Page 90 of Every Step She Takes

She keeps looking at the phone. At those messages.

“A lawyer could help–” she begins.

“I tried that Monday morning. My mother found me one – and only one – lawyer who would agree to represent me, and I walked into his building to overhear him talking to the police with media there to televise my arrest.”

Her head shoots up. “He can’t do that.”

“Well, he did, and I’m past the point – long past it – of expecting anyone to act fairly. If you doubt the veracity of those texts, contact your mother’s phone company and get her records. I’d be surprised if the police haven’t done that already.”

“But you’re saying her killer was in the suite with her body, texting you. That makes no sense.”

“Was her account connected to any other devices? A laptop? A tablet? A smartwatch?”

“Her tablet is missing, too. Itwasconnected to her account, so she could answer texts on it.” She looks at me. “Whoever sent these used her tablet. Can that be tracked? The device identified?”

“Hopefully. Presumably.”

She looks from the phone to me. Then she hands it back and says, “You need to leave.”

“No lunch, then, huh?” I say with a wry smile. “Can I at least take it to go? The dining options of a fugitive are terribly limited.”

She doesn’t return my smile, and I falter. I’m not thrilled by the abrupt dismissal, but I understand she has what she wanted. I expect, though, that she’ll have the grace to joke back and say yes, take a doggie bag.

Instead, she reaches into her purse and pulls out a wad of bills. “Take–”

“Jesus,” I mutter. “I was joking. I don’t need your food, Tiana, and I definitely don’t need your money. You could have just skipped the whole fake-lunch invitation and said you wanted to talk.”

“Please, take this,” she says. “You just – you need to go. Now.”

I glance at the money… and her trembling hand.

“You called the police,” I say slowly as realization hits. “You called them before I even arrived.”

“I…” She swallows, and in her face, I’m reminded of those rare moments when her mature veneer would crack and I’d see the ten-year-old beneath.

She straightens. “Karla was right. She told me not to turn you in, and I… I reminded her who paid her salary. Damn it, I don’t ever learn.” A sharp intake of breath as she shakes her head. “No time for that. I made a mistake, and I can’t fix it now. Just go, Lucy. Quickly.”

“You called me here to talk,” I say. “You said you wanted to listen to me, and you summoned the police before I could say a word. Then you told me I should trust the process. Trust that people will listen to my story before they decide my fate.” I look her square in the eye. “You didn’t.”

Her mouth opens, but I’m already sweeping past.

“Goodbye, Tiana,” I say. “I hoped for better from you. I really did.”

I leave her, standing in that room, money still outstretched as I clamber down the stairs.

Chapter Thirty-Three

I barely reach the bottom of the stairs when the door swings open. I backpedal, hands rising.

It isn’t a cop, though. It’s Karla. She’s a little grayer. Still dressed impeccably with that no-nonsense expression I know so well. Then she sees me. Her eyes widen. Her lips part, and she pauses. Just a split-second pause before she lets the door half close as she takes out her phone.

“I really can’t talk now,” she says, loudly into the phone. “I’m in the middle of something.”

It takes two seconds for me to realize she’s faking a call to give me a chance to run. As I dart through the next room, someone outside calls to Karla. Warns her to come outside, get away from the door.

The police.

Karla arrived just ahead of them. Maybe hoping to speak to me. Maybe hoping to change Tiana’s mind about turning me in.