Page 95 of Pretty Vengeance

“Listen—” My fingers grip the lip of the counter until my knuckles whiten.

“Because I can’t see it. He’s so kind to kids… to me when I was little.” Her voice cracks on the words. “He never hurt us.”

Leaving my untouched tea, I move toward her. “Maybe he didn’t want victims in his own house. More likely to get caught.”

Glancing up at me, she meets my eyes with a stiffening spine. “What’s your proof?”

“I recognize him.”

“From seeing him for a second? Years ago?” She draws in a shaky breath. “Could you be wrong?”

Irritation creeps into my voice. “I’m not wrong.”

“We live in Connecticut. What happened to your brother, that was in Ireland. That’s not one of the places he travels for work.”

“Sawyer,” I say sharply. “Do not?—”

“He’s the only family I have left.” Her voice is pitched high with alarm. “You can’t expect me to just—eye witnesses often get identification wrong. The trauma and everything, it can distort memories. It’s been years, right?”

“Thirteen years. And yeah, he does look different. He’s older, but not so different that I can’t see the connection.”

“Maybe it was someone who looks like him. Plenty of men do. He’s got male cousins. It could be one of them. Or someone else entirely.”

“You need to fucking listen, Sawyer.” My voice has risen so much I’m almost shouting. The dam has broken for the second time today, but now it’s fury rather than pain that’s spilling out. “It’s him. And he’s going to pay for what he did. Along with anyone who protects him.”

Sawyer stumbles backward, and I grab her arm to keep her from falling.

“Anyone who protects him? Why do you keep saying that? Is there—did Brad know something about it? Was that why something happened to him? Clare said?—”

“Allendale’s son got what he?—”

“J,” War barks.

We both turn as War jogs down the steps.

His thunderous expression is directed at both of us. “What the fuck?”

My heartbeat hammers like the hoofbeats of racing horses, and my muscles scream for release, wanting to smash something. But War’s furious interruption is like having ice water dumped over my head.

“Let go of my arm.” Sawyer winces as she tries to pull free. “You’re hurting me.”

My grip eases, allowing her to escape a few feet.

“You,” War says, turning to face her. He points a finger. “Sit down on that couch.”

“No.” She starts to circle around the couch to head in the direction of the door.

I move quickly, grabbing her so War won’t. “Hang on.” My voice is measured now, calmer.

“Are you doing this?” She glares at me. “I saidlet me go. Are you forcing me to stay? The way someone forced Jude?”

“Don’t fucking compare me to a disgusting pedophile.”

“Then, stop using force to overpower me! You’re scaring me.”

I let go and hold out my hands in surrender. “Just sit down. We’ll talk this out.”

“I don’t want to sit down. I’m going back to the dorm.”