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Drew is there by her side, taking up all the air as he always did. His presence is consuming, and I’m once again just a pathetic, smitten college girl standing before her professor.
Until he talks.
“Cynthia?”
Incensed at hearing my given name in his snide tone, I snap out of my confused daze. “I’m here to ask some questions,” I say, my gaze flitting from Drew to Chelsea. She’s latched on to his arm, looking shaken.
Drew’s surprise wears off quickly. “What is it now? First that damn FBI agent shows up, now you.”
My eyebrows draw together at this. When would Rhys have time… Then it resonates. Rhys went to Quantico. Alone. No—he came here. To see Drew. Why?
“Agent Nolan?” I ask, to verify my suspicion.
Drew steps in front of Chelsea. “Yeah. He hasn’t left me alone in years. And now I’m going to tell you the same thing I’ve told him.” He takes a step closer. “Leave me the fuck alone.”
The keys jangle loose in my hand. I stare down at the green, spongy grass. Rich grass. The kind you purchase as sod. I can make out the divots where the patches were spliced together.
When I glance around, I realize there’s something missing from their picturesque life. It niggles at the back of my mind. Where are the toys? The trail of chaos that comes from chasing a toddler?
Where is the toddler?
I rein in my errant thoughts. “What did Agent Nolan ask you?”
Drew’s features—that are markedly aged—crease in irritation. He drags a hand through his close-cropped hair, relenting. “Something about another girl that was murdered. Every time there’s anything remotely involving a young girl’s death, Agent Nolan is barking at my door. He’s worse than fucking Dutton was.”
His fury strikes me like a whip. “Did you know the victim?” I press. It’s hard to get a read on someone when they’re angry. It’s such a one-sided emotion. No range. Also, I knew him. Had deep feelings for him. I was easily swayed by his manipulation.
That’s not something that goes away over time.
If his rage is the only emotion I have to go on, then so be it. I’ll make Drew fume until he gives me what I came here for.
The truth.
I used to get under his skin, too.
“I didn’t know her,” he says. “Besides. Like I told that agent, I have an alibi. Case closed.”
I nod a couple of times. “Cases are so easily closed for you. Out of sight, out of mind.”
This seems to dent his armor. “Look, I’m sorry for what happened to you, Cynthia. I really am. But it was a long time ago. You need to move on.” He glances at Chelsea, then says, “You need to let us move on.”
I cock my head. “Where were you yesterday evening?” I demand.
Cam’s murder hasn’t been made public yet. I shift my focus from Drew to Chelsea, analyzing their responses. Chelsea shakes her head unreliably. Drew simply holds up a hand.
“Enough,” he says. “I don’t know why you’re here, but we’re done. With all of this.”
“When was the last time you saw or spoke to Cameron?” I force the conversation. When he remains silent, I add, “She was murdered, Drew.”
Chelsea gasps. “Oh my, God. Get her out of here.”
Arms crossed over his chest, Drew stares at the ground. “Christ,” he breathes. His distressed wife to his right clings to him, demanding I be removed from the premises.
Drew finally concedes. “Look, you’re upsetting her. You have to leave.”
“You slept with Cam.”
Chelsea’s frail state evaporates on impact of this news. “God, Drew. Did you get her pregnant, too?”
