by Faith Gibson
“Yes, I killed her. She fucked my husband. She was going to have my husband’s baby, and I couldn’t have that. So I stabbed the bitch, over and ov–” The rest of Amanda’s words are cut off when Clayton puts a bullet between her eyes.
The front of Neil’s pants darkens around his crotch. Holding his hands in front of him, he begs, “Please don’t. I don’t know who you are, but please...” His voice chokes on a sob.
Next to me, Violet says, “You should probably leave now.”
“What? No. You need to tell me what the fuck is going on. I can’t…” I couldn’t make my brain comprehend everything I’ve heard or what is happening. This wasn’t part of the plan. At least not my plan.
“I’ll tell you everything, but you need to get the fuck out of here, Ryan. Dad’ll clean up, and no one will ever know you were here.”
“Dad?” I return my attention to the laptop, but Violet closes the lid.
“Take this,” she says, unhooking the computer from the cords. “Meet me at my grandmother’s in half an hour. I’ll tell you everything.”
She’s right. I need to go. I don’t want to be around when the cops show up. Even though Clayton has a silencer on his gun, someone had to have heard the yelling, the banging, and the glass shattering. I don’t know what’s going on, but I have enough sense to leave. Stunned, I take the computer from Violet and hit the staircase that leads to the side door. My head is a confused mess as I fumble to get my key in the ignition. Once I’m seated, I start the motor, and I drive away.
Dazed.
Barely able to breathe.
She was pregnant with his baby?
I don’t head directly to Violet’s house. I can’t believe what I heard back there. I already knew there had to be something fucked up going on for someone to have killed my wife and pin the murder on me, but hearing Amanda admit to it wasn’t the hardest part. The fact that Jamie was pregnant with Neil’s kid? I can’t even… I pull over to the shoulder, open the door, and puke up everything I’ve eaten today.
When I sit back up, I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand and close the door. What a goddamn mess. I need answers, and I need them now. I drive to the house across the street from Lexie’s and sit in the driveway, trying to get my shaking hands under control. The plan I had worked on for years just went all to hell. I’m not upset Amanda’s dead. Neil probably is too by now, but why? Before I can contemplate on who the fuck Clayton Hughes is and why the fuck he took over like he knew exactly what was going on, several black SUVs pull into the Murdock driveway. I lean my head out the window just in time to see six men in FBI jackets storm the house.
Fuck! Could this night get any worse? Violet’s car pulls into the driveway beside me. She gets out and motions with her head for me to come inside. There’s nothing I can do to help Lexie if the FBI is searching the house for something to do with Adam. I roll up the window and lock the door before heading inside. Violet’s nowhere to be seen, but I know she is checking on her grandmother. Someone I’ve never met comes down the hallway. She’s definitely related to Violet, because they have the same dark hair and green eyes. Eyes the same green as hers.
“I’m Tiffany, Violet’s baby sister,” she says and extends her hand for a shake. I look at it like it’s a snake, coiled and ready to strike. When I don’t shake, she withdraws her hand and offers, “Beer?”
“He’s going to need something stronger than that, Tiff. Might as well break out the hard stuff.” Violet doesn’t make me wait to find out what I want to know. “When you approached me about following Neil, did you not wonder why I would help a stranger so eagerly? One who just got out of prison? One who wanted me to fuck another man?” Violet winces at her last question. Maybe I judged her wrong.
“I thought you were doing it for the money,” I answer truthfully.
Tiffany brings a bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey and a bottle of Patron into the living room along with three tumblers. She pours whiskey for me and Violet and tequila for herself. I need to maintain my wits, but I need to calm my fucking nerves more, so I down the first short glassful and pour another.
Violet takes a sip of her Jameson and continues. “I thought you looked familiar when I saw you at the gas station. I was pretty sure I knew who you were at Jack’s Place. But when you laid it all out about going to prison and how you were framed, I knew it was you. Ryan, Jamie was the older sister I told you about who passed away.”
“Jamie didn’t have any sisters, only a younger brother.”
