by CJ Lyons
“Everything you need to know is in there.” My throat is scratched raw but my voice is strong. “My mom figured out what Darrin was doing. She and Dad were going to the FBI—that’s why they fled to South Carolina, wanted to be far away where Darrin couldn’t find us when the police came for him.”
“That’s why Helen and Joe had to improvise. They couldn’t wait for Darrin to return to deal with things. They had to act before your parents handed over their evidence.”
“It was Helen. She killed my parents. Started the fire to cover her tracks.” I slump against him, exhausted. “Where is she?”
“Not sure. Last I saw her, she was running into the woods.” Both of us are still shaking with the cold, too exhausted to move. Despite the pain stretching from the burns on my back, along my arm, and all the way down to my leg, I feel strangely calm.
Alec pats his jacket. “I lost the gun. But the police will be here soon. They’ll find her.”
Lights blaze up the drive, screeching to a halt in front of the house. Two police cars, men jumping out and rushing inside. They haven’t spotted us, hidden down here in our safe haven by the water.
The bushes across from us rustle and Helen emerges, her face ghastly white in the moonlight. Or maybe it’s her aura that’s gone so deathly pale. I’m not sure, because all I can focus on is the pistol in her hand.
“You ruined everything,” she accuses us. “You killed my boy.” She aims the gun at me. Almost pointblank range. This close, she can’t miss.
Alec pushes me aside, leaping to his feet to stand in front of me. Just like Joe did. The thought of Alec suffering Joe’s fate propels me into action.
I’m not sure how I find the energy to fight against gravity, but somehow I’m standing, moving my body between Alec and Helen.
“He’s not dead,” I tell her. She shakes her head, denying my words. “Alec tied him up. Darrin’s fine. But the police are here.”
Alec has his arm wrapped around my waist, squeezing against my injured arm, though he’s too busy trying to move me out of the line of fire to care. Helen hesitates, glancing at the dock.
Somehow Alec reads my mind—or I read his, I’m not sure—because in that split instant we both launch ourselves against Helen, tackling her to the ground. With one arm out of commission, my only weapon is my body weight, so all I can do is hope that Alec can see clearly enough to grab her gun.
A shot rings out, making my ears shriek, it’s so close. My head fills with a roaring noise as I risk glancing up. It was Helen’s gun. But it was aimed toward the lake, away from either of us. Alec wrenches her pistol free from her grip just as policemen swarm down the path behind us.
“Show us your hands!” they shout, their auras tinged with the electric red of adrenaline. Alec and I both raise our hands even as we’re sitting on top of Helen. My arm screams in pain, but I swallow it down.
Alec glances over his shoulder, not at the men with guns running toward us but at my face. Even without his glasses to magnify them, his eyes glow with warmth. He gives a tiny smile—one that I return. The worst is over, and we survived. Together.
EPILOGUE
Two weeks later . . .
I peer through turquoise water up to a cerulean sky that reaches out so far and wide that I feel as if I’m alone in the world . . . no, alone in the entire universe.
Until Alec splashes in my face as he dives below me, kicking up bubbles that turn my blue-green world into a diamond-specked kaleidoscope. He emerges on my other side, treading water and gasping for air, waiting for me to surface.
Just because I can, I take my time before finally arching my body upright, my face breaking through to the air, water cascading down behind me.
“Show off.” He splashes me, leaving more of a wake with his motion than the gentle tide that buoys us up. “Aren’t you cold?” His lips are blue, but he’s trying to be manly about it. November in South Carolina means seventy-eight degrees, though to me the water feels as warm as a bath—certainly warmer than my lake back home.
“Wimp.” I spin around by kicking one foot, my other leg still aching deep in its muscles. Same with my arm and the burns on my back, but the doctors finally cleared me for swimming—said it would be therapeutic.
I’m in awe of my surroundings. Not to mention the way Alec’s family has welcomed me as if I’m a lost relative, gone but never forgotten.
“Seriously, though,” he says. “Dinner will be ready soon. We can’t keep Mom or Nana waiting.”
