Page 2 of Absolution (Favorite Malady Trilogy #3)

ABIGAIL

T he man I love is a murderer.

Dane killed Stephen Lansing to save me. And now, he’s turned himself in to the police in order to spare me from being arrested.

I should feel safer with him in handcuffs—he’s the psychopath who stalked and kidnapped me, and he’s a cold-blooded killer. I saw it in his icy stare when he told the cops that he’s responsible for Stephen’s death.

But now that he’s been taken to the police station, cold settles over me. I hug my arms to my chest, as though I can hold myself together when I’m threatening to fall apart.

“Do you have tea?” the cop who arrested Dane asks.

Her partner is waiting in the corridor outside the penthouse, and two other officers have already left with Dane in cuffs. It took a while for them to call in backup to take him away, so it’s probably been almost an hour since the awful scene started to unfold.

An hour since I discovered that Dane truly is capable of murder.

If I’m being honest with myself, I’ve suspected it before. Once he kidnapped me, I wasn’t sure what he might do in order to possess me completely.

“There must be tea here,” the woman, Officer Singh, says when I don’t answer right away.

She’s speaking to me in a calm, almost gentle tone. As though she actually cares about my mental well-being.

Before, she’d been abrupt and coolly professional.

That was when she thought I was the killer. Now, she’s all warmth and concern.

I’m not convinced. She wants me to relax around her so that I’ll give evidence against Dane.

My teeth worry at my lower lip as she steps into the open-plan kitchen and finds tea in the cupboard. This rented penthouse is well stocked, so I’m not surprised that she easily finds what she’s looking for.

In the few minutes it takes her to boil the kettle, I take several deep breaths and struggle to untangle my thoughts.

“How do you take it?” she asks, as though she’s my gracious host.

I don’t drink tea unless it’s iced and has heaps of sugar, but I’m chilled to the bone, so I decide that a hot drink is a good idea.

“Lots of milk and three sugars, please,” I request.

She tries and fails to hide a grimace.

I shake my head slightly to clear it. If she wants to be friendly, I need to keep things cordial. An adversarial tone won’t get me out of this.

Exchanging verbal barbs won’t save Dane.

It’s an automatic thought, and I try to ignore it. I’m not at all certain that Dane should be freed from police custody.

He’s dangerous.

“Sorry,” I apologize as Officer Singh approaches me with the cup of tea that she clearly finds offensively sweet. “I should’ve made a cup for you.”

“It’s not a problem,” she replies, settling down on the plush cream armchair beside where I’m perched on the edge of a matching couch. “I’m sure this is very difficult for you.”

I cut my gaze away from hers and look out at the view of York Minster and the distant countryside that’s visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Only yesterday, I marveled at the perfection of this stunning place and the fact that I was sharing it with Dane, my dark god.

I take a sip of tea and don’t reply in any way, not even to nod in agreement.

The hot liquid is still too bitter on my tongue, even though it’s sweetened with sugar and diluted with milk.

I force myself to swallow it down, and I welcome the warmth that suffuses my chest. At least it chases the worst of the chill away.

“I’d like to get a clearer picture of what happened to Stephen Lansing,” she continues, and her soft tone doesn’t reach her sharp brown eyes.

“You were the last person to meet with him, according to the schedule we found on his tablet. He took thorough notes of your meeting, and the last entry was timestamped around his estimated time of death. We’ll know more as we process the scene, but now you have an opportunity to help us understand Dr. Graham’s motives. ”

I press my lips together. I have no idea what to say, what I even want to say.

I could tell her the truth: that Stephen drugged me and tried to rape me.

Dane didn’t have to kill him in order to save me, though. That doesn’t excuse what he did.

When I think about the fact that Stephen is dead, I don’t feel a shred of distress. If he wanted to violate me like that, he could do it to another woman. Maybe he already has.

The world is a safer place without him in it.

But Dane has implicated me in the murder. I didn’t kill Stephen with my own hands, but in a way, I’m responsible.

“I don’t know what happened,” I say, skirting around the truth.

I don’t remember anything about last night other than disjointed, hazy memories of fear and despair.

And Dane’s fierce green eyes when he caressed my cheek and said, Don’t watch, Abigail. I’ll take care of this. I’ll take care of you.

When I woke up in his arms an hour ago, I’d been shocked to learn of Stephen’s death. It’s not entirely a lie that I don’t know the details of what happened to him.

