his legs,” he said, adding a second X-ray to the table.

I studied the pictures more closely.

“Why didn’t the medical examiner notice that in his autopsy?”

“He did. But he concluded the breaks were part of a beating since the victim’s arms and skull were also fractured.”

“So, what makes you think he wasn’t beaten now?” I asked.

“The paint chips. Broken bones are one thing. But when you combine it with the paint chips found on his pants in the same area of the breaks?” Barry scrubbed his jaw. “This kid wasn’t beaten. He was struck by a vehicle.”

My mouth turned into a desert, and Hunter leaned down and squeezed my hand, as if anchoring me to this new reality so I wouldn’t fall into the depths of shock.

There was a lot to unpack there—how was he found in an alley, then? Was it wide enough for a car to get through? Even if it was…

“My dad didn’t own a car,” I said. “Neither did my mom. We were struggling financially, so he walked to work every day.”

“I know,” Barry said.

“There’s more.” Grayson pushed off the wall with a grave expression. “Barry thinks someone knew this kid got hit by a car and let your dad take the fall, anyway.”

The news tore through me like a sledgehammer, every word a crushing blow threatening to unhinge my stability. The room darkened, edges smudging like a watercolor painting left in the rain.

“Luna.” Hunter gripped my elbows—the warmth of his hand piercing through the sudden chill that consumed me—and guided me to a chair. Where he helped me sit down and squatted in front of me.

“Breathe.” He cupped my cheek.

I was overwhelmed, but I didn’t want to miss whatever Barry said next, so I forced myself to take steady breaths until the edges of the room lightened.

“Why would someone do that?” I asked through stinging eyes.

“To get away with whatever they did to that kid.”

“My dad saw someone else in that alley,” I remembered. “The police didn’t believe him.”

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