The beach is empty as far as I can see, the horizon dotted with tiny cottages at the edge of the dunes. I sigh with something close to contentment. Helen and Darrin are behind bars. I wish the paramedics could have saved Joe—despite everything he’d done—but Max is fine, loving Rory’s attentions as she nurses him back onto his feet. Turns out that maybe she didn’t really want all those other boys after all—she had everything she needed right beside her all along.
“Are you sure?” I ask him. “I mean, Thanksgiving—it’s time for family.”
I’ve left everyone I know back home for the week and now am having second thoughts—well, to tell the truth, two thousand and eleventh thoughts. My heart pinches as memories of past holidays riff le through my mind. There had been so much joy in my family. How could it have all been lies?
“I told you, my mom and aunts and Nana cook enough for an army. People will be coming and going all day—friends and neighbors, deputies going in to work the night shift, families of the ones working days. Everyone’s family on Thanksgiving.”
After meeting his parents and grandmother last night when I arrived, I have the feeling that everyone is family to them any day of the year. Just like they’d taken in a lost little girl fifteen years ago, they’ve embraced me once again with open arms and hearts.
“You go ahead,” I say as his teeth chatter. “I’ll be right there.”
“The ocean isn’t going anywhere. It’ll still be here tomorrow.” His grin promises me many tomorrows—for the first time, my future is mine and mine alone.
I smile and watch as he paddles back to shore and grabs his towel. Then I submerge once more, letting the water wash away the world outside, and along with it, my doubts and fears.
As I spin below the surface, drinking in the endless blue sea and the endless sky above, I realize that I can go anywhere, do anything. Anything. I can go to the Rhode Island College of Design, or Savannah College of Arts and Design, or NYU, or even . . . Paris. And my parents would be proud, of that I’m sure—as long as I stop hiding from the world, from myself.
I break free from the water, kicking toward shore where Alec waits, shivering despite the jacket he’s slung across his shoulders. I reach him and he holds a towel for me. I feel a tingle of déjà vu, remember the first time we met. After I’m wrapped in the towel and bundled into a coat, we still don’t head back to the house. Instead, we remain silent, staring not at the water or the dunes but at each other.
I reach for his hands. He pulls me to him and his hands slide free of mine to wrap around my waist, his skin warm against mine. And the colors our combined auras create! Beautiful ribbons of light spanning the spectrum.
“I’m not going back,” he tells me, watching for my reaction. “I don’t want to be a reporter, not like Professor Winston.”
“What do you want?”
His gaze goes distant, filled with possibilities. His eyes are like looking into rare opals, sparked with light. “There’s this columnist who travels around the world, really gets into people’s lives, gets involved. He writes these profiles that expose why people do what they do—good or bad. His stories really make a difference. And,” he hesitates, “he’s taking on interns. Teaching them how to do what he does.”
“And you want to work with him?”
“Thanks to you and all the publicity, I have a good shot.”
That’s the worst part of what happened, having my life exposed for the world to comment on. But if it helps Alec . . .
> “But?”
“But he’s in New York City.” He pulls back, watching for my reaction.
I smile, relief making me feel buoyant. Because, although I’ll always treasure the lake house, Cambria City is the last place I ever want to see again. “You know . . . I hear there are some really good art schools in New York.”
His laughter fills the air. He squeezes me tight, his body humming with energy, and I know it’s taking all his restraint not to twirl me around—he’s still cautious about my wounds, despite the fact that they’re mostly healed.
Then he stops. Looks down at me with solemn eyes, asking a silent question. I know he’s going to kiss me. I nod my permission, anticipating, wondering what I’ll see in our auras. Fireworks blazing? Maybe a riot of wildf lowers scattered on the wind as hummingbirds soar to the heavens? It has to be something beautiful, something right and true. It just has to be.
Images soar around us as our lips touch, embracing us, too crystalline to be clear in the sunlight, so I close my eyes to better see. But then I feel guilty, reveling in this joyous beauty that Alec can’t share.
My eyes pop open. He pulls away. “Is something wrong?”
“Absolutely not.” This time I kiss him.
The ground beneath me is steady. Not because he anchors me. Because I’ve finally found my footing here on solid land.
Our lips part, just enough to allow us to breathe—and I’m surprised by my sudden need for oxygen. I’m not sure how long I’ve been holding my breath, but it’s longer than I ever have before. The world around me has exploded into color—bright and golden and utterly, utterly perfect.
