Hoping that will put an end to the whole thing.
They both smile at me.
Then Amanda looks down at the switchblade she’s still gripping. A thoughtful expression passes over her face before she retracts the blade and holds it out to me.
When I just glance at the switchblade in confusion, she takes a step forward and places it in my hand.
Curling my fingers around the handle, she holds her hand over my hand. For a heartbeat, the girl looking at me is the same silly, innocent girl I grew up with.
Then she fades away.
“I believe you.” Amanda says. “But I want you to have this just in case…”
Staring into her eyes, eyes that are no longer rock-hard but on the verge of cracking, I know she isn’t doing this lightly. Nor is she doing this to be insulting.
She’s giving me her switchblade because she honestly cares about me.
“Amanda,” I gasp and immediately try to give it back. “I can’t…”
I can’t take away her protection or what she keeps around so that she feels safe.
As if she knows exactly what I’m thinking, she shakes her head before shoving both of her hands in her pockets. “Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”
When I continue to frown at her, she whips both hands out of her pockets, each gripping the handle of a switchblade.
Pressing the buttons at the same time, two blades snap up and she waves them around with a wicked grin.
“Oh my god,” Beth and I both gasp at the same time, which only causes Amanda to cackle with dark joy.
When our initial shock finally fades away, Beth asks, “How many of those things do you have?”
Amanda stops waving the blades around and lifts the right one up to tap against her chin thoughtfully. “At least one for every pocket…”
Beth nods, as if she’s thinking that’s rather reasonable.
“And one strapped to each arm and leg.”
Beth nods again.
“Plus a couple of smaller ones hidden in my shoes and bra.”
Beth glances at me.
“Oh, and the surprise that’s in my panties.”
Beth jerks her attention back to Amanda. “Surprise in your panties? Do I even want to know?”
Amanda smirks. “Probably not because it’s between my legs.”
When Beth just looks at her with disturbed confusion, Amanda snickers and snaps her teeth.
Beth and I both squeal and jump back at the same time.
Which only causes Amanda to grin with more wicked glee.
“Amanda,” Beth says with wide eyes “Seriously?”
Amanda nods her head up and down.
Beth and I both giggle out of nervousness and share a look. A look that says we both think Amanda has gone batshit insane.
“Okay…” I drawl out after I finally stop giggling, totally done with the turn this conversation has taken. “Enough talk about knives and teeth...”
Beth nods at me in agreement. “Seriously.”
Sobering almost instantly at what I’m about to ask, I look at Amanda then her backpack. “Did you bring it?”
Humor vanishing as quickly as mine, Amanda clears her throat and nods her head. Then she carefully closes each switchblade before stuffing them in her pockets. “Yes. Just in case you wanted it.”
Do I want it? Do I want to do this now?
Can I even handle it?
What if… What if James has been lying to me?
But what if he’s been telling the truth?
“We don’t have to do anything,” Amanda adds as I hesitate. “I’ll keep it safe for you until you’re ready.”
Ignorance is bliss.
But it could also get someone else killed.
It’s tempting to put the whole thing off, but until when? When will I ever be ready to do this?
Probably never.
Besides, despite what my gut is telling me, there could be nothing.
I could be making a big deal out of this for no reason at all.
The only way to know is to look.
“I’m ready,” I say.
“Are you sure?” Amanda immediately asks, almost like she doesn’t want me to do this.
“We don’t have to do this now. I can always have Johnathan brings us back another day,” Beth chimes in.
I shake my head at that. “I’m sure.”
Amanda nods and Beth sighs.
Then Amanda looks around the bedroom. “Where do you want to do this?”
Biting my lip, I look around the room as well then point at the dresser. “There would probably be the best.”
Nodding again, Amanda heads over to the dresser to get set up while I close and lock the door behind us.
Taking a deep breath to steel myself, I walk over to Amanda as she pulls my father’s personal laptop out of her backpack and carefully sets it on the dresser.
“Were you able to figure out the passwords?” I ask, my breathing starting to race a little because of what we’re about to do.
Sometime during the first couple of days after my father’s death, while I was drowning and choking on my grief and misery, I had the sense of mind to entrust Amanda with my father’s laptop for safekeeping.
I don’t know if it was because I simply had a feeling about it, or because I caught a couple of the officers stationed at my house sniffing around my father’s study when they thought I wasn’t paying attention.
But even in my darkest hours, I knew it was important and had to be protected.
I just wasn’t in the right state to do anything about it at the time.
Hell, I don’t think I’m in the right state to do this now.
My heart pounds harder and harder with each step I take toward the dresser.
But again, if I don’t do it now, when?
After James gets me pregnant and I’m stuck with him?
“Yeah,” Amanda nods her head as she types in the password to get past the lock screen. “It wasn’t hard to crack them.”
When the desktop pops up, Amanda looks to me, her eyes full of sympathy and sadness. “The passwords are simply a combination of you and your mother’s names and birth dates.”
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, fighting off the dark cloud of grief and loss that wants to swallow me up.
A hand touches my back, rubbing and trying to soothe me. Another one wraps around my arm in a version of a hug.
Opening my eyes, I force a smile for my two best friends, grateful to have them with me to do this.
Clearing my throat, I ask Amanda, “Did you read any of the files?”
She shakes her head. “No, I only cracked the passwords. It didn’t feel… right to read the files.”
Nodding, I turn my attention back to the computer.
Using the touchpad, Amanda navigates the pointer for me and clicks through a few layers of folders.
My father was a meticulous notetaker, so I’m not surprised to see he has folders and folders full of documents.
I remember when I was little, probably around five or six, I would find little scraps of paper and post-it notes all over the house with things scribbled on them. He would just write things down on whatever was around whenever a thought or idea struck him so he didn’t forget it later.
And almost everything he scribbled down had something to do with a case he was working on or helping with.
When I couldn’t read, it wasn’t a problem, because I had no idea what any of the scribbling meant. But the day I found an envelope with the words rape, torture, and strangulation on it and asked my mother what they meant, all hell broke loose.