Playing Dead

Yes, she did. Her father. When she believed he’d killed her mother. She’d cried then, too.

But none of her boyfriends until now were worth crying over. Claire might have been angry, upset, or relieved when a relationship didn’t work out, but she’d never been so shattered.

You fell in love with him. You fell in love with a lie.

The tears flowed again and Claire clenched her fists, slamming them on the vanity. She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want to feel anything. She wanted to forget she’d ever met Mitch Bianchi. She wanted to harden her heart and keep the pain out.

“Dammit, Claire! Get a grip. So he lied to you, manipulated you. He fucked you.”

She’d slept with him. God, she’d slept with him and remembered feeling over the moon about it. She’d thought they’d had a connection, that they’d taken an invisible step toward something real and permanent.

You told him you loved him.

Her mirror steamed in the heat of the shower and she could no longer see her reflection. Good. She didn’t want to look at her pitiful self. She’d prided herself for years on being able to detect liars and frauds, but she was only deluding herself.

Stripping off her clothes, she stepped under the hot, pulsing spray. A flash of her and Mitch in this shower last night hit her and she gave into the hurt one last time. Here, in the shower, alone. She let it out. She had to finish with it. She had a job to do. Prove that her father was innocent. That’s all that mattered now.

Forget everything else.

She had to. For herself, and her dad. Later there’d be plenty of time to deal with her hurt feelings about Mitch.

By the time she stepped out of the shower, she’d put on her armor. She remembered an old Bible verse from catechism. Putting on the armor of God. She didn’t know where God was in her life, but the armor was useful. She mentally brought up her shield, donned a helmet, held her sword.

Not to attack, but to protect herself.

On autopilot, she dried her hair. She stared at her body, saw a faint hickey Mitch had left on her left breast. Stared at it. Remembered how it felt when he kissed her. Remembered how he looked at her.

She closed her eyes and bent over the sink, nauseated. She was normally so good at controlling her emotions, blocking out the pain, why was it so hard to do it now?

Put on the armor, Claire. Dammit, he can only hurt you if you let him!

So not true.

She brushed her damp hair and went through the comfortable ritual of cleansing her face and rubbing in moisturizer. Circular motions. Over and over. Forget Mitch. Forget him. Focus on Oliver. Her dad. The truth. Mitch had nothing to do with any of that.

Claire left the bathroom and pulled on panties and an oversize Stanford T-shirt that fell nearly to her knees. She should go to Isleton. . but it was already nine.

Neelix wound himself around her feet until she picked him up. He purred against her face and she breathed in his clean, soft fur. “Sorry, kitty. I know what’s important. You and the boys.”

Animals didn’t lie. When they were hungry, they jumped on you and whined. When they were happy, they wagged their tails or purred. When they were startled, they barked or hissed. They were innocent as children, and gave affection freely. No strings.

Yoda started barking and Claire turned toward the back door, when the front bell rang.

“Who now?”

She didn’t want to answer the door. The idea of pretending no one was home came and went. She walked to the front door and through the peephole spied an unfamiliar tall woman in her forties. A neighbor? Claire wasn’t sure.

She opened the door without taking off the chain. “Can I help you?”

“Claire.”

She frowned. She didn’t know this woman. Yoda had gotten Chewy and the stray dogs barking up a frenzy. She didn’t want her neighbors to complain. “What can I do for you?”

“My name is Nelia Kincaid. I know your father.”

Nothing could have surprised her more. She didn’t know what to say.

“Can I come in? I promise I won’t stay long.”

Claire was reluctant to let the stranger in, but she was intrigued. She closed the door, undid the chain, and reopened the door. “We haven’t met.”

Nelia Kincaid shook her head. “But I feel like I know you. Your father has told me a lot.”

“I don’t know how. He doesn’t know me.”

“Yes, I do.”

She whirled around. Her father was standing right behind her. She felt trapped and scared and hated that feeling. She backed down the hall two steps, then stopped. “What are you doing?”

“We have to talk, Claire.”

“You can’t be here. The FBI could be watching the house. They could-”

“They’re not. Believe me, I’ve become very good at spotting surveillance.”

She remembered when he’d told her yesterday morning that the Feds were watching her. He’d been right, and she’d thought he was being paranoid.

Her dad looked tired. Worn down. Defeated. She glanced at the woman. Who was she?

“I heard about Oliver on the news tonight,” he said, his voice thick and troubled. “I had to see you. One last time.”

“I don’t understand. I’m getting close, Dad. I can feel it.”

“Close?”

She swallowed her emotion. She’d spent all her tears on Mitch, and she wished she hadn’t. Her father deserved more of her pain than a lying FBI agent.

“I am so s-sorry.” She stuttered and swallowed. “I should have believed you. Then. But I know you didn’t kill Mom.”

His face twisted in surprise and hope. “Who did?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you know I didn’t?” He sounded skeptical.

“Yes. If I had only listened to Oliver Maddox when he came to me in January, he might still be alive, and you would be truly a free man. I should have known in my heart that you were innocent. And now. . I’m sorry I needed something more than your word. I don’t know why, I don’t know how I let it come to this, but-”

He stepped toward her and she stumbled into his arms. “Daddy.”

He held her for the first time in fifteen years. Her father. She felt like a little girl again. She clung to him. “Please forgive me.”

He stroked her hair. “There’s nothing to forgive, Claire.”

He held her and Claire breathed in the familiar-and unfamiliar-scent. He was her father, but time had wedged between them. She stepped back. Looked at Nelia Kincaid again.

“Nelia saved my life. She found me in Idaho after Aaron Doherty-another escaped convict-shot me and left me for dead.”

Claire didn’t know what she could say.

“I’ve been in Idaho for the better part of four months. I was in no condition to come back here. In some ways, I wish I hadn’t, but I’m glad I did-just to see you again.” He touched her face. “To know that you believe I’m innocent. You’ve given me my life back, Claire. And I mean that. I came back to Sacramento for you. I couldn’t face my own death with you believing I was guilty.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Don’t talk that way.”

“I’m surrendering tomorrow.”

“No! Why?”

“When I heard that Oliver Maddox was dead and had been for months, I realized he had to have been killed because he was helping me. Helping prove I was innocent. When he first visited me in Quentin, I-”

“Why were you even at San Quentin in the first place?” she asked. “You were supposed to be at Folsom.”