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Contents (64)
  1. Forever Never
  2. Lucy Score
  3. Contents
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. Epilogue
  60. WANT MORE?
  61. Author’s Note to the Reader
  62. About the Author
  63. Acknowledgments
  64. Lucy’s Titles

She pulled off her coat and boots and paced the floor in mismatched socks, her head spinning.

On a whim, she picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts.

“Need someone to post bail?” Her brother-in-law sounded haggard but amused.

“Hey, Kyle. I don’t need bail, but I do need some hypothetical lawyerly advice,” she said, wandering around the dining table.

“I’ve got five minutes before court reconvenes. Hit me.”

“Say a bad guy did something bad, but no one knows he did it, and no one knows he’s bad.”

“Okay. Squeaky clean bad guy. Got it,” he said over the din of voices.

“Say a good guy knows the bad guy committed the crime, but no one is listening to her. I mean him.”

“Unreliable witness,” Kyle filled in.

“Yeah. That. How does an unreliable witness protect herself and the victim of the original crime if no one believes her? Or him,” she added.

“What kind of crime are we talking here?”

She tapped her fingernails to her teeth. “Let’s say something along the lines of attempted murder.”

There was a pause on her brother-in-law’s end of the call. “Remi, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she insisted, forcing a laugh. “I’m just helping a writer friend work on her thriller.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t use your scary trial lawyer voice on me, Kyle Olson. I held your leg while you did keg stands at your law school graduation party.”

The background noise on his end was getting louder. “You swear this is fictional?” he pressed.

“Cross my heart,” she lied.

“Then the good guy would need to either find evidence that the bad guy committed the crime, or he’d need to find evidence of another crime the bad guy committed.”

Remi stopped pacing. “You’re saying a bad guy doesn’t usually just commit one crime.”

“There’s almost always a pattern,” he said. “Shit. Listen, I gotta go. Call me later.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Sure,” she said and hung up.

25

On a dissatisfied groan, Remi stared down at the half dozen sheets of watercolor projects she’d started and abandoned.

After an entire day of relentless internet searches, social media snooping, and meticulously documenting every insignificant find she’d marched over to Brick’s house in the dark to clear her head and try her hand—ha—at some painting. But it wasn’t what she craved. The colors were all wrong. The layering was impossible. She needed the texture and color she was used to.

Throwing down her brush, she rolled out her shoulders. Sitting and slumping over a work table wasn’t exactly her speed either. Especially not after an eternity spent hunched over a laptop.

She got up and tossed her supplies in the sink, watching as the colors melded, turning into a dark, ugly purple before swirling down the drain.

A distraction. That’s what she needed. Something to keep her from obsessively checking her phone for a message from Camille. Something to get her mind off her friend trapped in a house with a monster.