“Paul.” Madison studied her nails. “But he didn’t do it.”
“I thought you suspected him.” Tommy turned on her.
“I do suspect him—of withholding evidence and lying to me. But he didn’t abduct me.”
“Were you ever in Joshua Tree?” Aster asked.
“There were two locations. I have no idea where the first one was. The second was Death Valley. That’s where I escaped and Paul found me.”
“Paul found you.” Aster stared. “In the middle of Death Valley. Doesn’t that seem a little too coincidental?”
Madison withdrew into silence. She needed to show them this sort of questioning would get them nowhere.
“What are you hiding?” Layla asked.
Of course Layla was the one to force the conversation to a more substantive place. If Madison wasn’t so wary of Layla, she might be impressed. As it was, she said, “I’m not hiding anything.”
“Sure you are.” Layla crossed her legs and settled in. “Save your sad story for your memoirs or a very special edition of In-Depth with Trena Moretti. Right now, you need to cut the crap and give us a reason to trust you. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re outnumbered. You don’t decide how this ends, we do. The sooner you understand that, the better for everyone.”
Madison inhaled a steadying breath. She couldn’t afford to let Layla bait her. “What exactly is it you want to know?”
Layla was quick to reply. “Did you kill your parents?”
Someone gasped. Madison guessed it was Aster, and though she felt equally jolted by the question, she was too self-possessed to show it. Funny how in the ten years since her parents had died, no one had ever bothered to ask. Then again, Paul had been right there when it happened, and he’d set up an airtight alibi that cleared her of suspicion. And yet, just like that, Layla’s question had transported Madison right back to that horrible night.
The sound of gunshots roared in her head.
Her vision blurred at the sight of blood-spattered walls.
Paul had stood by and watched as Madison’s parents, Henry and WillaJean Slocum, tried to sell her to their drug supplier in exchange for forgiving their debt. Even at eight years old, Madison knew they were serious.
Her father pushed her toward their supplier as though she was something other than human—a commodity to be bartered or sold.
At first, the man laughed and nearly pushed her right back.
But once he’d caught a glimpse of her deep violet eyes, he reconsidered. His mouth twisted cruelly, his gaze hardened on hers, and life as she knew it was forever altered.
One moment she was a helpless, terrified eight-year-old girl, and the next she’d made a dive for the gun on the coffee table, aimed it straight at her parents, and shot them both dead.
Her small hands shook as she spun on her heel and pulled the trigger again, effectively wiping that sick grin off the supplier’s face as a bullet tore into his gut and he crumpled to the ground.
Paul was the only one left, and as Madison leveled the barrel on him, he raised both hands and in a soft voice said, “Don’t shoot. I’m a cop.”
Madison wavered. He was nothing like the others who used to hang around. Sure he was big, hardened, and scary in his own way, but in those dull, milky eyes she’d caught a flash of something she’d never seen in her parents.
This strange, beige, nondescript man actually cared about what happened to her.
“I know you’re in pain,” he told her. “I know how scared you must be. But I need you to give me the gun.” He extended a hand, but Madison knew better than to fall for that trap. “It’s okay,” he’d said, somehow managing to stay calm. “I understand. Just hold tight and don’t do anything rash. I’m just going to reach into my pocket and show you . . .”
A moment later he’d flashed her his badge, and Madison found herself howling and shaking in the shelter of his arms.
Paul was undercover and just days away from arresting her parents and their supplier and sending them all to jail for a very long time. But now he was faced with an entirely new dilemma. He explained how easy it would be to tell the truth, since Madison was too young to be held accountable for her actions. But Paul had also been around long enough to know how a crime like that could manage to stick.
He’d seen something special in her—the kind of spark most people lacked. In a bid to give her the sort of life she deserved, he staged the scene to appear as though the supplier had shot her parents and Paul had then shot the supplier.
She’d never forget the feel of her father’s fingers digging into her arm just before he gave her away. The bruises he left marked the spot where she eventually pressed a piece of burning wood to her flesh. The resulting wound lent authenticity to the alibi, while serving as a visual reminder of why she’d chosen her path.
The memory faded as Madison met Layla’s gaze. She’d stayed silent too long, and now anything she said would be met with skepticism. Still, in the end, it would always be Madison’s word against the truth, and she would do whatever it took to ensure that the truth never leaked.