Id never heard Dean sound like thisso flippant and cruel.
I dont want to talk about Friedman, I said.
Right, Dean replied. You want to talk about my father. Did you read the whole interview? On day three, Briggs bribed him to talk about his childhood. You know what he bribed him with? Pictures of me. And when that didnt work, pictures of them . The women he killed.
Dean
What? Isnt this what you wanted? To talk about it?
No, I said. I want to talk about you .
Me? Dean couldnt have sounded more incredulous if hed tried. What else is there to say?
What was there to say?
I dont care. My breath was still ragged from running. I was saying this wrong. Your fatherit doesnt change who you are.
What I am, he corrected. And yes, it does. Why dont you go ask Sloane what the statistics say about psychopathy and heredity? And then why dont you ask her what they say about growing up in an environment where its the only thing you know.
I dont care about the statistics, I said. Were partners. We work together. You knew I was going to find out. You could have told me.
Were not partners.
The words hurt meand he meant for them to.
We wont ever be partners, Dean said, his voice razor-sharp and unrepentant. And do you want to know why? Because as good as you are at getting inside normal peoples heads, I dont
even have to work to get inside a killers. Doesnt that bother you? Didnt you ever notice how easy it was for me to be the monster when we were working together?
Id noticedbut Id attributed it to the fact that Dean had more experience at profiling killers. I hadnt realized that that experience was firsthand.
Did you know about your father? I regretted the question the moment I asked it, but Dean didnt bat an eye.
No, he said. Not at first, but I should have.
Not at first?
I told you, Cassie. By the time Briggs started coming by with questions on cases, there was nothing left to ruin.
Thats not true, Dean.
My father was in prison. I was in foster care, and even back then, I knew that I wasnt like the other kids. The way my mind worked, the things that made sense to me He turned his back on me. I think you should go.
Go? Go where?
I. Dont. Care. He let out a shuddery breath. Just leave me alone.
I dont want to leave you alone. And there it was, something I hadnt even let myself think since Truth or Dare.
How exactly was I supposed to tell you? Dean asked, still facing away from me. Hey, guess what? Your mom was murdered, and my dad is a killer.
This isnt about my mom.
What do you want me to say, Cassie? Dean finally turned back around to face me. Just tell me, and Ill say it.
I just want you to talk to me.
Deans fingers curled into fists at his sides. I could barely see his eyes behind the hair that fell in his face. I dont want to talk to you, he said. Youre better off with Michael.
Dean
A hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. Hard.
He said he didnt want to talk to you, Cassie. Lias face was a mask of calm. Her tone was anything but. Dont turn back to look at him. Dont say another word to him. Just go. And one more thing? She leaned forward to whisper in my ear. Remind me never to ask you for a favor again.
CHAPTER 21
Lia or Dean?
I looked up and saw Michael standing near the front door.
What?
The look on your face, he replied. Lia or Dean?
I shrugged. Both?
Michael nodded, as if my answer were a foregone conclusion. You okay?
Youre the emotion reader, I said. You tell me.
He took that as an invitation to come closer. He stopped a foot or two away and studied my face. Youre confused. Madder at yourself than you are at either of them. Lonely. Angry. Stupid.
Stupid? I sputtered.
Hey, I just call it like I see it. Michael was apparently in the mood to be blunt. You feel stupid. Doesnt mean you are.
Why didnt you tell me? I sat down on the bottom step, and after a few seconds, Michael sat down beside me, stretching his legs out on the hardwood floor. Why make thinly veiled comments about The Bad Seed instead of just telling me the truth?
I thought about telling you. Michael leaned back on his elbows, his casual posture contradicting the tension unmistakable in his voice. Every time I saw the two of you hunched over one of Lockes little puzzles, I thought about telling you. But what would you have said if I did?
I tried to imagine hearing about Deans father from Michael, who could barely manage a civil word where Dean was concerned.
Exactly. Michael reached forward to tap the edge of my lips, like that was the precise spot that had tipped him off to what was going on inside my mind. You wouldnt have thanked me for telling you. You would have hated me for it.
I swatted Michaels hand away from my face. I wouldnt have hated you.
Michael gestured in the general direction of my forehead, but refrained from actually touching my face this time. Your mouth says one thing, but your eyebrows say another. He paused, and his own mouth twisted into a lazy grin. You might not realize this, Colorado, but you can be a little sanctimonious.