Of course, if Grant hadn’t come back, Keith would have found another way to help him. He’d spent months learning about poisons. Which ones left a signature behind for a medical examiner to find and which ones didn’t. He loved the long-distance lethality they offered. Some of them were even supposed to feel good.
That appealed to Keith. He didn’t like hurting his siblings, but sometimes it was necessary. Like with Everett.
Keith’s stomach twisted at the memory of Everett’s bulging eyes and tongue.
At least he was free now. He’d escaped his pain. Four more and it would finally be Keith’s turn to escape, as well. No more nightmares.
That thought lightened his step and calmed his shaking hands as he entered the police station. Because he was a public defender, the police knew him and allowed him access to Grant with hardly any trouble. He entered the interrogation room and shut the door behind him.
Grant looked tired but unhurt, other than a small cut. The thug Keith had hired hadn’t done his job and slowed Grant down enough to give Keith a shot at subduing him.
Maybe Grant was going to be even harder to deal with than Keith thought.
He studied the man sitting at the table, thinking of which way would be best to help him. If it weren’t for the fact that Keith would certainly be caught, it would be an easy thing to paralyze him with the spray Keith kept in his briefcase and shove one of the poison capsules he’d made down Grant’s throat. By the time the paralytic wore off, Grant would already be gone.
But it wasn’t Grant’s turn. He’d lived with Lavine for only a heartbeat of time compared to the others. It wasn’t fair that he would get to go first. Amanda was next. Then Trina. They’d both earned their place in line.
Grant looked up in surprise. “Keith? What are you doing here?”
“Isabelle called me and told me the police were holding you for questioning,” said Keith. “Have you been charged with anything yet?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure that won’t last much longer if Mathews has anything to say about it.”
“Do you know if they have any evidence against you?” asked Keith.
“Mathews said something about finding my fingerprints in Everett’s house.”
Keith tried to hide his surprise that the police had even bothered to check for fingerprints. Everett’s death should have been more convincing than that. What had he missed? He needed to find out before he went to help Amanda.
“Maybe they were just bluffing, thinking they’d get a confession out of you.”
Grant shoved his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know what else it would be. I’ve never been in his place, so my fingerprints can’t be there.”
Even though Keith knew the answer, he was playing a role and needed to ask the right questions to be convincing. “Did you kill him?” he asked, feigning sincerity. Using that word—kill—nearly made him choke with rage and disgust. It was such an ugly word for the gift Keith had given Everett.
“Hell, no!” shouted Grant.
Keith held up his hands. “Okay, I believe you. Our job now is to convince the police. Do you have an alibi?”
“I was with Isabelle.”
Of course he was. Isabelle still hadn’t gotten over her crush on Grant and likely never would. But that was okay. Keith would free her from that unrequited love, too, soon enough.
The door opened and Mathews entered. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, or if he had, it was in the same clothes he was wearing now. Keith wondered if his wife’s illness had taken a turn for the worse, though he knew better than to ask the man about her. Mathews didn’t like answering questions about his personal life.
He set a short stack of folders on the table and said to Grant, “I need to know where you were on the following dates: January eleven, seventeen, thirty, February six, nineteen, and March three.”
Those were the dates Keith had freed each of the others. Somehow, the police had made the connection, and Keith was pretty sure it was Grant’s or Isabelle’s fault.
Now that the police knew the deaths were connected, they were going to investigate them. Keith’s time was running out.
He struggled to remain calm and tried to channel his panic into what would appear like anger. “What is this about?” he asked Mathews.
“Murder. We’re looking into the deaths of six more people that might have been tied to Everett.”
Murder? The word made Keith’s mouth twist in disgust. What he’d done hadn’t been murder, and he wanted to scream at Mathews until he took back the ugly insult. If only Keith could explain what they’d been through—if only Mathews could know for himself what it was like to suffer the way Lavine’s children had—he wouldn’t ever use such a disgusting word to describe the sacrifice Keith had made to save them.
Grant picked up the files and leafed through them. He didn’t look surprised at what he saw, which meant he’d seen it before. That lack of surprise also made him look guilty.
Keith’s mind scrambled to find a way to make the most of this turn of events. If Grant was charged with the murders and put behind bars, then he’d be difficult to access when it was his turn. And Keith didn’t need Grant to take the blame. He already had someone else in mind for that on the off chance that he needed to remove any suspicion that would fall on him.
Keith didn’t mind going to jail for helping his siblings, but what he did mind was the possibility he’d be put on suicide watch, unable to escape the memory of what Lavine had done to him—what he still did to him in his dreams every night. He’d be stuck in this world, suffering indefinitely with no means of escape.
He’d always known that getting caught was a possibility, so, to protect himself from that ever happening, he’d found another man to take the blame. Months ago. He’d brought Dale to Isabelle’s attention, knowing she’d never be able to turn him away. Once Dale was part of her life, so was Wyatt—a man who looked enough like Keith to pass as him, with a history of violence.