by Leigh, Tara
“I’m really tired,” I say, lifting my head and pushing myself back a few inches, needing some time to process my thoughts. And Sadie could come back at any minute—how could I possibly explain being cuddled up beside the FBI agent investigating Tucker’s criminal activities? It’s not like I ever told her about Gavin… that would be interesting to explain all these years later.
Gavin slides out from under me and stands by my bedside. “Okay. Get some rest. But you should probably know that the state police are bound to show up soon. You don’t have to talk to them. You can push them off until you hire a lawyer.”
“A lawyer? Won’t that make me look like I have something to hide?”
“That’s what they’ll tell you, but they’re going to investigate either way.”
“Is it wrong if I talk to them, try to find out what they know?”
“No, it’s not wrong, but—”
“I need to know the truth, whatever it is.” I wasn’t quite certain for a while there, but I am now.
Gavin sweeps his knuckles over my cheekbone. “Be careful what you wish for.”
I savor the simple joy that rushes through me at his touch, but only briefly. There’s no escaping the reality of my life. “I don’t believe in wishes anymore.”
Gavin glances away, his jaw clenching. When he looks at me again, his corneas are pebbles of obsidian glass, smoldering with a dark fury. “You married a thief, Poppy. But what he’s stolen from you…” He shakes his head. “You’re as much a victim as—”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap. “I’m not a victim.”
My sharp retort makes him frown, a stubborn expression pulling at his features as if he’s about to argue. But then he decides better of it. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
I toy with a loose thread in my sheet. “Do your bosses know about us?”
“Only what I’ve told them, that we grew up in the same town. I said we were acquaintances but nothing more. They’d be hard pressed finding someone who could prove otherwise.”
I nod, remembering how I hadn’t even wanted to share Gavin with my sister. On one of his messages from a few years ago, Gavin told me that his foster parents had passed. And if Doug is still around, and anything like he used to be, he’d hardly go out of his way to put himself on the FBI’s radar.
“I pushed hard to come down here. I told my team I could get you to talk to me.”
“Is that what you’re doing now?” A fresh surge of fear coats my mouth with a metallic tang.
Gavin rears back, his face a map of every hurt I’ve inflicted. “No, Poppy. I’ll come back later, in an official capacity. You can answer my questions or not. But right now, this is for me. When I heard you were taken to the hospital, I…” He looks away, swallowing heavily. “I had to come down here. I had to see you for myself. Help, if I could.”
I didn’t believe it was possible for my heart to break any more than it has already, but Gavin proves me wrong. “You always did want to be a hero.”
His lips twist downward into a sad smile, possibly the saddest I’ve ever seen. “I tried to rescue you once before. This time, I hope you’ll let me.” He wraps me in his arms and presses a kiss to my forehead, adding, “I’ve never stopped loving you, Poppy. Never.”
When he pulls away, the hollow laugh that trickles from me is as sad as Gavin’s smile, leaving words I cannot say lodged in my throat.
I want to beg Gavin’s forgiveness for pushing him away in New York when he came to me the week before my wedding, hurling lies at him like rocks. For avoiding him after he showed up at Worthington, explaining why he’d left Sackett, and what kept him away for so long. For never answering his messages or showing him how much I still cared.
But I can’t.
Because I fell for Tucker’s promises. I believed his lies. I’m wearing his ring. For better or worse, we built a life together.
That life is shattered now.
An hour ago, I was sure I was a murderer. A black widow.
But if Gavin is right, I’m the abandoned wife of a criminal.
Either way, I’m a fucking mess.
Chapter 44
Florida
“Good morning, Mrs. Stockton. Thank you for seeing us. I am Detective Reardon and,” he indicates the woman beside him, “this is Detective Diaz.”
Gavin was right, the state police arrived first thing this morning. I study them now, debating whether to invoke my right to an attorney before answering their questions. Reardon is short and wide, with a bump in his nose, and the tip of it leaning slightly to the left. When he speaks, only the right side of his mouth moves, and the effect is almost cartoonish.
His partner is the same height, but only half as wide. Holding a small notebook and a pen, she wears a carefully impartial expression on her face, her eyes wide-set and intelligent. The brains to Reardon’s brawn.
“We have some questions concerning your husband’s disappearance,” he continues.
I pick at the thin, nubby sheet folded below my waist, deciding not to lawyer up quite yet. “So do I, detectives.”
Reardon frowns at my answer. “As I was saying, tell us about your trip to Florida.”
I repeat the details I shared with Gavin just a few hours ago, ending with boarding the yacht in Miami and setting sail for the Keys.
“But you weren’t on the yacht when you were found,” Diaz protests, her hand poised over her notepad.
Another piece of memory slides into place. “There was a smaller boat on board. It can go places where the water is too shallow for a yacht.”
Reardon give a low whistle. “If you say so.”
“I do,” I add stiffly. “Tucker and I used the smaller boat to explore the Keys on our own, just the two of us.” It sounds romantic, and although this is where my memory is most blurry, I know it was anything but.
“How would you describe your husband’s state of mind during your trip?”
I wrench my focus back to the detectives. “His state of mind?”
