Read A Shred of Truth for Free Online Page B

hoped to see me again.”
    Another step. “Maybe I was hasty. You gave me no choice.”
    “Hey, I didn’t tell you to go.”
    She was three feet away now, her cobalt blue eyes studying mine. They were darker than I recalled, more melancholy. “I heard a rumor you’d changed.”
    “From who?”
    “Is it true?” she persisted.
    I looked past her. We seemed to be alone in the exhibit hall, yet the threat of evil still lingered. What were the odds of her being here at this time? No, she had to be connected—maybe even responsible.
    But that couldn’t be.
    During our relationship I’d never seen her swat a fly, much less carve initials into human flesh. As for quoting Bible verses in e-mails, she’d come from an overbearing religious background but never been the Bible-thumping type herself. Far from it.
    “It’s true,” I said. “I have changed.”
    She stood a foot in front of me. “Your response here leaves some doubt.”
    “Got a lot on my mind right now. Don’t know what to think.”
    “Then stop trying so hard. I see that hasn’t changed. You always wanted to analyze everything. Are you still trying to escape all those thoughts beneath that wavy black hair?” In moderate heels, she barely reached my shoulders as she stepped closer and pressed herself against me.
    It felt nice. Soft in all the correct places.
    “You had every right, Felicia.”
    “Hmm?”
    “To leave.” I swallowed and let my arms encircle her waist. “It was easier to be mad at you than accept my own faults.”
    “I made mistakes too.”
    “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
    She leaned back. “You’re still bitter, aren’t you?”
    “Why do people keep saying that?”
    Her face turned up, lips parted. Something there worried me, but I brushed it aside.
    “You look nice,” I said.
    “You like it? I dressed up for the steeplechase.”
    “The Iroquois. That was today?”
    “It was magnificent. The horses, the colors … I could feel their hoofs pounding the ground, right up through my legs.”
    If she meant to draw attention to her toned calves, it worked. I envisioned her up on her toes, cheering with the thousands of spectators, the racehorses thundering past the stands.
    The race was held at neighboring Percy Warner Park, named after the first American-bred horse to win the English Derby. In the late 1800s, he’d been the country’s leading sire, stabled at Nashville’s Belle Meade Plantation. The glory days had faded when strict rules against racetrack wagering went into effect.
    “You always were a horse lover,” I said.
    “You remember that? I’m touched.”
    There was a lot I’d tried to forget, but I knew that, as a girl, Felicia had ridden an Appaloosa mare and tacked posters of stallions on her walls. She’d begged more than once to go riding on the beaches, but I’d never made it happen. Too busy with spoons and needles.
    “I was a real loser, wasn’t I? Back in Portland.”
    “You know I still loved you, doll.”
    “Is that why you’re here?”
    Her eyes grew moist, and she looked down.
    “What’s going on, Felicia?”
    Blond tips stroked her collarbones as she shook her head, and I foughtthe impulse to run my fingers through her hair. I’d come expecting a showdown with a killer, not this reunion in a museum. In a rush, logic pushed back up through my spinning thoughts, shoving my suspicions to the surface.
    “Who put you up to this?” I breathed. “How’d you know I’d be here?”
    “I … It started a few months back.”
    “And?”
    “I saw you on that reality show, and it set me thinking about all the times we’d shared. I guess … well, I wanted to see you again.”
    “So you sent me the e-mail this morning.”
    “E-mail?”
    “Did you … Are you carrying a knife?”
    “No.
Gosh
, no.”
    I scanned the exhibit area again, then took hold of her slender arms. The image of my brother’s sliced shoulder filled my vision, followed by a descending curtain of red.