“He looked just like a fucking cop.”
I lunged to throttle that stupid bastard, but Quinn grabbed me and pushed me away. “Describe him!” I shouted.
And surprisingly, even though he had paramedics and a cop to protect him from me, Ben looked a little freaked. “Tall. Brown hair. I don’t know—I only saw him once!”
I shoved away from Quinn, grabbed my phone, and opened the photo album. I had to scroll back in the history awhile, but I was suddenly glad I hadn’t gotten around to deleting old pictures. I brought up a photo of Neil and turned the screen to Ben. “Was this him?”
“I don’t know!”
“Was it?”
“I guess so! It looks like him!” Ben cried out.
“Get him out of here,” Quinn ordered, motioning for the paramedics to take Ben to the awaiting ambulance.
Jesus Christ.
Rain splattered the screen of my phone, distorting Neil’s face. This couldn’t be happening.
“Get out of the road,” Quinn said as she opened her umbrella and nudged me back to the sidewalk.
I walked in a daze, stuffing my phone back into my coat.
Two different people, one who knew me and one who knew of me, both claimed a cop threatened to jail them if they didn’t help ensure the victims show up at a museum in order to be killed. Both said they only met him once, then received text messages afterward. All of the clues and threats for and against me were personal. Someone who had a good understanding of my habits and inner circle.
And only one person in my life had reason to hate me.
Neil did. I believed that now—that he truly hated me for our breakup.
But was he so angry, so beside himself,over me, that he snapped?
I wanted to say it was absolutely, without a doubt, the most convoluted bullshit I’d ever heard. Except when someone goes missing or suffers a tragic fate, spouses or partners are often the first to be questioned or even suspected.
Love can be our own worst enemy.
If you’re not strong enough to wield it, you could succumb to its darker side: hatred and jealousy.
I realized belatedly that an umbrella had ended up over my head, and when I looked up, Calvin was standing in front of me.
“Hi, baby,” he said quietly.
“I know you’re angry,” I answered.
He only nodded.
“I deserved the split lip and bruised ass.”
Calvin reached out and lifted my chin with a gentle touch to inspect where Ben had punched me.
“Was there anything in the apartment?”
Calvin let go of my face and looked between myself and Quinn. “We took a quick look inside. Found a bag matching the description of Earl’s that was never recovered from the scene. There was a piece of china inside, as well as an old pistol. I’ll call the FBI, but I’m sure they’ll match the last items stolen from the Met.”
“So did we prove Richard guilty?”
“Forensics will need to fingerprint everything,” Calvin answered. “But… it’s looking pretty solid, yeah.”
Forensics. Neil.
