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Back One White Lie Save as PDF
Chapters (59)
  1. COVER
  2. About the Author
  3. DEDICATION
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. TWENTY-THREE
  27. TWENTY-FOUR
  28. TWENTY-FIVE
  29. TWENTY-SIX
  30. TWENTY-SEVEN
  31. TWENTY-EIGHT
  32. TWENTY-NINE
  33. THIRTY
  34. THIRTY-ONE
  35. THIRTY-TWO
  36. THIRTY-THREE
  37. THIRTY-FOUR
  38. THIRTY-FIVE
  39. THIRTY-SIX
  40. THIRTY-SEVEN
  41. THIRTY-EIGHT
  42. THIRTY-NINE
  43. FORTY
  44. FORTY-ONE
  45. FORTY-TWO
  46. FORTY-THREE
  47. FORTY-FOUR
  48. FORTY-FIVE
  49. FORTY-SIX
  50. FORTY-SEVEN
  51. FORTY-EIGHT
  52. FORTY-NINE
  53. FIFTY
  54. FIFTY-ONE
  55. FIFTY-TWO
  56. FIFTY-THREE
  57. FIFTY-FOUR
  58. Acknowledgments
  59. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

I kept my eyes focused on the tip of his nose. ‘Well, if you had, you’d know that half of the buildings, the ones that aren’t new luxury condos, are run by slumlords, or at least people who are really, really shady. In my first apartment, I never even had a lease. I took it over from a friend and paid the guy cash month to month. They don’t want a record of anything, you know, so they don’t have to pay taxes. Then I moved in with my boyfriend.’ I shrugged, gripping Dusty’s leash tighter. ‘The lease was in his name. You didn’t ask for my whole residential history.’

He hesitated. ‘No, indeed I didn’t.’ He stared at me, as if trying to decide whether to believe my story. He pressed his lips together, then delivered a smile, far too sweet. ‘Those DNA results should be in soon, Miss King.’

Back in my cottage, holding Dusty tight, I walked through every room, looking for a sign of Davis, but found nothing. I let Dusty down and locked every door twice, then tried to put the cottage back together.

I remade the bed, shut open drawers, returned books where they belonged. I tossed dirty underwear, personal things that had been picked over by the team of prying cops, into the hamper. When I was done, I once again pushed the bed aside, staring at my hammered-down floorboard.

I had a terrifying thought. What if they’d found everything I’d stashed there, then hammered it down so I wouldn’t know? What if McKnight was just waiting to show me what he’d discovered, another trump card up his sleeve? What if that’s why he’d suddenly been digging around in my address history?

The board was wedged down too tight to pry up with the claw of the hammer, so I headed to the kitchen, sliding open the knife drawer. I reached for the butcher knife, the only thing thin enough to wedge into the crack, then stopped, forgetting about all I had hidden away under the floorboard.

Eyes locked on the drawer, heart suddenly racing, I counted them: One, two, three, four, five. I counted again, touching the red Lucite handle of each one. One, two, three, four, five.

Something wasn’t right.

Goose bumps rising on my arms, I walked slowly to the bedroom. In the search, the police had taken my notebook, where I had jotted down all my inventories, but I’d taken backup photos on my phone when I first moved in.