Page 140 of Wicked Promises
Claire purses her lips. “I don’t know.”
He takes a step forward. “You’re smarter than most. You didn’t figure it out?”
She lifts her chin. “Lydia had kept papers of the adoption contract. Once the Ashers discovered them… It was just a matter of time before they took her back.”
Dirty little sneak.
“And then I found her diary, and it was painfully obvious what had happened.” She hops back up on the counter. “She documented all of it.”
Caleb glances back at me, raising his eyebrow.
He’s asking,Did you find that?
I barely lower my chin. The most silentyesI can manage.
“Then what, Claire?”
I admit, I want to know, too. I try not to show it—leaning backward and crossing my arms instead of leaning in. His hands are still bound in front of him, but somehow he portrayssincereso much better than me.
My wrists itch just thinking about the duct tape residue, and I dig my nails into my palms.
“Then…” She shrugs, smiling.
I’ve seen that face before. Devious, cunning Claire, who used to lie through her teeth when it suited her. How many times had Hanna and I covered for her when she snuck out? She’d serenely tell our foster parents that she was just in the bathroom when they checked, then laugh behind their backs.
My stomach twists.
“Did you blackmail her?” I ask.
Her gaze hardens. “Blackmail? I just told her what I knew. It washeridea to break you apart. After the scheme your mom and her tried went wrong—” Her lips press together. “Oops, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”
“Our moms were planning something?” Caleb takes another step toward Claire.
She lifts one shoulder. “I don’t remember.”
Slowly, I pull the journal out of my pocket. “Would this help you remember?”
She pushes off one of the counters. “Give that to me.”
The phone on the wall rings.
“Shut up!” she screams at it. “I just need some freaking quiet!”
I shrink away from her, snatching at the back of Caleb’s shirt. He shouldn’t stand so close to a lunatic. I tug, but he doesn’t budge.
“Have Margo answer it,” Caleb suggests.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Trust me,” he replies through his teeth.
I do. There was once a time when I would’ve said I didn’t, but that seems far in the past.
Claire grabs at her hair. The gun is abandoned on the counter behind her, and it’s all I can focus on.
“Margo, do it,” she snaps.
I slip past Caleb. I could go around Claire, down a different aisle—and put the kitchen’s center countertop between us—or… I walk toward her. My heart hammers, and I keep my eyes wide.