Trespassing(92)

“Chris, wait.”

“I’m hungry. You hungry?” He steers me toward the door.

I pull his body tight to mine and steal another glance at the desk.

A notation scrawled onto a scrap of paper: owes Diamond Corporation 5M.

Diamond Corporation! I’m about to ask what he knows about it, but half a breath later, I realize he’s researching my life. Is he writing a book about my predicament? Using me to get close to the story?

I’m about to accuse him, when I see a cigarette stubbed out on a small saucer at the corner of the desk. It looks like the same type of cigarette I saw in my yard, with an amber-colored butt and a white shaft. I suppose that could describe most cigarettes, but . . .

It hits me.

He’s one of them.

He’s following me.

How else would he have this much information—more than Guidry has—unless he’s part of the scheme to make my husband disappear?

That kiss was a cover; he was trying to distract me from seeing his work.

The twin nieces and surfing and paddleboarding and beach-bum wardrobe are part of the cover, too.

It’s why he doesn’t have any concrete information about the people who used to live in my house. It’s why he didn’t know the cat’s name. It’s why he couldn’t give me a straight answer about the scar on his hand. He’s in on it.

It’s why he doesn’t really write.

I trusted him. I told him things I’ve never told anyone.

“Hmm?” He traces the contour of my cheek with the pad of his finger.

My heart is banging in my chest.

He plied me with rum. He knew I’d sleep eventually after that much to drink. He admitted he’d been at my house all night long. He must have come into Bella’s room. I thought it was Micah. But I detected the scent of cigarette smoke that night, too, and there’s a cigarette butt on his desk.

Did he plan to take my daughter? I slept with her in my arms the night I’d sworn Micah had visited. No one could’ve taken her without taking me, too.

Bella’s declarations of the past—I’m gonna go be with Daddy—haunt me now. She said it after we saw the figure on the golf course.

It’s possible Christian is working with whoever was smoking on the fairway.

And then, the phone calls: Listen to your daughter.

I listened. I came to God Land. In coming here, have I fallen into some sort of trap?

“Veronica?”

Gabrielle and her sons are dead.

I can’t assume it’s a coincidence that someone’s after me, too.

He cranes back a bit, as if studying my whole face at once. “You okay? You’re shaking.”

“I had a cup of coffee this morning. Jittery.”

“You eat yet?”

“I’m starving,” I say.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s grab the girls and hit Sloppy Joe’s for an early lunch.”

“Joe’s isn’t even open yet.”

“They will be, by the time we’re all ready,” I blurt. “Good fritters. Maybe the best on the island.”

He narrows his gaze, tucks a coil of my hair behind my ear. “Better than Turtle Kraals? Don’t think so.”

I force myself to speak more slowly. “Never been there.”

“Right up Margaret Street.” Now he’s raking through my hair, holding it in a bunch at the nape of my neck. The act could morph from a loving gesture to a vicious yank in a moment. “But Kraals might be more appropriate when it’s just the two of us. They have this drink . . . a mind eraser, let me tell you.”

I’m staring into his eyes. I force a smile and breathe through it. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’re asking me out.”

His smile brightens. “Maybe I am.”

“I have to turn off my sprinkler, and I have a few errands to run in town.” I pat him on the chest. “I’ll let you get dressed and meet you at Joe’s.” And just in case I’m not convincing enough, I press my lips to his in a quick peck. “Say, half an hour? Forty-five minutes?” I back out of the room, and once the door is closed, I rush to the living room, where Bella is playing with Christian’s nieces.

“We’re going to lunch.” I catch Bella in the midst of one, two, three, fly.

“No lunch,” Bella protests.

“We have to let Emily and Andrea get dressed and ready, Bella, okay?”

“No lunch!”

“It’ll be fun, Bella,” Emily says. “Where are we going?”

“Sloppy Joe’s.”

“I love their burgers,” the twins say in unison.

“We’ll meet you there,” I say. “I have to change, and . . . my sprinkler is running, and . . . I have to stop on the way for a few things. We’re meeting you there. Right at the corner.”

The teens are wide-eyed, tracking my movements.

“Okay,” one of them says.

“Are you all right?” the other asks.

“Just in a hurry.”

Despite my daughter’s protest, I keep her on my hip all the way down the alley, past the gate, and through the yard. As soon as I have my cell phone in hand, I unlock my screen to dial Guidry.

I’m looking over my shoulder the entire time.