The Dead Don't Lie by Meghan O'Flynn

Author:Meghan O'Flynn [O’Flynn, Meghan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781947748415
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

HE DROVE SLOWLY down the street, his teeth aching, molars grinding. The detective’s house faded in the rearview. But he could still see them there, Reid pulling her from the passenger seat, pressing her against the side of the car. The way the detective had taken Maggie’s hand and led her to the porch.

He slowed to a crawl, scowling at the road, the trees casting the streetlights into globular patterns on the asphalt that looked like a virus beneath a microscope—toxic. Pestilent. He stopped. Far enough away that the detective could not see him from the house proper, but the headlights of the babysitter’s car glared at him from the curb. The woman was leaving. It seemed that Reid was not expecting to drive Maggie home tonight.

His fingers clenched around the wheel. This was an unexpected complication. So long as they’d been together in that club, he’d been satiated, satisfied with the sweet anticipation of what their future might look like. But he had not imagined that she would suddenly jump into bed with a colleague—never imagined she’d sleep with a coworker at all. She was not that kind of woman, or she’d have gone at it with Owen years ago. No, Maggie kept her private life so far separate from her personal life that the two did not intersect.

When had that changed? And more critically, how had he missed it? At some point between her lover’s drunken plunge off the bridge and her brother’s bones being discovered, she had become more… flexible.

Perhaps it was the stress. It was stress that had led her to spending her nights in that club. No boyfriends, no other complications, just that dark basement. Just him in that green bracelet, the scent of her in his nose, her skin soft beneath his fingertips.

The babysitter was nearer now. He lifted his foot from the brake, hit his turn signal and twisted the wheel to the right. Around the block, again, squinting in the rearview until the headlights of the sitter’s Prius passed the intersection and vanished up the road.

He took another right, his chest filled with molten steel, then another. He’d seen enough. He’d seen more than enough. But he was drawn back to the detective’s home as he might have been attracted to the scent of some noxious gas, seeking the source of his discomfort—needing to decide what it meant, what to do.

He watched the detective’s street pass. He took the next right and parked just far enough from the stop sign to avoid being towed. The bungalow in front of him was blue with garish white shutters, as if someone had printed the colors in reverse. He could see the top of the detective’s roof if he squinted—Reid had a brick fireplace, unlike most homes in the neighborhood. A tall chimney.

He reached up and tugged his hood low over his face, then climbed from the car, closing the door softly behind him. His feet made barely a sound as he ducked into the shadows behind the first home.

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