WE ARE US

by Leigh, Tara

  Who else can I call?

  The accountant.

  Closing my laptop, I try to remember if Tucker had ever mentioned him by name. I am sure he would have used someone at Stockton, but there have to be dozens of accountants on staff, at the very least. Surely a confidentiality clause won’t prevent Keene from forwarding my call to Tucker’s accountant.

  Cursing my complacency for the thousandth time in the past few days, I dial the main number for Stockton Capital and am redirected to Keene’s line. If only I had taken even the slightest interest in our financial affairs at some point during our marriage, I wouldn’t be in this position.

  He picks up on the second ring. “Mrs. Stockton, you’re ah—” he stops, the strain in his voice obvious. “It’s kind of a busy time.”

  “I understand. It is for me, too. Um, I was just wondering if you could put me through to whomever dealt with our personal finances. I need to pay a few bills and I’m having a hard time getting information from my credit cards because I’m not an account—”

  Keene interrupts. “I take it you haven’t seen the news today.”

  “No. Not today. Why? What’s going on?” I grab for the remote control on my nightstand.

  “We’re being investigated by the FBI. Trading has been suspended, computers and files are being seized.” My jaw sags as the screen comes to life, showing a street view of Tucker’s office building, a swarm of blue windbreakers carrying boxes with electronic equipment or reams of paper into a white van parked at the curb. “It’s not a good time right now. I’m sorry. I really have to go.”

  He clicks off, and it takes a minute to realize the strange sound in my ear is a dial tone. I let the phone drop to the mattress.

  The scene playing out on TV reminds me of watching the Coast Guard search for Tucker. All those people—on boats, on the beach, in the water, hovering overhead in helicopters. So many people looking for just one man.

  All that effort, and they still haven’t found him.

  Clearly the investigation is expanding, the circle of suspicion widening. His wife. Our private life. Now his business. Everything is being torn apart in the search for Tucker.

  I am living in a real life game of dominos.

  Tucker, gone.

  Stockton Capital, as good as gone.

  Am I next? Will I spend the rest of my life in prison for a crime I’m now certain I didn’t commit?

  Crimes, really. All the buzzwords I’ve been hearing on TV swarm inside my head like angry wasps. Murder. Manslaughter. Money-laundering. Theft. Aiding and abetting a criminal enterprise.

  Is Tucker watching this? How could he have let his happen?

  I raise the volume.

  Agents seized documents today at the Park Avenue offices of Stockton Capital, the Manhattan-based money management firm, executing court-authorized search warrants as part of their investigation into one of the largest cases of alleged money laundering in United States history. Sources have confirmed that this is a joint effort of the FBI, the Manhattan District Attorney’s office, and the Treasury Department, although the SEC is expected to become involved shortly.

  The screen changes to a montage of me and Tucker at our wedding, then at various black-tie events before showing footage of the search and rescue operation.

  Since Tucker Stockton’s disappearance nearly a week ago, authorities close to the investigation say they’ve been concerned about the potential for Stockton Capital associates to destroy evidence critical to the investigation. The firm hasn’t returned messages seeking comment. We are tracking this story closely and will have more details for you as they become available.

  The camera then returns to the network studio reporters.

  You may remember, Tucker Stockton’s wife, Poppy Stockton, was released from the Florida hospital where she was treated for injuries sustained during the fateful boat ride from which her husband didn’t return. Sources tell us she’s been questioned by the authorities though she has yet to be officially named as a suspect. However, Mrs. Stockton has retained the services of Reese Reynolds and we’ve reached out to the famed celebrity attorney for comment. So far, our calls have gone unreturned.

  The back of my neck feels hot, as if warmed by the breath of someone chasing me. Like I am being hunted. The other reporter nods her assent and reads a lead-in for the next story.

  Reaching beneath my sweater, I scratch at the cuts on my back, my hand coming away streaked with fresh blood.

  “Hey, Poppy. Are you watching—” She stops talking when she pokes her head through my doorway and catches sight of the television screen.

