“You always so thoroughly invasive with a friend’s girlfriend, or am I just special?” I ask the girl in front of me, keeping my tone cool and aloof.
“You really want to play this off? Fine. I’ll just call Logan. Tell him some lying bitch has been playing him like a fiddle.”
“Feel free to call him. As for stealing a dead girl’s identity, that’s a false accusation. But by all means, go ahead and make yourself look like a crazy jealous girl.”
I start to shut the door, but she slams her foot in the crack and stops it from shutting.
Got her.
Slowly, I open it back up, arching an eyebrow.
“Ten years ago, Kennedy Carlyle was in a car accident because she was high as a kite. Her wounds were ruled as fatal, but she miraculously survived. Now how’d she manage that?”
She’s purposely referring to Kennedy as a separate person from me. She’s trying to make me slip up.
“Ten years ago, I was a different person. My name was legally changed, and I got sober, made some real life decisions. I was a sixteen-year-old kid back then, angry without a cause. New name, new life, new choices, and a healthier mentality. It was a miracle I survived, and I didn’t take it for granted.”
That’s the shit I’ve been rehearsing, preparing for the day when someone called me out.
She snorts derisively. “You don’t even resemble her. And I’ve run facial recognition software; not even close.”
Okay, so when I was rehearsing all this, never did I plan to face down the FBI.
“Did you happen upon my medical charts while you were invading my privacy and breaking the law to do so?”
“I broke no laws, including hacking your medical files.”
“Yet knew my injuries from the car accident were so fatal that I should have died.” I turn the tables, calling her out on her lies now.
Her eyes narrow to slits, and I tug my shirt up, surprising her.
Her eyes land on the jagged scars. She hasn’t even seen the ones on my back. Logan hasn’t even mentioned them since I froze up about the two long and nasty ones on my torso.
“You’re right. I barely survived.” It works that Kennedy was sliced and diced almost like me. “I have the proof. I can always remove my makeup and show you some of the faint scars on my face. I was lucky there. Ten facial reconstruction surgeries by one hell of a plastic surgeon saved my face from looking as horrendous as these two scars.”
She backs down a little, her lips tensing. The eyes never lie in facial recognition. Unless you have your face so smashed in that it’s ninety percent metal plates in there. But it should match now. Jake fixed all that a long time ago, so she may just be bluffing.
“My face was the worst of the damage. You’ll see that on my medical reports. It was so smashed in that it was practically rebuilt.