Officer Singh’s lips pinch to a thin line, the only sign that she’s irritated with my reticent response. “Dr. Graham didn’t say anything to you about Stephen Lansing before we arrived? Where was he last night between ten and midnight? Was he with you?”

“Yes. He was with me.” Another true statement that doesn’t fully answer her question.

I’ve always been a terrible liar, so sticking as close to the truth as possible is my best course of action for now. Until I can clear my head enough to sort out how I want to handle this nightmare.

The sound of the penthouse door opening makes me jolt, and I whirl to face the stranger.

A heavyset, balding man in a charcoal gray suit strides toward me with confident steps that border on arrogance.

“Who are you?” All the warmth has drained from Officer Singh’s tone.

“I’m John Wells, Miss Foster’s solicitor,” he replies, his pale blue eyes fixing on me through his rectangular, black-rimmed glasses. “She’s done talking to you.”

The officer stiffens. “We’re simply having a conversation. Miss Foster isn’t under arrest.”

John stares her down. “And your conversation is over.” His gaze cuts to me. “Not another word, Miss Foster.” He gives Officer Singh a dismissive wave. “I’d like to be alone with my client.”

My head spins. I’ve never even heard of this man, and I have no idea how he knows about me.

But he’s offering me a reprieve from police questioning, so I’ll take it.

“Yes,” I assert. “I need to talk to Mr. Wells, please.”

“You are welcome to sit in and offer advice,” Officer Singh begins. “But I want to?—”

“What you want doesn’t matter.” He cuts her off in clipped tones. “Miss Foster has rights, and, as you said, she’s not under arrest. Give us the room.”

She scowls at him but stands. Her back remains ramrod straight as she stalks toward the penthouse door in stiff strides, visibly bristling at the dismissal.

Mr. Wells waits for her to exit into the corridor before he sits in her vacated seat and turns his attention on me once again.

“What did you tell her?” he demands with professional authority.

I straighten my shoulders and counter coolly, “I have a few questions for you first. Who sent you to represent me? How do you even know about me?”

“Lord Graham keeps my firm on retainer,” he explains. “My colleague should be arriving at the police station now to prevent Daniel from saying anything incriminating.”

It’s too late for that. Dane already admitted to the cops that he killed Stephen.

I choose not to tell the lawyer. That’s a mess for his colleague to sort out.

“So, Dane’s father sent you,” I say. “How did you find out about this? I’m sure Dane didn’t ask his family for help.”

The last time he saw them, he’d shouted that he hated them. Of course, they wouldn’t send help because they care about him; this is all about appearances and their family name.

Mr. Wells blinks, as though he’s surprised that I’m not thanking him profusely for coming to my aid.

“Lord Graham has connections in law enforcement. The chief constable phoned him personally to tell him that his son had been arrested. I’m here to clear up the situation.”

I press my lips together for a moment, considering.

“Everything I tell you is confidential?” I ask.

“Yes,” he confirms.

“There’s nothing to clear up,” I confess. “Dane already admitted that he’s guilty when the cops came to arrest me.”

The lawyer sucks in a sharp breath. Then he clears his throat, professional mask back in place. “I’m sure my colleague can handle him. As long as you didn’t say anything else incriminating to the police?”

“I don’t think anyone can handle Dane,” I reply. “Especially not anyone sent by his father.”

Mr. Wells’ bushy brows draw together. “Lord Graham hired my firm to protect his family. Estranged or not, Daniel is a Graham.”

My fingers knot in my lap. Dane will hate this.

But if the lawyers can spare him from prison, isn’t that what I want?

“I didn’t tell the police anything,” I say quietly.

Even in my distress when I’d learned what he did for me, I’d known deep down that I wouldn’t betray him.

I can’t.

I love him, and I don’t want to live without him.

“You were having tea with that officer,” Mr. Wells presses. “What did you talk about before I arrived? I need details, Miss Foster.”

“I told her that I was with Dane last night around the time of Stephen’s death. And I told her I don’t know what happened to him. That’s true.”

He doesn’t quite succeed at suppressing a grimace. “So, let me get this straight. Daniel has admitted to killing Lansing. And you were with him at the time of death. You were at the scene of the crime, but you don’t know what happened?”

I blow out a sigh and commit to telling the lawyer everything. If we’re going to save Dane, he needs to know.

“Dane was protecting me,” I assert. “Stephen pressured me to have one drink with him after our meeting concluded. The drink was drugged, and he assaulted me. Dane found us together and saved me.”

Mr. Wells takes a moment to process what I’ve told him before speaking again.