  “Yeah. I saw.”

  Her eyes probe mine. “Are you okay?”

  I answer honestly. “I have no idea.”

  Chapter 55

  New York City

  “Thanks for coming,” I say to Gavin, letting him pull me into his arms and exhaling a ragged sigh of relief and gratitude. I’d finally capitulated and told him about the man who’d broken into my apartment the other night.

  “Poppy, you should have called me right away.” Horror is written in the tiny creases extending outward from the corners of his narrowed eyes. “If your apartment isn’t secure, you can’t stay here.”

  I push my nose into the curve of his shoulder, breathing deep. Gavin still smells the same, even after all this time. Fresh laundry and pinecones. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  He rests his hands on the curve of my hips, pulling me flush against him. His voice turns gruff and protective, just about the most swoony combination there is. “Then you’ll stay with me.”

  The idea of cozying up with Gavin at his place is far from unappealing, but I reluctantly shake my head. “You can’t watch over me night and day. And besides, I have Sadie.”

  Gavin lifts his chin from the top of my head and looks around. “Is she home?”

  “No. She’s out. A spin class, I think.”

  I linger in Gavin’s arms for a long while, drawing comfort from his solid bulk and gentle hold. God, it feels good to be held. After my miscarriage, I spurned every attempt at affection. I haven’t wanted to touch or be touched, love or be loved.

  But Gavin is making me want all of that again. He’s igniting a passion inside me, the kind that sweeps you away on a frothy, white capped wave. But he will never let me get swept out to sea, alone and frightened. Gavin is my safe harbor, his commitment an anchor I can count on. I was wrong to ever doubt him, and I won’t make that mistake again.

  It will take time to fully immerse myself in another relationship, even with Gavin, because there is still much tying me to Tucker. Invisible wounds that have not yet healed. Potential criminal charges. The high-tech thug who let himself into my bedroom as if I’d rolled out the red carpet. Legally sworn vows. Complex financial arrangements.

  I shift in his arms, hoping for a kiss. It’s wrong, I know. We’re standing in the apartment I shared with Tucker. But I feel like I might burst if I don’t feel the press of Gavin’s lips on mine, taste the warm mintiness of his breath, hear his ragged groan as our tongues slide together.

  When he looks down at me, Gavin’s eyes are glowing like blue flames. He’s feeling what I’m feeling, I know it. But instead of a kiss on my mouth, his lips travel no farther than my forehead. I want to stomp my foot in frustration.

  After everything I shared with him, Gavin is treating me like I’m made of fine porcelain, in danger of shattering at the slightest wrong move. “I won’t break, you know. Not from you.”

  “I—”

  “You think I’m fragile.”

  To my surprise, Gavin actually laughs. “Fragile? Poppy, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

  Of all the things Gavin has ever said to me, this is by far my favorite. I pull away from him and swipe at the tears leaking from my eyes before they can fall. “Well, now that that’s settled, I’ll show you around.”

  Bringing him into my bedroom feels slightly uncomfortable, the mattress g
laring proof that I’ve shared a bed with another man. Ridiculous, since it’s hardly a secret. But Gavin makes no comment as he diligently examines every fixture and piece of furniture for planted cameras or recording devices, then checks out the windows for any sign that they’ve been tampered with or opened recently.

  After looking inside both our closets, he casually asks, “What’s next?”

  My eyes automatically go to the closed door just beyond our bedroom. The nursery.

  Gavin must sense the turmoil rising inside me. “You know what, I’ll go have a talk with the security staff first—see what their cameras captured that night. When I get back, maybe I’ll have a better idea of what I’m looking for.”

  I nod, blinking back the sting of hot tears. My babies’ room is a sacred space for me. I could probably handle showing it to Gavin… but if he found evidence that that cruel, malevolent man from the other night had been inside, that he’d tampered with their things…

  “Thank you,” I murmur, walking with him to the front door on weak legs.

