Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
I can't breathe.
Why can't I breathe?
"Breathe, Miss Kendall," Detective Lewis murmurs, leaning forward. Concern flits through his gray eyes, but his jaw is clenched so tightly I see the muscle straining.
Does he think I told this kid to kill himself? That I stole from him and broke his heart?
"Ivy, you need to breathe," Detective Lewis says, climbing to his feet. He circles around the small table to me and places his hand on my back. Even through my clothing, the heat of his hand sears me. He pushes me forward with a gentle pressure, until my head is between my knees.
I concentrate on my breathing. In and out. In and out. Tears threaten to spill, but I don't let them.
Little by little, the tightness in my chest eases, allowing me to take a deep breath. I expect Detective Lewis to move his hand, but he doesn't. He keeps it on my shoulder. I think he's trying to comfort me. Would he do that if he thought I could say such heartless things to a kid? Would he flirt with me like he did last night and the night before?
I don't know, and I don't have the mental energy to expend trying to figure it out.
Slowly, I straighten in my chair. I don’t feel better at all, but at least I can breathe again.
I think his hand tightens on my shoulder for a brief instant before he moves away from me.
He doesn't reclaim his seat, instead standing beside me. I don't even know him, but I want to lean into him, let him hold me together and tell me this isn't happening. That it's just a nightmare. But I can't do that, and he can't tell me that.
Why would he when he doesn't even know me?
"Someone stole my identity," I whisper. That has to be it. Someone found pictures of me and used them and my name to start a relationship with Rory. It's happened before―well, the using my pictures part, anyway. I'm not sure about the starting a relationship part, but there is no other explanation.
Detective Lewis eyes me for a moment, his expression as stern and unreadable as it has been all day long, and then he gathers up his folder. "Come on, I'll take you home," he says.
I don't know if he believes me or not.
Why does that scare me so much?
"Thank you for the ride," I whisper when we pull up in front of my building. Unlatching my seatbelt with one hand, I reach for the door handle with the other. I feel numb and cold, my insides frozen solid. His scent is all over his Land Rover and it's not helping to calm me any. If anything, smelling him, having him seated right next to me, his gaze fixated on the road ahead, makes me even more anxious.
I desperately want to ask him if he believes me, but I don't.
"You're welcome," he murmurs, still not looking at me.
I climb from the vehicle, tears welling in my eyes again.
Don't cry, I chant to myself. Not yet.
"Miss Kendall," he says as I move to close the door.
I turn to find his gaze on me, his expression shuttered.
"Don't leave town for a while," he says. "We'll have more questions for you."
Despite my best efforts, a single tear slips down my cheek. I hurriedly brush it away. His gaze softens, his gray eyes flickering across my face. He looks like he wants to say something, but I don't give him the chance. I have to get out of here.
"Thanks," I mumble and then slam the door before spinning on my heel and darting inside my building. Instead of waiting for the ancient elevator, I race up the stairs, taking them two at a time all the way up to the fourth floor. Keeping my head down, I speed walk to my door, the worn Oriental-styled runner under my feet blurring. Somehow, I make it to my apartment without any of my neighbors stopping me.
Once inside, I latch the door and then slide down the wall. With my back against the cool wood, I give in to the tears. They come in gasping heaves and pained whimpers. I've never been in trouble in my entire life. I don't understand why this is happening to me, or who would do something this horrible.
Why would anyone do something so awful to another person?
Did Rory kill himself, thinking I used him and then told him to die?
I don't even know him, but the thought of him viewing me as that sort of person kills me.
And then fury sweeps in, burning like flames in my stomach. How dare someone use my identity to destroy a life? How dare they ruin a teenager and use my name to do it?
Brushing my tears away, I climb to my feet and start pacing in angry circles.