“I assure you, we’re her sisters. We have the same father. By the time Jamie was four, Dad and Lindy had divorced. Not so amicably either. He was a Death’s Reject when they met. Lindy fell in love with the bad boy, but she also thought she could tame the wildness out of him. When that didn’t work, she kicked him out of both their lives. If you know anything about their MC at all, you know they don’t follow the straight and narrow.”
“He came in Jared’s shop and bought a Barracuda. Something about him seemed familiar, but when I searched for the name Clayton Hughes, it came up with a dead man. He was her father?” My wife said she didn’t know her father. “She told me he left when she was ten. Is he not Johnny’s father, too?”
“I don’t know why she would’ve lied about how old she was when he left, but Dad told us the story. At least his side of it. Johnny was Lindy’s son by a different man. As for Dad, he likes to stay off the grid, if you know what I mean, so he uses false identities sometimes. Anyway, Lindy didn’t know it, but Jamie and Dad reunited when she was around sixteen. He’d kept tabs on her her whole life. He waited until she was old enough to get away from her mother to meet Tiffany and me. Jamie kept in touch with Dad and the two of us without her mother knowing. By the time you were married, the three of us had gotten close. She confided in us about her affair with Neil. That’s how I knew.”
“Did she say why? And was the baby really his?” I ask, my voice choking on the last words. Fuck if that doesn’t hurt to ask. The whiskey threatens to come back up, so I set the glass on the coffee table.
“Ryan–”
“Tiffany, don’t,” Violet warns her sister.
“He deserves the truth,” Tiffany argues.
I stand and begin pacing. Running my hands through my hair, I stop and glare at Violet. “Tell me.”
Chapter 25
Lexie
It’s been five days since Eli has snuck into the house. Five days since I humped his leg like a dog in heat. I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. He brings out the sexual side I hid a long time ago. I crave his touch constantly, yet I never know how long it will be until I see him again. The anticipation is part of the mystery of being with him. It’s part of why I crave him so much. It’s like being in a desert, parched, and you’re only given enough water to keep you alive. You don’t know if the next drink is coming or when it will be. Now that I’ve had a sip of Eli, I know I need him to survive. I also know I’m going to hell for being with him, but I don’t care. I don’t want a sip of my thief. I want the whole damn barrel.
Today was my day off, and I had nothing to do to keep my mind from constantly thinking of Eli. Laundry and cleaning are mundane chores that allow me to remember every moment with him. This wanting him so badly has to stop, and I’m sure at some point it will. He will get whatever he’s looking for, and he’ll no longer have a need to come here. I don’t want it to stop. I don’t think I can go forward without some small part of him in my life. I’ll gladly take these stolen moments if that’s all he can give me.
I spend all day changing sheets, scrubbing toilets, smoking, doing laundry, reading the same page of a romance novel five times before I give up and smoke some more. I’ve taken a long bath and touched myself to thoughts of Eli and what he does to me.
Now, I’ve finished eating supper and have just put Adam’s plate in the microwave when there’s a knock at the front door. For a second, my heart races at the thought of it being Eli. Then I remember he wouldn’t knock. He’d pic
k the lock or do whatever it is he does to get inside. Bypass the new alarm somehow. I’m not dressed for company, but the incessant pounding keeps me from putting on a bra. I peer through the peephole. There are two men in suits standing on the front porch. “Who is it?” I yell through the door.
The man on the right holds up his credentials and replies, “Special Agents Howard and Lawrence. FBI. We have a warrant to search your home.” The man on the left holds up the warrant. I can’t read the paper through the door, but I have no reason to doubt its legitimacy.
“Let me put a robe on. Just a second.” I hurry upstairs and throw a robe over my shorts and T-shirt. Once back downstairs, I open the door to the agents who are none too happy I made them wait.
“Did you call your husband while you ‘put on your robe’, Mrs. Murdock?” the taller of the two asks.
“No. I put on my robe. Can I get you some coffee or tea?” I ask stupidly. They aren’t there for a social visit.
“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Murdock. What will be necessary is your cooperation.”
“I can do that. Is it okay if I finish my wine?”
