Page 41 of Free to Judge

“I never said they couldn’t. Just, what you heard is part of something much bigger.”

“How big?”

I don’t answer immediately but let our eyes lock in silence for a heavy moment. Finally, I murmur, “Look, this isn’t the right place. But we need to talk about everything so you understand how to protect yourself.”

Laden with bitterness, she retorts, “According to my father, I already heard too much.”

My voice is steeped in regret. “You need the whole picture.”

“Why are you telling me this, not my father?” she challenges quietly.

Is it even possible to make a daughter appreciate her father’s outdated creed of protecting the women in his life at all costs? “I can’t answer that. This is about more than your cousin’s ordeal, Kalie. It’s bigger than even what happened to my partner.”

“I’m getting that. When and where?”

Relief surges through me at her willingness to listen. “When is the next time you can guarantee being by yourself?”

She stares off into the distance. “Friday. My cousin is flying to a conference and will be gone for a month.”

“Friday night then. I’ll come to you.” My voice trails off as her eyes meet mine.

Her expression immediately turns serious. “If you do anything to betray my family, there won’t be anything I won’t do to annihilate you.” As her words hang in the charged air, a piercing whistle crackles overhead—a call from her friend. In response, she blows a soft whistle of her own before she walks away from me. Over her shoulder she calls, “Don’t make me regret this.”

I let out a slow breath as she jogs away. Determination to keep this woman safe turns my guts into a knot even as I acquiesce silently, accepting her terms.

For now.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Since the nightDeclan confronted me after running, I’ve dodged any in-person encounters with the family—except for Grace. I haven’t avoided the morning and evening texts I’ve been receiving from Declan though. I respond because he’s assured me he’s using a burner phone.

Declan:

Morning. Everything okay on your end?

Kalie:

Yes.

Declan:

Night. Hope today was successful.

Kalie:

A-OK.

While not overtly personal, each gambit between us grounds me like that perfect sip of coffee first thing in the morning. They let me know I had an ally in the emotional turmoil I was experiencing.

Finally, it’s Friday. The day Grace leaves and Declan and I get to talk in person. As she departs for her trip in a whirlwind of frenzied hugs and fierce kisses, I tease, “Keep away from men who are just out for your body parts, Gracie. You know how sketchy they can be.”

Grace rolls her eyes, scoffing as she grabs a case of silicone eyeballs and noses before jumping in the back of the car to catch a ride to Teterboro, where our uncle’s jet is primed to shoot her across the Atlantic.

Earlier that week, she groused about hijacking the Lockwood Industries jet for herself until I pointed out her hyper-realistic silicone body parts might have Homeland Security suspecting her of a serial killing. “It’s okay to accept help, Gracie.” I chided.

She shot me a baleful glare—then reluctantly accepted our uncle’s offer to whisk her off to Belgium.

Other than mild drama, the days have passed by with no eruption of a storm and a distinct lack of drama. With Declan’s warning still echoing in my head, I’m hell-bent on wrangling my natural impulse to share information with my family. So, I feign a cold as a flimsy shield to work from home for the week.