  “Listen, before I go, I want to show you this.” He pulls a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. A credit card statement for the one card not in my wallet. “This charge here, it’s from a boat rental company in Key West. As you can see, it was quickly reversed. I called, and the boat was rented using cash, but they require a credit card number to reserve it and someone accidentally ran it before realizing their mistake.”

  “That’s not my credit card,” I say, quickly explaining the situation.

  “Give this to your lawyer then. Not only is the card registered in your name, to your address, but the boat was rented by someone matching your description. The woman specifically asked for a fast, lightweight boat she could use to scuba dive off some of the more shallow keys, farther away. Sounds a lot like the Dry Tortugas.”

  “I’ve never rented a boat in my life, but even if I had, it makes no sense. Why would I rent a speedboat when we already had one, plus the yacht?”

  “A prosecutor might argue that you needed a getaway vehicle. Another boat, anchored off the coast of the island.”

  “But I didn’t get away. I’m still here.”

  “At the last minute, either you decided not to go or Stockton decided not to take you. There was a struggle, and he left you behind. Now you’re lying to hide your involvement.”

  I feel my mouth go dry. “That’s not what happened. Gavin, you have to believe me—”

  “I do. And that’s why I’m giving this to you. If you can prove someone else used this card, it will go a long way toward proving your innocence.” His blue gaze is steady on mine as he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, the pad of his thumb sweeping over my cheek. “The proof isn’t for me. I don’t need it. I know you didn’t kill the bastard, even though he deserved it.”

  I’m reeling with gratitude at Gavin’s faith in me, but I remember to put a restraining hand on his arm just as he turns to go. “Sadie might be here when you get back. I haven’t told her about us yet.”

  He sighs. “There’s a lot you haven’t told her.”

  Gavin never understood why I kept him a secret from Sadie, maybe because he’d been an only child. He never had to share anything, or be responsible for a younger sibling.

  “I will though. I promise.” And I mean it.

  After he leaves, I head into the kitchen to make making myself a cup of tea.

  I’ve just taken my first sip when the front door slams shut and I hear Sadie drop her purse and keys on the side table. “Poppy, you home?”

  “In the kitchen,” I call out.

  She sets down a square brown bag in front of me, along with a Snapple bottle. “I couldn’t eat a burger and onion rings in front of you if you weren’t going to have any, and quite frankly, I’m not in the mood to share so I just ordered for two.”

  I offer a wan smile as Sadie tears open her bag. She bites into an onion ring and groans. “Oh my God, these don’t disappoint.”

  Surprisingly, my stomach gives an audible grumble and I reach into my bag too. Maybe taking a lunch break isn’t a bad idea. I send an appreciative glance Sadie’s way as I nibble at an onion ring. She wasn’t kidding. They are piping hot, and deliciously salty.

  “See, told ya.” She grabs her burger with both hands. “Anything new to report?”

  I finish chewing and twist the cap off my drink. “From who?”

  “Anyone. Your lawyer, the FBI…” She glances at the TV on the wall, it’s screen mercifully dark. “I haven’t checked the news yet today.”

  I think about Gavin downstairs, combing through security footage for a glimpse of the man who’d broken into the apartment less than forty-eight hours ago. The credit card statement he gave me is in my pocket. “The FBI might be building a case against me as a co-conspirator.”

  Sadie barks out a laugh. “You?”

  “It’s not all that farfetched. Not if they think I rented the boat Tucker may have used to escape.”

  “Is there any proof of that? Or that Tucker’s living somewhere as a fugitive?”

  But I’m not listening. “Oh my God. What if that’s what Wren was looking for when she ripped Tucker’s office apart the other day—proof that she’d helped him escape?”

  “She could have been looking for anything. She’s nuts.”

  Wren might be a lot of things. But she’s not nuts. She’s smart, and devoted to Tucker.

  I pull out the credit card statement and push it across the table. “Someone used my name to rent a boat. Well, actually, they didn’t intend to rent it with this card, they just gave the number to the person dealing with the paperwork. The card was run by accident and reversed almost immediately.”