“Of course. We’re going to do our best not to disturb your home, as a courtesy to you and your husband.”
“Okay. I’ll… I’m… gonna be over there,” I inform them, pointing to the island. Four more agents come through the front door, but I don’t bother to watch them, because whatever they’re looking for is more than likely locked up in Adam’s office. It can’t be a coincidence that they’re here soon after Eli’s been looking around. Has he planted evidence against Adam? Or is he looking for the same things they are? I down the little bit of wine at the bottom of the glass and refill it. I grab a cigarette and open the door leading to the deck. I don’t step all the way outside in case that’s not allowed.
“Mrs. Murdock, where’s your husband’s office?” the shorter agent asks.
“The closed door behind you in the hallway. He keeps it locked.”
“We’ll need you to unlock it.”
“I don’t have the key.”
“Do you know where the key is?” he asks, getting irritated.
“On his keychain. I’m not allowed in there.” I probably shouldn’t have offered that bit of information. When the agent frowns at me, I shrug. “Adam’s a private man. Says his work’s none of my business.”
“We need to get into that room. If you can’t provide a key, we’re going to have to bust the door down.”
“I understand, but like I said, he has the only key. It would be better if he could bring the key and unlock it. When he finds out you were here and I didn’t call him…” I inhale deeply on my cigarette, remembering the last time he got angry.
“Mrs. Murdock, does Adam hit you?” another agent asks, this one much taller than the first. This one is pissed. I’ve only ever seen one other man besides my father get angry on my behalf, and he’s not here to kiss the pain away.
I exhale the smoke and sigh at the same time. “I’ll call him when you leave. Please, do what you need to do.” I turn my back to the agents, not wanting to see the disdain in their eyes. I don’t want anyone’s pity for being the battered wife who stays. The wood of Adam’s office door splinters, causing me to jump and spill my wine. Shit. I finish my cigarette and go grab some paper towels to clean up my mess. Instead of returning outside, I refill my wine and take a seat on the sofa, hoping to be able to drink this glassful without incident. I need it desperately.
I sit for almost an hour while they rifle through his office. Their voices are muffled when they do speak, but I know this isn’t good for Adam. Whenever the Feds are involved, it’s bad. Eli was right – my husband’s a bad cop. A bad man. My heart thumps in my chest at the prospect of them arresting him. If we had a different kind of marriage, I would be scared for Adam. We don’t, and I’m not. I’m hoping against him.
“You can call your husband now, Mrs. Murdock. We have everything we need. But, we’re going to stay here until he gets home. Also, here’s my card, just in case you need us after we leave.”
I don’t respond other than taking the business card from him – Agent Howard. It’s not like telling them to get out of my home would do any good. They have a right to be there according to the paper in their pocket. While four of the six agents leave, I find my cell phone and call my husband. I never call Adam for anything, so hopefully he’ll see my number and figure something is important enough for me to interrupt him. When it goes to voicemail, I wait for the beep. “Adam, you need to come home. The FBI are here, and they have a search warrant.” If that doesn’t get his attention, nothing will. I hope by being vague, he thinks they’ve just arrived.
Instead of calling back, Adam shows up twenty minutes later. The siren alerted us before he pulled into the driveway. Storming into the house, he pulls up short when he sees his door has been kicked in. “What the fuck are you two doing in my home?” he yells at the agents.
The taller agent hands Adam the search warrant so he can see it’s legitimate. Something I probably should have done when they first arrived. “You’re gonna pay for the goddamn door,” he growls, thrusting the paper back into the agent’s hand.
Agent Lawrence says, “You can take that up with our boss. Or yours. Don’t leave town, Murdock. We’re going to have more questions after we take a look at your files.” He taps the laptop he’s holding between his arm and side.
Adam’s face pales, but he quickly pulls himself to his full height. “I have nothing to hide. If the help I’ve given you these last couple of weeks isn’t proof of that, then fuck you. And fuck my captain, too.”
“We’ll be in touch. Mrs. Murdock,” Agent Lawrence tips an invisible hat, and Agent Howard narrows his eyes at me. Adam is oblivious to the silent conversation going on between the man and me. I give him a small shake of my head, and he nods, following his partner out the door.
