Every Last Secret(61)

“Have I ever made anything up?”

No. He was annoyingly honest. Once, when he’d bought a used car and found a hundred dollars tucked in the manual, he’d tracked down the prior owner just to return it. It was freakish and unnatural, and I couldn’t help but think that some of it was guilt over a then-five-year-old crime.

“I didn’t say you made it up,” I insisted.

“Yes, you did. That was exactly what you were saying.”

“They’re going through all our stuff, Matt. I’m exhausted, and I’m ready for them all to leave, and there’s a big difference between a psychopath standing in our bedroom versus a thief. If someone was in our room, it wasn’t to kill us. He was robbing us. You’re being overdramatic, and it’s causing them to look at this in the wrong way.” To look at me in the wrong way.

“I came this close to dying.” He held his thumb and his forefinger a hairbreadth apart. “You haven’t even reacted to that. You haven’t even asked if I’m okay. To be frank, I’m not sure you even care. You’re exhausted? Could you make this any more about you?”

I flinched at his words, the hatred delivered with a spray of spit, his face turning red as his voice rose in volume. When he stopped, I raised my hands in surrender. “Okay, sorry. Please keep your voice down. You want all these people here? Fine. Let them cover our house with fingerprint powder. But don’t forget what’s in that safe upstairs.” I stepped forward and hissed out my words at a volume that only he could hear. “We cannot let them search the house. Do you understand me?”

A conversation sounded from the hall, and I stiffened, holding up a hand to stop his response. Listening closely, I recognized the voice and pulled open the door, a tremor of excitement zipping through me.

William was here.





CHAPTER 42

CAT

“Mr. and Mrs. Winthorpe?” The female detective approached us. “I’m sorry for interrupting your night, but this is a crime scene. We’re going to need you both to stay in this dining room to avoid contamination of the scene.”

William moved forward. “We understand, and no need to apologize. Our house is yours if you need anything. A base of operations, a bathroom, a snack, anything. Just come over. We’re bringing in the staff now to prepare breakfast sandwiches and coffee for your officers.”

She acknowledged the offer with a curt nod. “Thank you, but that’s really not necessary. We hope to be out of everyone’s hair shortly.”

“William.” Neena appeared, followed closely by Matt. I scanned him quickly, relieved that he seemed unscathed. “And . . . Cat.” The edge of her mouth curled in distaste. “How nice of you both to come by. The police are almost done, so all this . . .” She gestured to the mess. “It’ll be gone shortly.”

“Actually”—Detective Cullen turned to face them—“your home is considered a crime scene and will need to be thoroughly processed, especially the master bedroom. We’re also processing the paperwork for a full search warrant, which will include your computers and phone records.”

Neena stiffened. “What?” she spat out. “I thought you were just looking for evidence of the intruder. Fingerprints and shoe prints and stuff. You told me it wouldn’t take long.”

The detective didn’t flinch, and if I had to guess, she wasn’t a big fan of Neena Ryder. “And . . . then I got a call from up top. We’ve upgraded the focus on this. Just to make sure we don’t miss anything, we’re going to take a closer look.”

Call from up top. Upgraded the focus. See, this was why we shelled out six figures last year for the police department. If a man broke into my home and painted the living room walls with the blood of eight different children, I could have the FBI present within fifteen minutes, or my house to myself one hour later. There are rules and policies, but there are always ways around and through them. Which was why, in my call to the chief, I’d told her to use every means necessary to get to the bottom of this situation. I’d explained about my poisoning and Matt’s suspicious fall, and she’d promised to treat it as if her own family’s safety were at stake.

It was a conversation William never needed to know about, and one that would enrage Neena, but our home was less than a hundred yards away from theirs. I’d spent part of this weekend in a hospital gown, the taste of vomit in my mouth. I didn’t care if Matt’s or Neena’s privacy was violated. I needed the police to find answers and to see what—if any—connections could be made.

Detective Cullen’s eyes met mine, and an unspoken knowledge passed between us. She knew about my call to the chief. I took a sip of the coffee and swallowed a shudder at the now-cool liquid.

“As I mentioned to you both earlier, this is a crime scene.”

“You didn’t mention phone records and computers,” Neena seethed. “I have privileged client files on my computer. We have personal emails—I’m not having you rip apart our lives for—”

“This isn’t a discussion, Dr. Ryder. It’s a fact. We’re treating this with the same diligence we would a homicide. Be grateful it isn’t one.” She closed her notepad with a snap of finality.

Neena hesitated, then threw up her hands. “This is ridiculous. I’m suing all of you for this.” She turned, sweeping her arm across the kitchen counter and knocking over the collection of coffee cups. I watched as mine shot off the edge of the counter and hit the oven door with a spray of chocolate-colored liquid.