The Lie (Kings of Linwood Academy Book 2)

by Callie Rose

  She dips her head, acknowledging that I’m probably right about that, but then she shakes it again. “I still don’t know why he’d want to help. Even if it’s allowed, it’s probably some kind of ethically gray area. I don’t want to put him in that position.”

  I blow out a breath, puffing my cheeks. She may be right, but I still wish she’d try. The amount of faith she still has in this system terrifies me.

  Then again, maybe that’s because she doesn’t know she’s been actively set up, that this isn’t all just some massive misunderstanding waiting to be cleared up. She’s behind bars because someone—a cold-blooded murderer—framed her.

  I wish I could fucking tell her. But if Mr. Black got even a whiff of an idea that she knew she was framed, that she might tell her lawyer and have him look into it, I don’t know what he’d do.

  As long as she’s in here and he’s not, she’s safe. She’s alive.

  Alive. Alive. Alive.

  That’s all that matters.

  As long as that doesn’t change, we can figure the rest out.

  Samuel Black heard my rant that night. He was one of only a few people who came outside from the party and witnessed me screaming at Detective Dunagan. But he also saw the detective dismiss my words, saw the boys claim they had no idea what I was talking about.

  Now we’re stuck in a catch-22. As long as he doesn’t think we’re poking around, we’re relatively safe. But we need to poke around to find some tangible evidence linking him to Iris’s death.

  And in the meantime, my mom’s going to be tried for murder in two months.

  Fucking hell.

  I tell Lincoln the news as soon as we get back in the car, and his expression hardens. He grabs my hand as he pulls out of the Fox Hill Correctional Center visitor parking lot, lacing our fingers together before bringing our joined hands to his lips.

  Fire blazes up my arm from the brush of his mouth on my skin, and I let it burn away the worry and panic inside me for a moment.

  God, I miss him.

  He was right. There is no only between us. I’m not sure there ever has been.

  I see him every day at school, but I miss having him sneak into my bedroom in the mansion late at night, miss tearing at his clothes as his lips consume me, miss wrapping myself in his spicy, addictive scent.

  But I know when—if—I’m ever able to leave River’s house, I’ll miss the fuck out of him too.

  It’s… weird, having this kind of connection with more than one guy. Not bad weird, just different.

  Unexpected.

  Something I’m still learning how to navigate.

  The feelings I have for each of these four boys are growing, developing into something stronger than I was prepared for. I haven’t had to crash at the twins’ house yet—although with my track record, that day is coming—but the two of them have an almost supernatural ability to put me in a good mood. I find myself gravitating toward them, craving their presence. Craving Chase’s bright energy and Dax’s dry sense of humor.

  Linc nips at the back of my hand with his teeth, and I swear I feel it everywhere in my body. I suck in a breath and shoot him a look, and his amber eyes smolder when he meets my gaze.

  “The guys are all coming over to my place for the beginning of winter break. You too.”

  I raise my brows. “Really?”

  “Yeah. My parents will be in Colorado for the week after school lets out. It’s the perfect fucking time to go through my dad’s shit without worrying about him catching us.”

  My heart jumps. Shit, that’s brilliant. That’s exactly what we need. We can finally poke around without worrying about getting caught.

  There has to be something in that house that will tie Mr. Black to Iris.

  “Okay, perfect.” I take in his profile as he watches the road, letting my gaze trail over his angular features and strong jawline. “Lincoln? Thank you.”

  He nods grimly, lowering our hands to rest on my lap. A muscle in his jaw ripples, and I bite my lip. I hate this all on so many levels, but I especially hate that if our suspicions are right, Lincoln will essentially be losing his father.

  When he drops me off at River’s house, he leans over the center console, palms the back of my head, and kisses me like he won’t see me on Monday—like he might never see me again. I kiss him back just as hard, and when we’re both breathless and flushed, I finally pull away and slip out of the car.

  I feel better knowing we have a plan, a chance to do some serious digging soon. But it doesn’t stop worry from building up in my chest like a pile of rocks.

