Page 119 of Crash

“I know.” Her eyes met mine, glistening. “You did what I couldn’t. What I wanted to do so many times.”

Not many people would admit to fantasizing over killing their foster dad. That alone both made me worry for Faith, and feel closer to her all at the same time.

What had that tragic day done to her? What demons had it unleashed?

Something moved behind her eyes when she spoke about it, something dark and shadowed.

I hoped I was wrong.

Her voice dropped lower. “You saved my life, Blake. I’ve never properly thanked you for that.” She wiped a tear. “Without you, I wouldn’t be here.”

Relief settled into my heart that the distance I’d felt between us wasn’t, in fact, some deep-seeded fear of me or something.

“I wish we’d talked sooner,” I said.

“Me too. But we’re not exactly great at that.” She pushed her coffee aside. “It was easier to just lock it away.”

“Still. I’m sorry,” I said.

“For what?”

“For not talking about this years ago.” I met her eyes. “But mostly, I’m sorry that I didn’t smash in his skull sooner.”

Faith paused, but then, her lips tilted up on one side and she reached across the table to clasp her hand on mine.

“My big scary brother.”

“No more distance between us,” I ordered. “Can you live with that?”

“I can live with that.”

My turn to smile. “Good. Because I want you in my life, Faith.”

“Well, then.” She sat back, taking a sip of her coffee. “Catch me up on everything I’ve missed.”

60

BLAKE

I drummed my fingers against my desk, the familiar knot in my stomach tightening when Thomas entered with that look on his face—the one that meant another dead end.

“Nothing?” I asked.

Thomas shifted his weight, his usually confident demeanor softening with sympathy. As the head of toxicology and our most senior clinical pathologist, he wasn’t used to being stumped.

“Not one trace,” he said, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “I ran every test twice.”

“Let me see it.” The words came out rough, but Thomas didn’t flinch. He’d known me long enough to recognize when my edge came from fear rather than anger.

He handed me the report, and I scanned the neat columns of negatives, each one a door slamming shut on another possibility. Arsenic, lead, mercury—nothing. Every common drug, every predictable poison—nothing. The paper trembled slightly in my hands.

“We must have missed something.” I pressed my palms flat against my desk, leaning forward. “There have to be other possibilities, other poisons we haven’t considered.”

Thomas’s expression turned grave.

“Unfortunately, we’re looking at over a thousand recognized toxic substances that could cause poisoning. Metals, drugs, industrial chemicals, biological toxins, pesticides, plant-based poisons?—”

“A thousand.” The word poisoned the air between us. A thousand ways someone could be slowly killing my Tessa while I chased shadows.