It was a lie, she knew. But sometimes people needed to be lied to, herself included. She wondered how many lies Hazel had told herself, how many days she’d woken up and swore to herself she wouldn’t end the day as Michael’s captive. The thought steeled her nerves. She pulled the covers off the podium and piano, plastered a smile on her face, and hobbled off the stage and into the fray.
The notes of the piano floated in the atmosphere and partygoers strolled down the rows of items up for bid. Ama lost count of how many people approached her, touched her arm or her shoulder. How many times she had to tell Lindsey she was fine before sending her on a useless errand, and why didn’t she grab herself another drink on her way? How many times she repeated what happened in the woods: I’d sprained my ankle and he found me, bent down to help me up. I heard a bang, and the next thing I knew I woke up in a hospital. Ama wasn’t sure what she liked least, the looks of pity some gave her or the smirks other people didn’t fail to hide. But as long as they bid on something, they could wear whatever face they wanted.
Nearly an hour into the auction, she excused herself from a group of perfect strangers who had spent the last few minutes peppering her with questions about the Hershaw verdict and carefully wove her way through the crowd. She kept her face turned down, letting her hair curtain her profile, and returned to the corner of the stage. Tucking herself behind a pillar, she strangled the stem of a champagne glass filled with sparkling water and studied each man in the crowd. The piano would be open soon, but Michael was nowhere to be seen.
Two men crossed the lawn. Ama recognized Detective Martin immediately. With him was Eddie Stevens, who had already adjusted his tie twice since she’d taken notice of him. She thought she’d feel better with the event under way, the tracking device in place, and Eddie and Martin in sight, but she was instead laden with doubt. This was stupid. She was aching and exhausted, and the piano player was just finishing his playlist. The night was still very young, the plan at step one, and she was damn near dead.
Panic erupted inside her. She moved away from the party, seeking a moment of quiet in the empty courthouse. It was funny how calm these halls could make her feel when almost everyone else who walked them was rife with nerves. She fingered the dainty silver chain that hung around her neck, which was more than just for looks: the thin loop of metal was a complete circuit and would send a signal from the locator between her legs to Eddie’s phone the moment she broke it.
Her grand plan was feeling equally as fragile, and in that moment she realized she was wrong to keep Martin out. She needed backup. She’d looked into his history enough to know that he’d solved his fair share of cases. She was lucky Michael hadn’t shown up yet. She would find Martin, tell him her entire scheme, and let him follow her at a distance, and he could grab Michael when he got the chance. Hazel had to be somewhere in this town. They could go door to door, search every basement, every inch of the woods.
Outside, a girl’s voice rose over the noise of the party, an incredible, piercing note sailing through an open window and flooding the hallway. Ama moved to the window, craning for a view, when a thought shot through her: Why was the window open?
She spun on her heel, terror blazing down her limbs, and collided with Michael.
MICHAEL Chapter 71 | 6:00 PM, December 9, 2006 | Tarson, Georgia
AMA’S LIPS OPEN; HER EYES glisten with emotion.
“You get it now, don’t you? You understand,” I murmur.
A tear leaks out of one of her eyes, and she blinks it away, nodding.
“We will have to sneak away. You’re the guest of honor at two events. Are you choosing me?”
“Yes,” she says softly, and I feel a quiver in my chest.
“We can’t get back out through the window. You’ll tear your dress,” I say. She’s worn a gauzy, long number, ethereal and feminine, and I am touched by the respect she’s showing Lady Fate.
“There’s a door that will let us out on the side exit, closest to the trees. Do you remember it?” she asks. Her pulse flickers on the slope of her neck.
“Yes. You’ll have to leave your purse.”
“Should I drop it out the window?”
“That’ll be fine,” I answer. “I need to check you to make sure you’re not bringing anyone with us.”
“We’re alone,” Ama offers quietly, and steps her feet apart.
I reach under her dress and feel up one leg. Her skin is warm and smooth, and she doesn’t flinch beneath my touch. I trace between her legs and down the other side. “I need to take off your ankle brace.”
“Okay. I’ll need help walking,” she replies.
I watch her face, mystified, and peel off the brace before dropping it out the window. Then I stand and lift her hair away from her neck, checking the back of her dress for a weapon or a wire, but all I see is pale, sloping skin and the satin edge of her underwear.
I am suddenly overcome, bewildered by a burning sensation in my eyes. “No one has ever done anything like this for me. What made you change your mind?”
“When that man tried to shoot you, it made me realize… it made me realize what’s really important, and that I needed to do what I could. That’s why I haven’t told anyone what really happened or who you are.” She smiles and brushes her hand down my arm. “You’ll tell the world when you’re ready.”
“Thank you.”
I take her hand in mine, keeping the rhythm slow as not to rush her until we’re safe from prying eyes, and we walk out of the courthouse together.
MARTIN Chapter 72 | 6:05 PM, December 9, 2006 | Tarson, Georgia
HAZEL’S SONG ENDED. THE APPLAUSE was loud as thunder, punctuated with whistles and calls for an encore. Eddie hadn’t moved from the moment his daughter’s voice came through the speakers until the last note had faded into the night. The next track began, and Hazel’s voice rose above them all, covering an up-tempo song. Some guests started dancing on the square of empty lawn close to the stage. Martin clapped Eddie on the back, and they watched the crowd come to life.
“This is unreal,” Eddie said, grinning and dazed. “I need to thank Ama.”
“Let’s find her,” Martin said, and peered across the lawn. The tents made it difficult to see anyone from the waist up, and this crowd was a gathering of fashionable, fit city women. They were swimming in a sea of Amas.
Martin and Eddie made a loop around the auction tents, but Ama wasn’t there. They swung by the bar and the buffet, then searched the parking lot, but Ama was nowhere to be seen.
Martin glanced up at the stage, where the pianist had begun playing along with Hazel’s voice, and spotted Ama’s assistant. She took a couple of clumsy steps and then steadied herself on a pillar.
“Come on,” Martin said to Eddie, and moved in the direction of the stage. As the crowd thinned, Martin caught sight of Captain standing at the foot of the stairs, his hand like an arcade claw on a drink. Martin changed direction, hoping to avoid an interaction with him until Eddie received the message Ama had told him to expect.
“Detective Martin,” Lindsey said, her voice cutting through the noise. He looked up and forced a closed-mouth smile. Captain spotted him, too, and waved him over.