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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Faith
All I could hear was the sound of my own hitched breathing and my heart hammering through my ears. Time slowed down. My head pounded. My fingertips felt numb.
It couldn’t be.
He—he wouldn’t do this.
Not again.
The image before me of Adam on the ground flashed with the one of him shoved up against the concrete pillar under the bridge six years ago, arms behind his back. Immediately, my mind replaced that with the memory of his face from last night in the car.
Just let me love you.
No.
This didn’t make sense. It was like a dream where you scream and no one hears it. I yelled his name, begging him to tell the police officer that he had it wrong, but he just looked at me.
And said nothing.
Hot tears blinded me again, his image swimming before me as my chest felt like it might explode. They shoved him into a squad car, and still he said nothing.
Nothing.
I love you. Don’t ever forget that.
He knew this was coming.
Too good to be true...
“No,” I breathed. Sound rushed back to my ears as the police car sped off and time and reality caught up. Grace and Matthew were at my sides, holding me like I might fall. “We need to call Tobias,” I managed to say. “Grace, get Hope on this. Mateo! Oh my God, call Mateo!”
“I already texted him, Faith,” Grace said. “And I’m calling Hope now.” Her fingers shook as she pressed the numbers.
The buzz on the sidewalk was palpable. Acidic.
Totally not surprised... you know he just got out of prison.
Oh, he’s back in for life now.
I heard he was dealing again the day he came home...
Well, you know how those Bishops always were...
I turned slowly, focusing in on one particularly toxic bottle blonde as she dug in her knockoff Michael Kors handbag. “I heard from Milly, who cleans one of the Pittman offices, that they did some kind of sting last night,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper-for-all-to-hear. “She couldn’t go to work this morning because everything has crime scene tape on it. Arrested the big whale himself early this morning over something they found at his house supposedly.”
“I’ll bet Adam Bishop is part of it again,” said a girl I recognized as Jessica Martell. “Oh my God, he just did a bikini line tat on me the other day, too. I wonder if the shop is involved. Once a drug dealer, you know—”
“Once a drug dealer, what, Jessica?” I snapped, making all the women in front of me jump. “Do tell.”
“Faith!” she said, her face turning bright red.
I turned from her to the next gossipmonger. “Megan, how’s your therapy coming along? Shoplifted any more produce lately?”
The redhead went as crimson as her hair, and I felt Grace’s hands on my upper arms.
I ignored her and shifted my focus. “Cressa Thibodeaux, you still carrying happy pills in your makeup bag?” I continued. “And your hubby still whacking off to—”