  River meets me outside and brings me downstairs. His dad is home for once, sitting in the large living room off the main entrance reading the paper. He’s dressed in a full suit—I’ve never seen him in anything else—and his ash-brown hair is mixed with gray. Like Lincoln’s dad, he has the look of someone who was devastatingly handsome in his youth and has aged extremely well.

  Mr. Bettencourt glances up as we pass by, his expression hard and disapproving. We both ignore him though—that’s what River almost always does, and I just follow his lead.

  As soon as we reach his bedroom, I make a beeline for the suitcase I packed. I’ve been replaying my conversation with my mom over and over in my head since I left the prison, and I understand why she said what she did. But I can’t just let it go there.

  If there’s even a slight chance that Judge Hollowell could help her, I’ve got to try.

  River sits on the couch, watching me with curious eyes as I dig my mom’s cell out of my bag and enter her password. After tapping the screen to pull up her contacts, I scroll down to the H’s. She must’ve exchanged numbers with this guy if she went on a few dates with him.

  Sure enough, after several other last names that start with H, his name flashes on the screen. Alexander Hollowell.

  I pull my own phone out of my back pocket and type his number in there, then connect the call. It’s the weekend, so I’m guessing he’s not in his office, but I’m also guessing this is his personal cell number.

  After a few rings, a pleasantly rough voice asks, “Hello?”

  “Hello, Mr. Hollowell. This is Harlow Thomas. I used to work for the Black family with my mom. Penelope.”

  “Oh… yes, of course.”

  There’s recognition in his voice, but confusion too. He definitely knows who I am, but he’s gotta be wondering why on earth I’m calling him.

  It’s not like we really know each other. I saw him at a couple of Samuel and Audrey’s cocktail parties, but we’ve never had an actual conversation or anything. In fact, I didn’t even like him all that much the first time I met him. He was one of about a dozen guys who “accidentally” brushed against me at the first party I worked, although—unlike the rest of them—he kept his hands to himself after that, so maybe his actually was an accident.

  But he recognized me when I opened the door for him at the last cocktail party, and I swear there was sympathy in his voice when he said my mom’s name.

  He might not know me, but he does know her. At least a little bit.

  And I have to hope that’s enough.

  “I’m sorry to bother you on the weekend, but I’m calling because my mom’s gotten into a little bit of legal trouble.”

  “Ah. Yes. I know,” he says slowly.

  “She’s been accused of murder, but she didn’t do it!” I blurt out. He saw her get arrested, so even if he doesn’t know all the particulars, there’s no reason to sugarcoat this or dance around it. “They’re holding her without bail, and her trial date is set, and her court-appointed lawyer sucks—”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Thomas.” Alexander cuts me off, and although his words are a bit abrupt, I still think I hear sympathy buried in his tone. “But what do you think I can do for you? I’m not a lawyer. I can’t represent Penelope.”

  “I know.” I crane my neck to stare up at the ceiling, wishing I could articulate what I want from this man. I want you to put on a damn cape and c
ome rescue my mother. “But you know the law. I just thought maybe you’d have some advice or be able to help her somehow.”

  There’s a short beat of silence, then Judge Hollowell sighs. “I do know the law, that’s true. But that doesn’t mean I’m free to dole out legal advice to defendants or their families. I’m sure she’s in capable hands. Which public defender is representing her?”

  “Scott Parsons,” I say quickly, and there’s an even longer pause on the other end of the line.

  Fuck. I knew it. And Judge Hollowell obviously thinks so too. That guy is not qualified.

  “I do wish I could help, Ms. Thomas.” There’s reluctance in his voice. “But I really can’t.”

  Dammit. He sounds like he really means that—both the part about wanting to help and the part about not being able to. Normally, I’d respect that kind of integrity, but right now, I wish he’d fucking break the rules. Or at least bend them.

