Daniel gently turned me toward him. His blue eyes searched my face. “Mara. Tell me what you know.”
I wanted to say nothing. For twenty-eight years, nothing had been the safest language I knew. Nothing when Derek locked me in the basement during storms. Nothing when he forged my signature on a college loan application. Nothing when he convinced our parents I was unstable after I reported the missing money from our grandmother’s estate.
But tonight, saying nothing could have killed me.
I looked at Daniel and said, “He put something in my drink.”
His face changed.
Not dramatically. Daniel was not dramatic. His jaw tightened, his shoulders straightened, and the warmth in his expression sharpened into something exact and dangerous.
“Did anyone else see?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe the photographer. Maybe the videographer.”
Daniel turned at once. “Leo!”
Our videographer, Leo Martinez, looked up from near the dessert table, still holding his camera.