“Yes. Did he behave any differently than usual?’
I think back to the afternoon at the Delano Hotel. “He was distracted, on his phone a lot. But that’s not unusual for him.”
There is a hard set to Reardon’s jaw. “Tell us everything you remember about your last excursion.”
“I can try, although I don’t remember much of it.”
“Even the smallest details are helpful,” Diaz reassures me.
I forge ahead. “The captain dropped anchor on the Gulf side of Key West, near the Marquesas Keys, and the crew packed champagne, and a light dinner for us.”
“Dry Tortugas was your destination?”
I nod. Seventy miles west of Key West, the Dry Tortugas are actually a group of several islands, the largest of which, Garden Key, is home to Fort Jefferson, an abandoned military post and former prison.
“Is there anything else you can remember about the trip, or your last moments with your husband?” Diaz interjects. “Even the smallest detail.”
What I remember is not wanting to go to Florida at all, but Sadie had convinced me that getting away from my empty nursery and the cold, dreary winter days in New York would be good for me. That it didn’t have to be a trip to celebrate our anniversary, but a brief reprieve from the bleakness of mourning, an opportunity to begin moving forward with my life in order to honor my babies who didn’t get that chance. Of course, I don’t say any of this.
I think back, trying to remember something, anything about our time on the yacht, or the smaller boat we took out alone. My taste buds react faster than my brain. The briny, wrinkled bite of an olive. Creamy Camembert cheese and savory fig jam, spread on seeded, hand-cut crackers. “I think we opened a bottle of champagne, ate from the charcuterie pla—”
“The what?” Detective Reardon’s eyebrows were raised as he leaned toward me.
“The charcuterie platter. It’s an hors d’oeuvres plate. Cheese, cured meat, olives, crackers.”
; Satisfied by my explanation, he rocks back on his heels. “Okay, go on.”
“There’s not much to tell. I can taste the food, I can picture the way it was arranged on the plate. But that’s all. The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital.” I gesture at the IV and my bandage-covered skin. “With a cracked skull and a dozen lacerations on my back and legs.”
“Any drugs?”
“Sure, yeah. But you’ll have to ask the doctor for specifics. I don’t know—”
“Not here. On the boat with your husband.” He lifts his hands. “No judgment, and we’re not with narcotics, so you can be honest.”
I blanch. “I don’t do drugs, never have.”
“Maybe you had too much to drink and blacked out. You sure you didn’t open another bottle? Nice night. Anniversary trip with your husband. Shark-u-tree platter. It would make sense if you didn’t notice, drank an extra couple of glasses.”
“No,” I say, pushing the word through gritted teeth.
“Why not? Wouldn’t be the first time a girl had a romantic night with her guy, drank too much and couldn’t remember what happened.” He hoists one shoulder up, lets it fall. “Or maybe you do remember, but you’re faking a black out rather than admitting an inconvenient truth.”
Bile rises up my throat, hot and harsh. “Absolutely not. I would never drink to excess. Not after—” I close my mouth, pressing my lips together. Remembering a different hospital room, almost ten years ago.
“Not after… what?”
I shake my head, gathering my wits about me and schooling my expression into an aloof mask. “Nothing, just that I don’t drink very much. It doesn’t agree with me.”
Their eyes linger on my face, sharp and accusing. “We’ve towed the boat to our forensics lab. You sure you don’t remember anything else? Like maybe an argument, or any reason there would be blood all over the boat?”
“There’s blood in the boat?” I wonder if Gavin knew this.
“Yeah, quite a bit of it.”
Panic races through my veins, and I lift my hand to my head, fingertips brushing against gauze instead of hair. Of course, there is blood on the boat, I realize. Mine. “There’s a four-inch gash on my head, cuts on my skin. The doctor said I must have bled a lot.”
“Your husband’s blood was in the boat too. Quite a bit of it.”
Reardon’s expression turns sly, almost victorious, as if he’s caught me in a lie. My stomach goes queasy and I brace myself for what’s coming.
“Mrs. Stockton, can you tell us why there was a knife on the boat with your fingerprints on the handle and your husband’s blood on the blade?”
Chapter 45
Florida
Chills race along the back of my neck, my heart pounding inside my ribcage like a trapped bird. My right hand twitches, and for a brief second, I picture the crimson splatter of blood, feel the smooth, warm weight of the knife’s handle within my palm.
Could Gavin be wrong? His opinion came from his investigation of Tucker, not the boat where I was found.
Shit. Maybe I really did plunge a knife into his—
There is a knock on the open door and I look up, blinking my vision back into focus. Gavin strides into the room wearing a dark suit and carrying a gold badge.
“Hello, Mrs. Stockton, my name is Gavin Cross, I’m a Special Agent with the FBI.” His eyes drill into me. Play along.
Of course, this is no game. And keeping secrets isn’t as much fun as it used to be.
Reardon has no qualms about speaking up. “I don’t care who you are, this is our witness.”
Gavin pulls his gaze from mine, and the sudden loss stings. “Would you like to discuss this in the hall?”
The police officer adopts an aggressive stance. “No. You need to step off.”