  “Could I just meet with you sometime and talk to you?” I ask desperately. “Not even about her case specifically. Just about these kinds of cases in general, so I know what to expect, what to do—whether the lawyer is giving us good or bad advice.”

  “It really isn’t possible. I’m sorry.”

  His tone is firm and unyielding, and I can see how he got to be such a prominent judge. It’s the kind of tone that allows no argument, that cuts any pushback off at the knees.

  “It’s okay. I understand,” I say, not because I actually do, but because I don’t want this call to end with him thinking I’m some kind of crazy psycho who phoned him on his day off and yelled at him. He does seem to want to help, so maybe if I give him some time to think on it, I can try again later.

  “I hope everything works out.” There’s a pause so long I glance at the screen to make sure he hasn’t already hung up. Then he adds, “Tell her to make sure Parsons sticks to his defense strategy. He sometimes hops from plan to plan, and it never works out well.”

  My heart leaps in my chest, excitement thrumming through my veins. That’s usable. That’s helpful. And he didn’t have to say it.

  “Thank you. I’ll definitely pass that along. Thanks so much.”

  “Good luck, Ms. Thomas.”

  He ends the call, and I drop the phone into my suitcase, glancing up to meet River’s gaze. I was facing the couch while I spoke, so I’m guessing he picked up my end of the conversation. I grin at him, unable to contain my relieved glee.

  It’s a little thing, but it’s a start.

  And Alexander Hollowell might say he’s not able to help, but he just showed that there’s some wiggle room in that.

  And I intend to take full advantage of it.

  22

  Finals week feels like a fucking marathon.

  Pretty much every minute I’m not actually inside the walls of Linwood, I’ve got my face buried in one of my textbooks, cramming for whatever exam is coming up next. It’s a good thing I know winter break is almost here—and with it, access to the empty Black family mansion—or I’d have a harder time focusing on schoolwork.

  My last test is on Friday, and by that point, I’ve gotten grades back for two of my other classes.

  I got B’s in both, and I’m honestly thrilled. Considering what a wreck this semester has been, passing at all feels like an accomplishment. And I was still a little worried Savannah would find some way to fuck with my tests, but I don’t think she did. I earned those scores on my own.

  The guys all do well. I don’t think any of them were worried. They’re all incredibly smart, and it sort of seems like excelling academically is just an expected part of the world they live in. In some schools, it would make them nerds and outcasts, but here, their straight A’s just make them more likely to go on to careers as high-powered businessmen or politicians or whatever.

  The weekend after our last day of school drags by. We can’t go to Linc’s house until his parents leave on Monday, but now that homework isn’t sucking up all my available brain space, I’m chomping at the bit to get started. I visit Mom and pass on the message about making sure Scott Parsons sticks to his defense plan. I don’t tell her exactly where I picked up that little tidbit—I don’t want the guard overhearing us and getting Judge Hollowell in trouble.

  Finally, on Tuesday afternoon, Dax and Chase swing by to pick us up. I practically sprint to their car, with River not far behind me, and Chase chuckles, glancing over his shoulder as I climb into the back seat.

  “Now that’s the kind of greeting I like to see. Missed you too, Low.”

  When we arrive at Linc’s place, Dax parks in one of the open garage spaces. It feels strange to step back inside the Black family mansion. It’s only been three weeks since I left to stay with River, but time has been doing funny things lately, speeding up and slowing down at random intervals, and it seems like it’s been so much longer than that.

  Linc greets us downstairs, and the guys throw their stuff in a couple of guest rooms on the second floor. I drop my bags off in my old bedroom, glancing at the stacked boxes of my mom’s belongings as I do. They look abandoned, and it breaks my fucking heart.

  Bri was given the week off to spend time with her family before the holidays pick up in earnest, so she isn’t around.

  “Gwen will be here for a few hours every afternoon though,” Linc tells us when we reconvene in the grand foyer. “I didn’t want to tell Dad not to have her come since it would seem suspicious. So we’ll just have to break from searching while she’s here.”

  “Works for me. And at least we’ll have food.” Chase grins.

