Twenty-Nine
I want to run to her and throw my arms around her. I want to tell her how sorry I am. I want to hear her cry or shout or wail. Anything but the cold, dead expression in her eyes as she watches at me. “I didn’t want to have to involve you,” she says, “but I’m getting nowhere on my own. This man who was once your friend. This man who … who killed Victoria. Do you have anything that belonged to him?”
Something that belonged to him? “You mean … you’re trying to find him?”
“Of course I’m trying to find him,” she says, her voice still deathly quiet. “He murdered my child. Do you expect me to let him get away with that?”
My head spins at the reversal of roles. How do I talk her out of this when part of me still wants to go after Zed myself? Should I talk her out of it? Yes. I shou