As soon as they’re outside, Adam rushes into his office and stares. “Fuck. Fuck!” He runs his hands through his hair and turns toward me. I brace myself. I thought I’d seen Adam mad before. I was wrong. The man standing before me is someone I don’t know. I want to ask him what it is he did, but then again, I really don’t want to know. The less you know, the better.
When he strides towards me, I close my eyes and duck my head. The fist never comes. What does come is worse. Gripping my upper arms gently, Adam says in a voice barely above a whisper, “I’m being framed, Lex. I’m being framed for all the Tarot Card murders. I… I swear to you, I didn’t do it.” Adam lifts my chin and places the softest kiss he’s ever given me to my lips. Even softer than the night he made love to me. Now that night makes sense. Adam knew this was coming, whatever this is. There’s no other reason he would be acting so strangely.
When he pulls back, his haunted eyes are glistening with unshed tears. For mere seconds, my heart is torn. My mind rushes back to when I first met Adam and fell in love with the cop who was bigger than life. The good man who was putting the bad guys away. It only takes remembering him hitting me to close the lid on that box of nostalgia. “Please tell me you believe me,” he begs.
“I believe you.” And I do. Adam may be a lot of things, bad cop and husband among them. He’s probably taken bribes and looked the other way. He’s probably cheated on me over the years when I pulled away from him both physically and mentally. But murder? I don’t believe for one second Adam Murdock is capable of cold-blooded murder outside the line of duty in self-defense. “I believe you, Adam. What are you going to do?”
“The only thing I can do. Run. You need to pack your bags. We need to go now.”
“Adam…” My voice cracks, but before I can tell him I don’t want to run with him, he shakes his head and leaves me standing in the hallway, disappearing upstairs. When he comes back down, he has a couple of duffle bags filled with what I assume are clothes and weapons. He stops outside the door to his office and looks in. When he turns, the tears he held back before are now streaming down his face
.
“I do love you, Alexa. Never forget that.”
I don’t respond, because I won’t lie to him and tell him I love him, too. I haven’t loved him in a very long time. Standing in the middle of my living room, I watch my husband disappear into the kitchen. The door opens and closes. The motor of his truck rumbles as he cranks it over. I stay planted until I can no longer hear the engine as he’s driving away. When I pull my hands out of the pocket of my robe, I’m holding the business card Agent Howard gave me less than fifteen minutes ago. Placing the card on the kitchen counter, I pour another glass of wine and take it to the patio, where I spend the next hour bathing in the moonlight while inhaling nicotine.
I should be rejoicing. I should be dancing around the house, singing silly pop songs at the top of my lungs. I should be calling my parents or Amanda. I should be feeling relieved. I’m none of these things. The only person I want to talk to is probably no better than Adam. A thief who more than likely had something to do with framing my husband. I can’t call him because I don’t have his number. I don’t know that I would call him if I did, no matter how badly I want to see him. My cell phone pings with an incoming text, but I’m afraid to look at it.
Afraid this is all just a bad dream.
Afraid that it isn’t.
When my phone pings a second time, I push up from the patio chair and pad into the house. I close the door, keeping the heat outside where it belongs.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. When I open them back up, I steel my defenses and look at the message. It’s from Amanda.
I need to see you. Please text me your schedule.
Hmm. Amanda usually calls, but she has been distant lately. Wanting to see her, I text her back with my schedule for the next week. It takes a few minutes, but she responds:
I’ll give you a call later when I figure something out.
I respond with sounds good.
I wonder what she wants to see me about. Maybe Neil knows about Adam and she wants to make sure I’m okay. But wouldn’t she have asked me about that now? No, something else is up with my best friend, but it must not be as important as my news. She’s probably going to be pissed that I don’t tell her immediately, but I don’t think I should tell anyone what’s going on right now. My parents will want me to call the Feds to let them know Adam’s running. Amanda will… I don’t know what she would do, honestly. I don’t know my best friend as well as I used to. And Eli… Eli probably already knows.