“What did you see?” he asks, tracing my lips with his thumb. “In our aura?”
“It was beautiful.” I nod and shake my head and laugh all at once. Then I place a palm on either side of his face, guiding him back to me. “I don’t have words.”
“Someday you’ll paint it for me.” He’s not asking but I nod anyway, certain he’s right. I think I’ll be painting this moment for a long, long time to come.
Finally, we’re both shivering, and we walk hand in hand toward his home. I wish Rory and Max were here. They’d love this, swimming in November, walking barefoot on the beach. I miss my friends. But for now, I need to figure out what my future looks like without my past to guide me.
My life. My choice. Whatever I decide, I’ll be on my own, yes. But not alone.
The sun is as warm as my mother’s kiss, the breeze carries me as gently as my father’s arms.
Never alone.
Acknowledgments
Dear Readers,
Like every book, this one is the result of countless hours of work behind the scenes, beyond my writing the actual words on the page.
I’d like to thank the entire editorial, marketing, and production team at Blink. Special thanks go to my editor, Jillian Manning, who first fell in love with Ella’s story and worked tirelessly to bring it to life. Also thanks to Katelyn VanKooten and Jacque Alberta for their input.
Also thanks to my agent, the incomparable Kristin Nelson, for her hard work and guiding hand.
Lastly, thanks to you, my readers, for sharing your thoughts and helping to spread the word about my books to your friends. Without you, everything would be for nothing!
Thanks for reading!
CJ
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS FOR
The Color of Lies
1. Because of Ella’s synesthesia, she is able to determine people’s emotions at a glance. Would you like to have this ability? Why or why not?
2. Early in the story, Ella says, “I’m not used to taking anyone’s words at face value—I’ve never needed to.” At which points of the story did you notice what Ella saw and what she believed were in conflict? How did these moments make you see each character in a different light?
3. Both Alec and Ella have been struggling with a childhood memory that changed their lives. How did each character help the other uncover the real truth of what happened the night Ella’s parents died? And how did what each initially believed to be true change their approach to the mystery?
4. Throughout, Ella feels the need to stay close to her family because they need her and they are the only ones she can rely on. How much of this compulsion do you think was due to Ella’s natural worry over the only family she had left, and how much may have been due to how Helen and Joe wanted her to feel in order to keep her close?
5. Fire and water both play a large role in the story. How do you see the author using these as a symbolic technique at different points in the story? Which usage do you feel was the most successful, and why?
6. Ella’s friends Rory and Max are very different—with Rory being effervescent and light, and Max being more cautious and sometimes brooding. How does each personality help Ella (and Alec) grow as a character? Which one did you most relate with? And do you think Rory and Max will stay together?
7. Throughout, Ella’s and Alec’s ways of seeing the world are very different—most evident in how each sees Ella’s painting of Rory. Do you agree with the comments Alec made, that Ella is idealizing the people around her and missing the facts? Or do you side with Ella choosing to focus on the inner “truth” she can see in each person and rely on her gut? Or is the secret something in between the two?
8. As you read the book, who did you think was behind the murder once you finished the first half of the book? What about after the fire in Ella’s studio? Were you surprised by the final reveal? What clues did the author drop throughout the book that tied everything together once the book was done?
9. At the close of the book, Ella returns to the same location where she last saw her parents alive. What emotions would be going through your mind if you were her?
10. What do you think Ella will do next with her life—will she go to art school in New York, as she hints to Alec at the end, or do you think her final decision will lead her somewhere else?
About the Author
© Kellie McCann Photography
Pediatric ER doctor turned New York Times bestselling thriller writer CJ Lyons has been a storyteller all her life—something that landed her in many time-outs as a kid. She writes her Thrillers with Heart for the same reason that she became a doctor: because she believes we each have the power to change our world.
In the ER, she witnessed many acts of courage by her patients and their families, learning that heroes truly are born every day. When not writing, she can be found walking the beaches near her Lowcountry home, listening to the voices in her head and plotting new and devious ways to create mayhem for her characters.
To learn more about her Thrillers with Heart, go to www.CJLyons.net
