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“Protectors.”
She scoffed at that. “I feel less safe with you than with anybody.”
“Then you’ll be relieved to know that two police officers will be parked on the street. If you feel unsafe, you can signal them for help, and they’ll come running.”
“Am I allowed to go upstairs to my room? Alone.”
Ignoring her snideness, he said, “Of course. In fact I recommend it. Tomorrow doesn’t promise to be your best day. Get some sleep if you can. See you in the morning.”
He turned away and walked from the room, the large man lumbering behind him. Gif passed her his business card. “That’s my cell number. Text me if you need anything during the night.”
She took the card but was still looking at the arched opening through which Drex had left. “Does he always wear that gun?” She’d seen the holster clipped to his belt at the small of his back.
“While on duty.”
“Is he a good guy or bad guy?”
“Depends on who’s asking.”
She looked at Gif. “I’m asking. Can I trust him?”
“You can trust his commitment to catching Weston Graham.”
“You mean Jasper?”
“To Drex he’ll always be Weston Graham.”
“Why?”
“You’ll have to ask Drex.” He backed away. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
He left her. She turned toward the staircase, which, in her exhausted state, looked as daunting as Everest. Using the bannister for support, she climbed it slowly.
She got into the bath but sat beneath the shower and rested her head on her raised knees. From the detectives’ arrival until now, she’d been required to function with some level of composure and reasonableness.
Now that she was alone, the reality of her circumstances crashed down on her. Elaine was dead. Jasper was a multifaceted mystery. And she? She was trapped in a mercurial situation that defied her attempts to grasp it.
As the water pounded over her, she wept. Hard. Copiously. In wracking sobs. When the water ran cool, she got out and pulled on an old pair of cotton pajamas that she hadn’t worn since her marriage. The printed fabric, baggy bottoms, and loose-fitting top had been designed for comfort, not seduction.
She left the master bedroom in favor of the guest room across the hall. She got into bed and lay motionless in the darkness, staring at the ceiling.
Where was Jasper? If it was true that he hadn’t gone to Atlanta, why hadn’t she heard from him? If he had survived the accident that killed Elaine, was he struggling to hold on until he was rescued? Or was he dead? Why had he gone to Elaine tonight? Which of them had suggested that they take the yacht out? Why were they in the dinghy? What had he done?
She had cried her eyes dry over Elaine, but, as she was assailed by unthinkable possibilities about her husband, they stung with the need to cry more. Questions swirled through her mind like a swarm of fireflies, blinking on, blinking off before she could arrive at an answer.
When the door opened, she knew who it was before he spoke. “You didn’t get your tea.”
She pushed herself up onto her elbows. “What?”
“I noticed the tea bag in an otherwise empty mug on the counter. You burned your hand when you lifted the kettle off the stove and never got your chamomile.”
She switched on the bedside lamp. He held the steaming mug in one hand. A fat accordion file was secured in the crook of his other arm. He came into the room without invitation, but she was too depleted to put up an argument. He set the mug on the nightstand and laid the file on the foot of the bed.
“What’s that?”
“Some light reading in case you can’t sleep. But beware. If you start on it, I doubt you’ll sleep at all.”
“Thanks for the tea.”
