CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“Back up, Amelia,” Esme called as though she were warning a friend about a low ceiling, not a bruiser about to kick in a door.
The man who had been guarding Amelia appeared in front of the door.
He reared up a leg, and Amelia jumped back.
The door splintered from the lock and swung open with such force that the door smacked the wall and shut again.
The broken door latch still swung back and forth.
Esme opened the door.
She looked utterly out of place with her dark suit and bag of food.
Amelia staggered back until she hit the bed.
She had nowhere to go.
Nothing made sense.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Esme walked in and casually shut the door.
“You killed my sister.”
“No.” Esme shook her head.
“Absolutely not.”
She gestured to the broken door.
“Those guys did.”
The same people just broke down the door and let Esme in.
One of those men had been at the Callaghans’ house and Esme’s party.
They had to be who took her from Camden—from a safe house.
Amelia skirted around the bed.
“How could you? You worked with them.”
Esme was unmoved by her accusations.
“Hailey’s death was tragic.”
If only Amelia had done things better.
She’d wasted so much time that night.
She could have kept her questions to herself when Jonathan and Hailey demanded she get help.
Amelia could have run faster.
She could have stayed out of the window.
Guilt rolled over her like a tidal wave.
“Screw you, Esme.”
They were dead.
Jonathan and Hailey had been doing good things in the world.
Amelia didn’t know what those things were, but they were good enough that people wanted to stop them.
Esme used the broken dead bolt to secure the door as best as she could and closed the distance.
“Are you sure you’re not hungry? Banana? Chicken?” She glanced about the room.
“This place is disgusting. Anyone with half a heart would know even a light bulb would take care of the place.”
“Go away.”
Esme set the food on the nightstand.
“Listen to me—”
“No.”
She laughed.
“How do you think this will play out? I’ll just walk you to the parking lot? Find you an Uber?” She opened the bag and offered a Styrofoam container.
After an awkward moment, she set the food down and crossed her arms and tapped the toe of her high heel as if reprimanding a toddler.
“I need to know what Jonathan and Hailey told you that night.”
Amelia moved to the far side of the bed.
She was cornered. “Even if they did tell me something, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“They”—Esme thumbed over her shoulder—“will kill you if you don’t help. You understand that?”
Fear percolated in her guts.
“It will hurt,” Esme continued coolly.
“And I’m supposed to be the one who makes it excruciating. Do you get that?”
“I don’t know anything.”
“They’re willing to do whatever it takes to get what they need. Tell me what Jonathan and Hailey told you that night.”
“Nothing.”
Esme scowled.
“I really don’t want this to happen. Is there a light bulb that can go off in that brain of yours? Or are you just a half-hearted excuse for your sister?”
Something in Esme’s expression was different from the two other times they’d met.
She couldn’t place it but couldn’t let it go either.
That wasn’t even the way she spoke.
Maybe the cadence was wrong.
Something was off. “Please let me leave. You don’t want to do this.”
“You’re right.” She placed her hands on her hips.
“But that doesn’t change anything.”