He’d smelled of earth and paint.

He’d looked beside himself with rage and despair.

Could he—

Stop it.

Just stop it.

He is no way involved in this.

He can’t be!

You know him.

You’ve known him since he was a boy.

But I couldn’t stop it.

It was a knife in my side; a pebble in my shoe.

It was stark fear that Gil was silenced by the devil and stuck in a torturous hell.

With my heart lodged in my throat, I grabbed my phone and opened messenger. Pulling up the conversation I’d had with Justin over Gil’s disappearance around the time the third girl was kidnapped, I froze.

What do you think you’re doing?

You’re seriously going to ask Justin if he believes Gil is involved?

Could I really think such atrocious things and ask his best friend to prove me wrong?

Gil saved me from the guy with the van!

Yes! Therefore, he couldn’t be the murderer.

But why did he make me lie to the police...?

I gasped at the barbed, thorny thought.

Why didn’t Gil beat that bastard into the ground?

What did that guy have over him as blackmail?

The air became thin and sour. I unbuttoned a few pearl clasps on my grey blouse, prickling with sweat.

I swiped at my hair again as my eyes fell on the awaiting message bubble. A fleck of silver paint fell from my strands, landing on the desk.

If I didn’t ask, I’d go crazy.

Olin Moss: Those murdered girls you mentioned this morning...do you think...and this is NUTS, but is there any way Gil could be wrapped up in...whatever is going on? I don’t know what I’m asking...but do you think he’s in trouble?

I squeezed my eyes and tapped send, unable to breathe.

Thirty seconds ticked past before his response blared across my screen.

Justin Miller: Wow. I know it’s been a long time since you’ve seen the guy but seriously?

Olin Moss: I know. I hate myself for even asking. I’m just worried about him. He’s hiding something, Justin. Something huge.

Justin Miller: He is not a killer. No matter what he’s hiding.

I wanted to leave it at that. I believed Justin. I trusted Gil. I knew in my heart he could never be capable of hurting anyone.

But...

But!

Olin Moss: The girls were painted. He went missing around the same time that last girl was kidnapped.

Justin Miller: He said he had family business to deal with. You know the jackass that was his father. His disappearance probably had something to do with that. And there are other body painters, O. Countless others.

He had a point.

The same wonderfully valid point my own mind had thrown at me.

A hundred other artists existed just like there were a hundred other office workers, authors, and politicians. And he was also right about Gil’s father. I hadn’t even factored that in.

Justin Miller: Your turn to answer a question. Do YOU think Gilbert Clark is a serial murderer?

The black and white finality of the words cut into my eyes and bled into my soul. A kaleidoscope of memories, recent and past, swirled together with the same vibrant colours Gil wielded so effortlessly.

A man with smiling sad eyes.

A man desperately trying not to kiss me.

A boy promising to never drink because he was better than his father.

A boy walking me home every day to keep me safe.

That boy was not a killer.

And just because age had weathered him, hurt him, harrowed away at his heart, he was still that person.

I knew that.

I knew it in the way he kissed me so reverently in his shower. Knew it in the way he stared at me with history and hope in his eyes.

He had his secrets. He had his insecurities and problems and a complicated vein of mystery, but...he is not a killer.

Relief blanketed me with grateful warmth as my fingers tapped the screen.

Olin Moss: Gil is many things. But he is not a murderer.

“All right, everyone. Staff meeting in five!” Shannon yelled across the office floor. Employees stuck up their hand to signal they’d heard; others stood with pen and paper for note taking.

I went to turn off my phone, wishing I could delete the entire conversation and any sign of my doubt about Gil, but Justin sent one last reply.

Justin Miller: He’s had it rough, O. I don’t know what, and he refuses to confide in me, but something happened to him. Whatever it was did a real number on him. You only have to look past the cold exterior to see how much the guy suffers. His ability to keep people away is his coping mechanism, you know? You and me...we’ve been through stuff that changed us. But Gil...he’s been through shit that I can’t even imagine. Be nice to him. He needs all the friends he can get.

OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Twenty-Five

______________________________

Olin

-The Present-

CRADLING MY PHONE in my palm, I stepped from the elevator into the lobby. I hadn’t heard from Gil all day. I’d left his protection when he’d specifically told me not to, and I’d had no angry messages or inconvenient visitors.

I couldn’t unscramble how I felt about that.

“Olin.”

His gruff, sorrowful voice ripped my head to the comfy, velvet chairs by the security desk. Gil stood slowly, unwinding his powerful frame and standing on long, strong legs. Shadows decorated under his eyes, and his usual aura of tragedy hung heavier on his shoulders.

How could I ever think he was a killer? Even for the tiniest of moments. No killer would hold remorse and regret the way he did. No killer could look so full of despair.

I didn’t think.

I didn’t pause.

My feet broke into a run. I threw myself into him. “I’m sorry.” I hugged his firm waist, snuggling into his citrusy, earthy chest.

“Sorry for what?” He didn’t hug me back. His arms stayed by his sides. His hands balled tight and unyielding. “For leaving when I told you not to?”

I placed a kiss right over his heart. “For that and...other things.” Pulling away, I backed up and slipped my phone into my bag. No way did I want him to see the messages between Justin and me. I never wanted to hurt him in that way—to know my trust in him had wavered.

Gil didn’t move, his eyes narrowed and suspicious. “I expected you to run in the opposite direction, not into my arms.”

“Why?”

“Because I demanded you stay with me.” His spine stiffened. “Of course, my request was denied...and you left without a goodbye.”

“I didn’t leave because I was angry at you for forbidding me.” I fought the urge to touch him again. “I left because I have a job.”

His jaw clenched. “It wasn’t safe to go without me. If I knew you were that damn stubborn about menial labour, I would’ve escorted you.”

I ignored his deliberate zing. “I can take care of myself.”

He sighed, his entire body forlorn. “That’s the thing, O. In this...you can’t.”

My pulse picked up pace. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means...” He looked away, shedding off the truth. “Doesn’t matter. You’re okay. We’re together again.”

My heart flipped. “Are we?”

His eyes narrowed. “Are we what?”

“Together together?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not in that way.”

Not yet.

I smiled weakly, doing my best to change the subject. “Would you believe me if I said I missed you?”

He scowled. “Not in a million years. Why would you? I’ve been an arsehole.”

In a crystal moment of absolute vulnerability, I murmured, “Would you believe me if I said I missed hugging you? We’ve kissed and connected in ways we never did as teenagers, but we haven’t hugged.”