You Can Trust Me by Sophie McKenzie Page A

Shannon’s eyes widen. “She died two weeks ago. Please, I have to know what … why she was meeting you?”
    Shannon looks horrified. She gets off her stool. “What happened to her?” she demands. “Who are you?”
    I sense the people on either side of us staring, but I’m intent on stopping Shannon from backing away. I reach out for her arm, desperate. “I’m Livy Jackson. I was a good friend of Julia’s. Please—”
    â€œNo.” Shannon wrenches her arm away. She takes a step back. “Why are you here?”
    â€œI just want to find out why Julia was talking to you.” I’m close to tears now.
    There is fear in Shannon’s eyes. “How did you know about me meeting Julia?”
    â€œI told you, I saw it in her diary.”
    â€œI can’t speak to you.”
    â€œWhy? Please, I—”
    But Shannon has turned and is already weaving her way through the crowd. Considering her vertiginous heels, she’s remarkably fast. I hurry after her. She rushes through Club Room. I’m right behind. There’s a fire door I hadn’t noticed before, in the corner. Shannon presses the bar. Darts outside. I race after her, but as I reach the fire door myself, a large hand slams it shut.
    It’s the barman.
    â€œSorry, madam,” he says with fake politeness, “but you don’t seem to have paid for your drink.”
    Shit. I look down. I’m still carrying the glass of white wine in my hand. I set it down and fumble in my bag for my purse. I fish out a ten-pound note and shove it at the barkeep. He stands aside to let me leave. I rush past, through the entrance lobby and outside.
    The air is cool on my face. I’m in a backstreet opposite the high walls of a multilevel parking garage. An empty plastic bag drifts along the tarmac. There’s no sign of Shannon. I head for the brightly lit end of the cul-de-sac, where it opens onto the main road. It’s dark and more than a little spooky, but I don’t notice. I’m only intent on finding Shannon. I’m halfway along the alley, running toward the traffic noise and the light.
    And then a figure appears at the end of the cul-de-sac, cutting me off from the road.
    I stop dead. The light from the streetlamps beyond cast a halo around his fair hair. He is tall and young and his eyes are fixed on me. He walks toward me, and I see his face more clearly.
    It’s the man from the funeral. The man I assumed was Julia’s Dirty Blond.
    I look around, hoping to spot some kind of escape route … some open door … an exit.…
    But there’s nowhere to run.

 
    CHAPTER FIVE
    I’m frozen to the spot, consumed with fear. The seconds I stand in the deserted cul-de-sac seem to stretch into hours, the dark shadows around me suck out my breath. The man—his eyes glinting with fury—walks toward me. Even as my heart thumps I am telling myself to run. But there’s no way past him. No time.
    He stands in front of me, his forehead creased with a frown. With a jolt, I realize that his expression is actually more confused than angry.
    â€œYou’re Livy, aren’t you?” he says. “At the funeral … you said you didn’t think Julia killed herself?”
    I stare at him, startled by the sudden intimacy of his words.
    â€œThat’s right.” Several questions start to form in my head, but I’m still too scared to focus properly. And then the man’s shoulders release and I see just how much tension he was holding in them before. He extends his arm. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have spoken to you at the funeral, but it was all so…” He hesitates. “I’m Damian Burton. I was … a friend of Julia’s. A good friend…”
    â€œHer boyfriend?” My hammering heart ratchets down a notch.
    Damian nods. “I wasn’t sure how much she’d said