  Sadie drops her burger, snatching up the piece of paper. After a long moment she tosses it back to me. “So what? They can’t prove it was used to get Tucker out of the country. They can’t even prove he’s still alive.”

  “What about the credit card? The one in my name?”

  “Poppy, you were at the Delano in Miami. Any place where there are rich tourists, there are identity thieves. I’m sure you just got ripped off.”

  “You’re probably right.” I take a bite of my burger, deciding it isn’t nearly as good as the onion rings. “But it still doesn’t explain how Tucker escaped.”

  Sadie stands up, dumping her barely touched meal into the garbage.

  “I thought you were starving?”

  She shrugs. “My eyes are bigger than my stomach, I guess.” She turns on the faucet and washes the grease off her hands, lips pursed as if holding back a mouthful of words. I wait, knowing my sister won’t be able to keep them inside for long. “Listen, I hate to say this again. But who’s to say he escaped?”

  “You think—”

  “I don’t know,” she cuts in. “No one knows, right? But if you fell and cut your head, maybe he fell too. If your blood was on him…”

  “Just say it, Sadie.”

  “Sharks. There, I’ve said it, okay? Those are shark-infested waters. And can’t they detect blood in the water from like a mile away?”

  My attention slides to the shelf just over Sadie’s shoulder, to a photograph of Tucker from our honeymoon. He hadn’t realized I’d taken it until I printed it and had it matted and framed. He’d been standing on the balcony of our villa in Bora Bora, the sea a stunning backdrop. He hadn’t shaved yet, and his hair was still mussed from our early morning romp.

  Tucker looked open, vulnerable. A good man with an old soul. A man I loved.

  And I loved him then. Back when I believed the lies he told me. When I thought he was more good than bad. That we were meant to be.

  Those days are long over.

  But I still can’t imagine that he’s dead.

  “What if Wren rented a boat in Key West and anchored it near Dry Tortuga? They took it back to Key West, and he boarded a private plane bound for Cuba. From there, he could be anywhere by now.”

  I glance at Sadie, noticing the bright s
pots of color on her cheeks. She is gripping the counter so hard her knuckles are white. “Are you okay?”

  “Nothing a nap won’t fix.” She grabs for the strap of her purse sitting on the counter next to her half-full Snapple, knocking over the bottle. “Oh shit,” she yells as it spills directly into her bag.

  I jump up to help her, grabbing for the paper towels and sopping up the puddle.

  “Damn it, it’s all in my cosmetic case too.”

  “I’ve got this. You should go wash your makeup brushes with shampoo before they’re ruined.”

  She shoots me an appreciative look and heads for her bathroom. “Thanks, sis.”

  “No problem. I’ll just lay out everything to dry out here,” I say, emptying the contents of Sadie’s purse onto a clean dish towel. Noticing the wide open zipper of her wallet, I begin pulling out cash and cards and receipts and laying them on the towel to dry. It isn’t until I am wiping out the inside of her bag that I notice the gold Mastercard with the now familiar account number.

  With my name across the front.

  Chapter 56

  New York City

  “I can’t believe I did that.” Striding back into the kitchen, Sadie pulls up short when she sees what I’m holding. “Poppy, I…” Her voice trails off as I lift my gaze to hers, my eyes glistening with tears.

  “What? Are you going to say you can explain? How can you explain having a credit card with my name on it? How can you explain having this when, not two minutes ago, I told you it was the reason they think I’m behind Tucker’s—”

  All of a sudden everything comes together and I drop the card. “Oh my God, I’ve been so stupid. It was you.” The words leave my throat in a toxic whisper, burning the lining of my esophagus on their way out.

  I sag against the kitchen counter, my head spinning. “All along. It was you, Sadie. Not Wren. You.”

  I wait for her to deny the accusation. There has to be something I’m missing, some explanation to put my world back into perspective. Come on, Sadie. Tell me I’m crazy.