  I wish we didn’t have to stop for anything, but I also know it’s not really reasonable to think we’d spend all day every day ransacking the house either. And Linc’s right. Anything that draws attention or makes his dad suspect something’s up should be avoided if possible.

  Hell, we probably shouldn’t even let Gwen know we’re all staying here—at least, not me.

  “So how do we want to do this?” River asks, glancing around at our small group. “Work top to bottom, start with the most likely rooms first, what?”

  “More likely rooms first, I think.” Lincoln purses his lips, the color of his amber eyes seeming to shift like flickering firelight. “Study, master bedroom, storage room. I want to see if I can get into the security system and look through old footage too, but I don’t know how far back it archives—and I have to be careful not to make it obvious I looked.”

  “Okay.” Chase claps his hands, rubbing them together vigorously as a determined look crosses his face. “Let’s do this shit.”

  Tearing the house apart looking for some unknown clue turns out to be both tedious and nerve-wracking. We split up to cover ground more quickly, but the mansion is fucking massive, and every little sound makes me jump. I’m not even sure why. No one’s here but me and the guys, but my heart still beats harder and faster than usual.

  Lincoln and I take the study the first day, and despite Linc managing to get into a few other locked drawers in the room, we don’t find the paternity test or anything else that references Iris or a baby.

  I hide upstairs when Gwen comes in the afternoons, and at night, the five of us gather in kitchen, eating leftovers of whatever she cooked and talking over what we found.

  Which is always, disappointingly, nothing.

  On Friday evening, Linc stands in the kitchen with his elbows resting on the marble counter and his face buried in his hands. He spent the day combing through the archived footage from the home security system, and every time I saw him, he was in a progressively worse mood. Now, he’s practically vibrating with frustration and anger.

  “There’s nothing. Fucking nothing!”

  He straightens, pounding the counter with his fists. When he turns to face us, I realize he’s got dark circles under his eyes that weren’t there when we started this search four days ago. He really thought we’d find something, and it’s killing him that we haven’t.

  He’s not the only one.

&n
bsp; “The footage doesn’t go back far enough to cover the time when Iris and I were hooking up. I only brought her here a couple times, and I can’t tell if she was ever here before or after that. I don’t know if she met my dad here or not.”

  “Even if she did, he could’ve gone in and deleted that footage, right?” River asks, his voice quiet and thoughtful.

  “Yeah. Probably.” Linc shakes his head. “I know he was out of the house the night Iris was killed and got back a little before we did, but that doesn’t actually prove jack shit.” His agonized gaze shifts to me. “Your mom was out too, and we know she didn’t do it.”

  I nod. The leftover pizza I’m eating is slowly turning into a rock in my stomach.

  We’re running out of time. Linc’s parents will be back on Monday, so we only have a few more days of unrestricted access to the house. And considering we started with the most obvious places, it’s starting to feel like it’ll take a fucking miracle for us to find anything.

  I set my slice down on the plate, resting my elbows on the counter like Lincoln just did and taking a deep breath, trying to calm my rising panic.

  “Jesus. Look at you two.” Dax chuckles as he says it, but when I glance up at him, real concern reflects in his eyes. “You look like you’re about to lose it. We need a break.”

  Linc and I both shake our heads, starting to object, but Chase steps up beside his brother.

  “He’s right. If we only have a few days left, we need to be smarter. Strategic. Which means we need to be thinking clearly. You know?”

  “Just for the rest of tonight,” River says, surprising me by taking the twins’ side. Then again, he looks a little worried too, so maybe Lincoln and I really do seem like we’re about to snap. “Then we’ll start fresh tomorrow.”

  Linc’s amber gaze darts between his three friends before settling on me. And I think it’s what he sees in my face that finally convinces him. He lets out a sigh, and his bunched shoulders relax slightly.

  “Yeah, all right. Fine.”

  “Good.” Chase nods decisively. “Then for the rest of the night, no more talking about the search or thinking about it. We need something else to distract us.”