Chapters (35)
- Praise for Every Stolen Breath
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
The mayor’s smile widens, reminding me of Cullen. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. When I picked you up from our dock, you were in bad shape. We were all worried it was too late. But here you are today, alive and well, walking, talking, ignoring the drink I brought for you.” He gestures toward my cup. “I’d say that takes quite a bit of strength.”
Watching him say it to my face, like he’s trying to convince me that he carried my limp, unconscious body in his arms—I’m more certain than ever. Definitely wasn’t him. Maybe Richard. His height is more accurate from what I remember. But Richard’s arms are rail thin. I’m not sure he’s strong enough.
I imitate the mayor’s artificial smile. “I’m not sure if I got the chance to say this Saturday—I hardly remember you being there at all—but thank you so much for carrying me into your home.”
Richard’s eyes flicker toward me. The mayor, however, doesn’t flinch.
He adjusts his suit. Tailored. Expensive. “You seem like the kind of girl who would do the same.” The crow’s-feet at his eyes make him look congenial as ever. “I was just talking with your mom about your dad’s service.”
For a moment, I don’t follow what he’s saying.
“You told reporters earlier today you were at the pier to honor your dad for his service to the Navy and our city,” he says, clarifying like he knows I’m not sure what he’s talking about. “I knew Steven well. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but he was still a good man, your father.” He pauses as if to honor him with silence.
I lace my hands together and squeeze. I’m sure my knuckles are turning white, but I refuse to look away from the mayor.
He leans toward me, and for a second I think he’s going to grab my hand and hold it as we speak. Instead, he folds his hands together in a way that mimics mine. “You know, Lia, if there’s anything you can tell us about Saturday’s attack that would help our own investigation, our city would be indebted to you as well.” He speaks quietly as if it’s just us two BFFs sipping glorified coffee drinks, trading the intimate secrets of our lives.