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Had he really believed she would?
“No,” she said. “But you and I both know it’s what I can prove that matters.”
He nodded, sighing heavily, then gave a strained laugh. “God has a wicked sense of humor,” he said under his breath.
“What?” Bethenny asked, not sure she’d heard him correctly.
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “Where do you want me to start?”
She watched him carefully. “What were you doing when Eden was killed? Why weren’t you home?”
He rolled his lips over one another, his eyes darkening. “I was in New York working a case. I’d been sent on a job. It was supposed to be an easy one, but instead it took four days. If everything had gone to plan, I would’ve been home.”
Bethenny almost praised him for his ability to dodge the question. “What case were you working on?” she pressed, needing to know if he was going to be honest with her or lie to her. If he was going to lie, she seriously needed to rethink whether she could trust him or not.
He inhaled deeply, his eyes darting to the closed door the officer had walked through minutes ago. He looked back to her. “This isn’t going to help my case.”
“It’s going to help me, and I’m the best bet you have right now,” she said.
He searched her eyes, and eventually he must’ve seen what he was looking for.
“I’ve already told you I was CIA, but there’s more you need to know,” he said, reluctantly. It was a reluctance she understood: most CIA operatives didn’t talk about their work—they didn’t even admit who they worked for. Telling her now, even though he’d left the agency, would feel like he was doing something wrong.
“I joined the CIA when I was eighteen years old and started as an intelligence officer. From there, I continued to build on my skills until I became the person they sent to silence people,” he said, looking away. She couldn’t tell if it was from shame or regret; she supposed neither were healthy.
“I was sent to eliminate a woman who was a rogue Parisian spy with links to a terrorist group. Intel said she would be alone, but I soon discovered she had brought a private security team with her, and they weren’t novices. It took me days of surveillance before I saw a weakness in their routine. I executed at midnight, and while I was flying home, my wife was killed.” He inhaled a shaky breath. “She was still warm when I found her,” he said, his voice breaking.
Bethenny gently squeezed his hand. “What are your thoughts on why there were no signs of forced entry or struggle other than in the bedroom?” As soon as she asked the question, his jaw clenched. He continued staring at the wall until he looked to her. She expected to see anger, but she saw the opposite.
BETHENNY
“She was having an affair,” he said, his eyes pained. “I’m trained in surveillance, so it didn’t take me long to figure it out. But I could hardly blame her... I was gone half the time, couldn’t talk about my work, and was basically living a double life. What kind of husband did that make me? Not a very good one. She realized I knew before that trip to New York.”
Bethenny’s mind fought to keep up with and process everything he was telling her. “You were CIA when you married her, right? So she knew, more or less, what she was getting into. You can’t blame yourself for her affair,” she said.
Bethenny had always been adamantly against affairs, primarily because of her religious views, but also because it was just a shitty thing to do to someone. There was no excuse for it, even though she understood why people chose to have an affair when they were lonely or seeking something they didn’t get from their partner—but ultimately, spouses aren’t forced into an affair. They chose it, whether they wanted to admit it or not.
He sighed, like he wasn’t sure if he believed that or not. She didn’t think he did.
“Regardless of that, how did she come to realize you knew?” she asked, her gut instinct revealing this was important.
“I basically told her... I was angry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Before I left, I told her I was sorry I had to leave again and that I would miss her. I then told her that I hoped she wouldn’t be lonely, but I knew she wouldn’t be.” He shook his head. “I saw it in her eyes, the recognition that I knew about her affair.”
Bethenny mulled on that a moment. “Do you think she told him that you knew? Hang on,” she said, realizing she’d missed a key piece of information. “You knew about the affair, but did you know him?”
“No,” he said bitterly. “I found messages in an email account that she’d hidden from me. They were all in there, but she never used a name—only initials—and the return emails were always sent using a public internet service, like a café’s.”
Bethenny frowned. “Did you have security cameras in your house?”
“The security cameras in my house—our house—had been looped for the time he was there. This wasn’t a novice, Bethenny. I think someone started an affair with Eden to get revenge on me, and they got exactly what they wanted. A professional executed this, and I left the state on a job, giving them the perfect opportunity to hurt her. Her blood is on my hands. She’s dead because I was too gutless to face the fact that my wife was having an affair, and I did what I always do, what’s easiest for me—I ran from my problem.”
His pain was palpable, like an aching throb in her temple.
“We’re responsible for our actions, and ours alone,” she said, even though she knew he didn’t believe a word of it.
“Right, but our actions have consequences—for us and for others,” he said, leaning forward and running a hand through his hair. He leaned his elbows on his knees, looking at the cell floor.
“Let’s for a minute say you’re right and it was an act of revenge. Then isn’t the matter settled? Why would the killer follow you here?” Bethenny asked.
