He paused, looking thoughtful. ‘I could run, but running says you’re guilty. Far better to stay and stick it out. See if they could get anything on me. I doubt it. The police in this town . . . ’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Please. I was careful, I didn’t leave any loose ends.’

‘Except me.’ I realized with a shiver.

Oliver turned. ‘Except you,’ he agreed.

My heart beat faster. We were standing here, talking about a murder and cover-up as if it was no big deal, and the most chilling thing of all was that it wasn’t, not to me.

Not any more.

Now, I met his eyes and wondered about Ashton’s final moments all over again.

‘Ask me.’ Oliver leaned closer, knowing in an instant the question I was holding back. He knew, he always knew. ‘Don’t you want to know?’

I bit my lip. Would anything be as good as the deaths I’d imagined for Ashton, the many dark scenes I’d played out in my mind since then?

‘It didn’t take much,’ Oliver added, dropping a kiss on the hollow curve of my neck. I shivered. ‘You did a fair amount of damage yourself,’ he whispered. ‘Poor guy was barely walking.’

His lips lingered over mine. I caught my breath, barely moving, feeling the light shock of his touch.

‘But you were careless,’ he whispered against my mouth. ‘You left a scarf in his car.’

I jerked back, my blood rushing in panic. I saw police and sirens, lawyers and a cell. And questions, so many questions--

‘Relax.’ Oliver laughed, looking amused. ‘I caught it. The scene was clean. I don’t make mistakes.’

I wondered for the first time if he’d done this before, but then he was kissing me, hard and slow, and I realized I didn’t care. I felt the adrenalin crackle through me, exhilarating.

‘We got away with it,’ I whispered, feeling a secret thrill. Oliver looked at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. ‘What?’ I asked.

He shook his head slowly. ‘I just . . . I don’t know. I didn’t think you’d be like this.’

‘You thought I’d be guilty and weeping?’ I challenged him boldly. ‘You told me not to pretend any more.’

‘I did, didn’t I?’ Oliver watched me. ‘And here you are, the real Chloe. At long last. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.’

He took my hand and bent his head, touching his lips to my knuckles in a grazing kiss.

He lifted his eyes to me, bright and victorious. ‘What fun we’re going to have.’

We ran, steady, along the rest of the loop, emerging from the woods that bordered the back of my house. I opened the kitchen door, and he followed me in to find Mom trying to make tea, mopping spilled milk off the table.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly, shrinking back. ‘The carton slipped.’

‘There, there.’ Oliver spoke up. ‘No use crying. Spilled milk, get it?’

I quelled him with a look before turning back to Mom. ‘It’s OK, I’ll clean it up. Did you eat?’

She nodded. ‘Toast and honey.’

‘Good.’ I nodded. ‘Go to the craft room now, you can watch TV until lunch. I’ll finish this.’

‘Thank you, sweetie.’ Mom managed a trembling smile before slipping obediently from the room. When we passed her on our way upstairs, she was sitting quietly, knitting yet another scarf.

Oliver arched his eyebrow. ‘Look who’s behaving,’ he drawled.

‘She just needed some incentive to keep it together,’ I told him, closing my bedroom door and stripping off my jacket. ‘It’s either me or a psych ward.’

‘Why don’t you pick the latter?’ Oliver sauntered closer, slipping his arms around my waist. I breathed him in, the shiver of connection that laced us together. ‘You should commit her, it would get her out of your hair.’

‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘She’s depressed, not crazy.’

‘So, what’s the difference?’

‘I just can’t. Not in a place like that.’

‘You’re going to have to leave her eventually.’ Oliver pulled me back towards the bed. ‘A month from now, or a year from now, you’ll go. The only difference is how much time you’ve wasted here, waiting around for her miraculously to be healed.’

I shivered at the picture his words painted. ‘Another year? God, I’d rather kill myself.’

Oliver’s lips quirked in a smile. He lay back and I climbed beside him. ‘That’s rather unproductive. And unnecessary. You can escape this life without it being permanent.’

I looked over.

‘Disappear,’ Oliver continued. ‘Change your name, start fresh somewhere.’

‘But I like my name.’ I leaned closer and bit down lightly on his shoulder.

Oliver made an impatient sound. ‘Chloe doesn’t suit you.’

‘What’s wrong with it? I think it’s a pretty name.’

‘Pretty, sweet, nice.’ Oliver announced them like cardinal sins. ‘But we both know, you’re none of those things.’

His eyes caught mine. I caught my breath. ‘Are you saying I’m not pretty?’ I teased him.

‘You’re f**king beautiful and you know it.’

I felt my cheeks colour. Even after everything, he could still affect me, right to my bones. ‘So what should I be called, O wise one?’ I said lightly.

‘Hmm, let me see.’ Oliver studied me, propping one hand under his chin in an exaggerated pose. ‘Something bold and dramatic, I think.’

‘Scarlett,’ I suggested, smiling. ‘Juliet. Boudicca.’

Oliver shook his head impatiently. ‘You’re . . . Vivian.’

I blinked. ‘Vivian is my middle name.’ I sat up, thrown. ‘How did you know that?’

‘I know all sorts of things about you.’ Oliver smiled up at me. ‘Anyway, you’re missing the point, Vivian. It’s already listed on your birth certificate. You wouldn’t even have to get it legally changed.’

I laughed again. ‘Now wait a minute, who said anything about legal stuff?’

Oliver looked at me, as if I was talking crazy. ‘If you’re going to be Vivian, you need to do it properly. No use half-assing when you’re creating a whole new identity. You want your mom showing up out of nowhere?’

I felt a flicker of unease.

‘Let’s not talk about it any more,’ I said quietly, tracing circles on his chest. ‘I’m not going anywhere, not right now.’