The Pawn of the Phoenix (The Memory Collector Series Book 2) by Jamie McLachlan

“Regardless of what she said, I hope you don’t feel responsible. You can’t save everyone.” He doesn’t say anything in response, so I continue. “I just can’t believe that after everything she refused to acknowledge her son was guilty. I mean how can someone look at the evidence and still deny its truth?”
    His voice is quiet when he responds. “People don’t want to believe those close to them are capable of such horrors.”
    “Well, that’s ridiculous,” I snap. “Everyone’s guilty of something until proven otherwise.”
    Keenan frowns. “I believe it’s the other way around, Moira. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty.”
    “Not at all. People should expect the worse from others, especially those close to them. Then they won’t be hurt when someone disappoints them.” I lift my head high and look away. “It’s how I’ve survived.”
    “Ah, yes, survival.”
    With those words, I know he has every intention of arguing with me. I’ve come to realize it’s rare we agree on something, so I’m not surprised when he continues.
    “But people don’t want to just survive. They want to live in cities, and exchange goods and services.” He parks in front of the police station and turns to face me. “Fall in love, and have children of their own. And in order to do all that they first need to trust. How can anyone live if they’re constantly expecting the people around them to lie, cheat, steal, hurt, and kill?”
    My heart had actually fluttered when he said fall in love , especially since he chose that exact moment to turn his gaze on me. Though I understand what he is saying, I still find the idea of trusting anyone difficult. But I suppose in retrospect I’m already guilty of blindly trusting others. I’ve placed my faith in the Elite to keep their promise, and I’ve trusted Keenan enough to feel safe in his presence. Of course I still have my doubts about him, but I’m not constantly paranoid he’ll harm me. So instead of arguing further, I ask a different question.
    “Are you saying you trust me?”
    “Yes,” he says without hesitancy. “Whether or not you are worthy of that trust is yet to be determined.”
    “Aren’t you afraid of being wrong?”
    His face acquires a sombre expression, and his gaze flickers between my different coloured eyes. Finally, he says in a quiet voice I barely hear, “Of course.”
    Just when I’m certain I can’t bear to be at the receiving end of that inquisitive gaze of his, he breaks eye contact and exits the motor vehicle. I hasten to follow him into the police station, his words haunting me with each step. The idea he has placed such blind faith in me disturbs me greatly, for I have never once considered other people’s expectations of me. What did I care if I disappointed Madame Del Mar or Scott Harrison? And I can’t think of a time when anyone trusted me. Perhaps Devin did once, but that time has passed.
    The Chief requests our presence in his office the moment we enter the police station, so, naturally, we immediately oblige. It’s only when the burly man closes the door I realize the station is eerily quiet. Even the Chief’s face is extremely solemn, and then I remember Anthony Bradford was just hanged. Of course the constables would be especially silent on this day, even if the man had been guilty. They lost a fellow constable—a man they worked beside and trusted for many years. Where did their trust in Anthony lead them? Nowhere, except to disappointment.
    The Chief sits in his chair and avoids making eye contact with either one of us. “I suppose it’s over then?”
    The detective looks at him gravely. “Yes, and Mrs. Bradford spoke to me afterward.”
    “Christ.”
    “She refuses to believe Anthony was guilty,” continues Keenan. “It also seems as if someone is spreading word that the deaths aren’t as they appear and that someone else is responsible.”
    “I don’t like the sound of that at all,” mutters the Chief.