“What was your brilliant plan? To frame me?” She makes sure she’s loud when she says this. Other people hear her. Some turn their heads. I keep my eyes locked on her.

Taylor sighs, a mix of weariness and sadness, the sound almost getting stuck in her throat, in the wetness there.

I suddenly feel exhausted. “I was with Nate all night and I can prove it,” I tell her, my voice flat. “Our building has security cameras in the lobby. They would’ve caught me going in way before the time Simon...was poisoned.”

I expect something in her expression to falter, anticipate her eyes to shift the way they do when you realize you’ve forgotten something important, at least a flinch. But Taylor serves nothing but poker face. She’s good, except I know she doesn’t actually believe I killed her father. She wants me to believe that she does, but this is all an act.

It doesn’t matter. I didn’t kill anyone and I have proof.

She watches me as I set the receiver back in the cradle, then rise from my chair. Her eyes narrow. I can practically see the wheels turning in that pretty little head of hers.

She is fooling no one.

She sent those emails. She sent those photos. She planted that cyanide in my apartment. I don’t know how, but I know she did. She wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t. She needs me to look guilty so the cops don’t come after her.

It’s the only thing that makes sense.

For a moment I was starting to think those cops were trying to frame me. It wouldn’t be that much of a stretch. Detectives are under tons of pressure from the city to not only investigate crimes, but solve them too. Every investigation that goes unsolved leads to political drama at the top of the chain. Bad press. Money lost. Lots of money. Plenty of detectives plant false evidence or manipulate whatever’s available to lean in their favor when all their other efforts fail.

I thought that was what was happening.

I thought wrong.

Taylor’s selling herself short. She should be in front of film cameras—not just posing for pictures. She should be an actress; it comes so naturally to her.

I don’t say anything. I want to threaten her, to tell her that if she doesn’t stop this bullshit, she’ll have to deal with the consequences. I want to scream at her, but it would be screaming at a brick wall. There’s no point. This isn’t a normal person I’m dealing with. She’s not just selfish. Inconsiderate. Reckless.

She’s cruel. A monster.