Simon Says Die

stared at her incredulously as she sat next to him at the conference table. Could he have heard her right? He had to have misunderstood, but the sick feeling in his gut was telling him otherwise.
    He turned in his seat to face her directly, his knees bumping against the side of her chair. “What did you just say?”
    At first, she wouldn’t look at him. Then, she swallowed and scooted her chair back so she could face him too. They sat with their knees touching, and when she looked into his eyes, he felt a jolt of true fear shoot through his body—fear for Madison and her future—because he already knew from the bleak look on her face that he hadn’t misunderstood her.
    â€œThe fingerprints are mine. I’m the one who performed those Internet searches.”
    A hundred questions raced through his mind, but it all boiled down to one, a question so terrible, he couldn’t even voice it.
    Did you kill your father?
    As soon as he thought the words, he rejected them. He shoved them to the darkest recesses of his mind, locked them away, never to take them out again. He wouldn’t ask her that, couldn’t ask her that. It would hurt her too much, and he didn’t need to ask, because he already knew the answer.
    The love that shined through her eyes, that softened her voice whenever she spoke about her “daddy,” wasn’t the love of a daughter who could kill her father. There was another explanation.
    There had to be.
    Unshed tears made her eyes bright, and her jaw clenched as she looked at him. “Aren’t you going to ask me if I killed him?”
    Her voice was defensive, accusing, but he heard the thread of pain underneath, the fear that he would believe something like that about her. He couldn’t blame her for worrying, after the way he’d treated her yesterday, doubting her story, throwing accusing questions at her.
    â€œI’m not going to ask, because I already know the answer. You didn’t kill your father.”
    The look of surprise and relief that crossed her face had him feeling even more like an ass for how he’d treated her.
    â€œMads, you’ve lied to me, and you’ve hidden things from me since the moment this all began. I want to help you. But I can’t, unless you’re honest with me. This is it. You’ve got to tell me everything. It’s the only way we can beat this.”
    Her lower lip wobbled, and she closed her eyes. A minute passed, and she still wasn’t talking.
    He reached out, gently forcing her chin up so she’d open her eyes and look at him. “You could go to prison. Do you get that? You have to tell me what happened. How did your fingerprints get on that bottle?”
    She swallowed hard, and took a deep gulping breath. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she seemed to curl into herself, like a wounded animal. “I told you that Damon had disappeared after we fought, and that he showed up again when my father was in the hospital. When daddy . . . died, Damon was so . . . odd, so . . . smug. A horrible suspicion went through me, that maybe he’d done something to my father. That he’d . . . somehow . . . caused his heart attack. I didn’t even know if that was possible.”
    She twisted her hands together. “I couldn’t shake that awful suspicion. He was at the funeral, and he kept watching me. Every time I looked up, he was there. I avoided him, refused to talk to him, even though he tried, several times. A few days later, I was digging in my purse, and I found that bottle of pills. I swear I’d never seen them before. They weren’t mine.”
    â€œI know. Go on.” He tried to put as much encouragement in his voice as he could, letting her know he believed her. That seemed to calm her, and after a few moments, she continued.
    â€œMy father’s name was on the label, but I knew all the meds he was taking, and I’d never heard of that one . . . Maxiodarone. I knew, somehow I knew, that Damon had put those pills in my purse, and that he’d used them to cause Daddy’s heart attack. I searched on the Internet about the drug itself, and how to fake a heart attack.” She swallowed again. “That’s when Damon called, while I was looking things up on the Internet.”
    â€œYou were at home when he called?”
    â€œYes. He was standing right outside, calling on his cell.” Her