Kings of Linwood Academy - The Complete Box Set: A Dark High School Romance Series by Callie Rose (sight word books .TXT) 📕

Fuck. Fuck fuck. Why is he asking that? Is he digging to see if I know what he did? If I know about the planted evidence?

I shake my head, trying to hide the jerkiness of the movement as my whole body quakes with nerves.

“No. I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense. I mean, Iris and a couple other cheerleaders put trash in my mom’s car and spray painted the windows a couple weeks into the fall semester. Maybe she scraped herself or something then.”

There’s a slight shift in Judge Hollowell’s expression as I speak, a hardening around the lines of his mouth. He didn’t know about their little prank, I realize. And he doesn’t like it.

Whether that’s a good or bad thing for me and my mom, I’m not sure.

Is he worried it could be used to invalidate the DNA evidence? If there’s a possible alternate explanation for how particles of Iris’s skin got on my mom’s car, that would undermine a huge part of the case against her.

Holy shit. Has Scott Parsons looked into this? I’d bet my last fucking dollar he hasn’t.

“I see.” Hollowell nods, appearing thoughtful. Then the perfectly practiced look of concern warms his hazel eyes again. “But that’s circumstantial too, unfortunately. There’s no way to prove when or how Iris’s DNA ended up on your mother’s car—just that it’s there now. Did she take her car to the shop?”

Goddammit. I don’t want to tell him shit.

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I played along with this conversation so he wouldn’t realize I figured out who he was, but now I don’t know how to get out of it. I wasn’t ready for the fucked up, deadly game of chess we’re playing.

“Um, yeah,” I mutter, glancing down at my hands. My fingers are twisted so tightly around each other, my knuckles are turning white.

Judge Hollowell makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Then it’s entirely possible any DNA the girls left behind would’ve been washed off by whatever cleansers the mechanic used to remove the paint from the windshield.” His hand falls on my knee, and I almost jump out of my skin. When my gaze flashes up to his, I see pity in his eyes. “I’m not saying it means nothing, but I’m just trying to give you a realistic idea of what to expect.”

“Right.” I swallow and nod, my throat dry and scratchy as sandpaper.

“And, Harlow…” He hesitates, pressing his lips into a line as if he’s not sure he should say whatever he’s thinking. Then he sighs and continues. “I know you believe in your mom’s innocence. That’s good. I believe in it too. But that’s the way the story always goes, isn’t it? The relatives of a person who snaps and does the unthinkable are often caught just as unawares as everyone else is.”

He squeezes my knee once and then pulls his hand away, leaving pinpricks crawling up and down my skin.

“I’m not saying you should give up on your mother. I would never say that. She needs you, and she’s lucky to have you in her corner. But… well, we don’t always know the people we love as well as we think we do, that’s all.”

My jaw clenches. I don’t try to hide my anger, because I’d be pissed at his words no matter what, whether I knew anything about what he’s done or not. If I’m playing a role here, my next words are entirely in character.

“My mom’s not a murderer, Judge Hollowell. And if you think she is, maybe I shouldn’t be here at all.”

He holds his hands up in a placating gesture, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to imply anything. Call it a misguided effort to make sure you don’t get hurt in the end. But it’s not my place to speak like that.”

“It’s fine,” I mutter, finally allowing myself to give in to my flight impulse and slide away from him on the couch.

He seems to realize he overstepped—that he was the one who slipped out of character. He’s so anxious to see my mom convicted of murder that he stepped out of his role as the neutral but sympathetic observer to prod me toward believing Mom could’ve actually done it.

But he’s given me the opening I need to leave. He can tell I’m agitated, and this time, I have a justifiable reason for it.

“I—better get going,” I say in a rush, standing up and tugging my long brown hair over one shoulder. I’m still in my socks, just like the judge is, but I’d run through the fucking snow barefoot if it meant getting out of this place right now.

“Of course.” He claps his hands to his knees and stands up, making no move to try to stop me.

“I’m supposed to meet up with a few friends, but I told them I couldn’t go anywhere until I stopped by to see you,” I add, subtly letting him know that other people know where I am.

At least, I hope it’s subtle. I can’t tell if I’m talking too loud or not loud enough. My entire body feels fucking numb.

“Then you’d better get out of here before it starts coming down again,” he says, glancing out through the large floor-to ceiling windows on one wall of the room to the snowy landscape beyond. “The roads will only be getting worse.”

My gaze flicks to his, panic twisting my insides into such knots it’s physically painful.

Is that a threat? Dammit, I can’t tell. He’s too good at his act, too good at keeping his expression perfectly bland and pleasant.

“Yeah. Good point. I’m not used to all this snow.”

I back up to the place where the living room opens into a large foyer, moving toward the door while trying to keep from turning my back to the man who follows me. When I reach the mat where I left my shoes, I scramble to put them on.

“Don’t lose