Gavin doesn’t back down. “Look, you’re a local cop, looking for a missing tourist. You have no idea who Tucker Stockton is. I’m willing to cooperate if—”
“You’re willing to cooperate? Who do you—”
Detective Diaz puts a steadying hand on her partner’s shoulder. “Sean, why don’t we hear him out?”
Gavin ignores them both. “Mrs. Stockton, your husband was days away from being indicted in one of the largest money laundering schemes in US history.”
Though he’d told me of Tucker’s criminal activity, the sheer scale of it is an unwelcome surprise and I know it shows on my face.
Reardon folds his arms across his chest. “You can prove Stockton’s illegal activities led to his disappearance?”
Condescension is woven into Gavin’s words. “Our investigation is ongoing.”
Reardon puffs up in response. “Well, until you—”
“Stop,” I say, as loudly as I can manage. “Detectives, I’d like to speak with Agent Cross alone please.”
“We’re not through with our questions.”
“For now, I’m through answering them.”
Detective Reardon’s face is like a bloated thundercloud as he stomps out of my room, his partner following.
“G—”
Gavin gives a quick shake of his head, then closes the door. He doesn’t say anything until he is back beside me. “Are you all right? I got stuck on a call with headquarters, otherwise I would have been here earlier. I’m sorry you had to face them alone.”
I reach out my hand and he takes it, our fingers intertwining effortlessly. “I’m fine, really.” I fill him in on my conversation with the two detectives, then ask, “Last night, did you know that Tucker’s blood was on the knife? His and mine?”
“No. That’s why I was late. The report came in this morning.”
“Do you still think this is all just a ruse to cover up his escape? Or…” I look away, feeling like the air’s been knocked from my lungs.
Gavin grabs hold of my chin and forces my gaze back to his. “I do. And until we know for sure otherwise, so should you.”
I manage a shaky nod, although the tension gripping my shoulder blades doesn’t dissipate. “Will the Florida detectives come back?”
“Probably. But the case will be transferred to FBI jurisdiction.”
“And you’ll stay on it?”
“For now. I’ll probably have to recuse myself soon.”
“But not yet?” I feel better knowing Gavin’s watching out for me. Although, if I am guilty, not even he will be able to save me.
“Not yet.” He brushes a stray piece of hair from my face, gently tucking it behind my ear. “Those calls they asked about… Do you recall who Tucker was talking to during your trip?”
My brows push together over the bridge of my nose, and I rub at the line indenting my forehead. “I didn’t pay much attention, and Tucker always walked away from me when he spoke on the phone.”
“Could it have been Wren Knowles?”
Clearly Gavin has done his homework on Tucker, so I’m not surprised he knows about Wren. “No. It definitely wasn’t her on the phone.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Tucker and Wren have their own shorthand, I always knew when he was talking to her.” I pull at the sleeve of my hospital gown, feeling embarrassed to admit my husband’s close relationship with another woman. “Is she involved?” Although it seems unlikely—Wren would take a bullet for Tucker.
“Her name has come up, but I can’t say anything for sure.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t.” He cocks his head to the side, lips twitching. “I understand Knowles was your bridesmaid. Are you two close?”
“No. And frankly, that was at Tucker’s insistence. Wren made no secret of the fact that she thought she should be the one wearing a white dress, not me.” I splay my hands flat on the sheet, noticing my jagged nails for the first time. Tucker would hate that. “Wren has spent most of the past decade waiting for Tucker to wake up and realize that he chose the wrong woman.”
He arches an eyebrow. “I can sympathize.”
We fall silent for a minute. �
��I’m sorry, Gavin. I—”
He waves me off and stands up, walking across the room and leaning his back to the wall. “Last night, you said you were planning to divorce him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I feel my eyes fill with tears and I know what I have to do. I have to tell Gavin the truth. The whole truth. Not just the scraps of memory I have from our time in Florida.
Everything.
I pat the bed beside me. “Please, come here. It’s a long story.” Dread squeezes my throat like a savage, replacing the oxygen in my chest with icy beads of terror. Once Gavin knows about that night, about my twin angels, about the hate I carried for my husband… will he still think I’m so innocent?
The world slows down as Gavin takes one step toward me, then two. Meanwhile, my heart is beating double-time, erratically flinging itself against my ribs. Gavin is an FBI agent. He knows what it takes to build a case.
Means: the bloody knife.
Opportunity: I was with Tucker on the boat.
Now, I’m about to prove I have motivation, too.
Once I tell him everything…
Everything will change.
But I never get the chance. Gavin’s not halfway across the room when Sadie barges through the door.
“You can’t be in here.” Sadie’s glare shoots sparks at Gavin, instantly pegging him as law enforcement. “Has my sister’s doctor cleared you to speak with her? She’s had a major head injury, for God’s sake.”
“Sadie, this is—”
“Gavin Cross.” He extends his hand though Sadie makes no move to take it.
“You’re that FBI agent.” She turns to me. “You shouldn’t be talking to him without a lawyer.”
I could tell my sister about Gavin right now. And I should. If there was ever a time to come completely clean, this is it.
But I don’t. Like a coward, I accept the reprieve.
I’m not ready for the two people I love most in the world to hate me.
