“But first things first,” Aaron said. “It’s time to deal with the two of you.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

“Let him go,” I said.

The words were unplanned. They spilled out of my mouth without any thought on my part. But once they were out, they felt right. And I knew I’d had to say them.

“Let him go,” I said again. “And then leave my family and everyone else alone. I’m the person you want. I’m the one you need to deal with. Okay? Just let . . . just let everybody else be.”

Aaron looked surprised by my declaration. For a moment, he stared at me as though I were an exhibit on display in a zoo, a strange creature who performed some bizarre, unexpected act. I kept my eyes locked on his, so I had no idea what Blake was doing.

“A hero, then,” Aaron said. “Saving the day for everybody.”

“Not that. Not that at all. It’s just the right thing, okay? Your quarrel is with me. I’m the most to blame for what happened that night.”

For some reason, Aaron continued to hold the gun against Blake’s head. Maybe he deemed Blake the greater threat. Or maybe he felt he could keep me from running off by maintaining the pressure on Blake. If I made a sudden move, either to leave the basement or to charge Aaron, he could easily pull the trigger and kill Blake with a head shot. Maybe he figured pointing the gun at me wouldn’t have been as much of a deterrent for Blake.

“Are you?” Aaron asked.

“Don’t you know what really happened? After all these years, don’t you?”

“I know now,” he said. “I was pretty well concussed that night. And drunk. So I went along with what I was told by the cops. What they thought happened. But somebody finally filled me in. But you tell me what you think happened. Let’s see if it matches what I know.”

“Who told you?” I asked. “Was it Dawn?”

Aaron’s face scrunched. “Dawn? The sister? Forget her. Just tell me the story.”

His desire to have me speak first so he could compare stories put me further on edge. I wanted to ask more questions, to know where he’d been hearing things from. But the look on his face, the primal urgency displayed there, told me I needed to speak.

But I remembered the letters . . . what Blake said had been written in them.

Had Aaron read the letters? Had he been in Jennifer’s house?

Had he killed her?

“Go on,” he said, waving the gun.