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Someone had planted the floor plan in his house, though. He thought again of Louise White and wanted to read her file. Something about the way her eyes had lingered on him didn’t feel right. He’d never met her, and had no connection to her that he was aware of, so why the scrutiny?
He turned on the water, assuming it would take a few seconds for the hot to run through. Although he knew the benefits of a cold shower, he was not in the mood for one today.
Once the water was running hot, he stripped off his clothes, throwing them in a pile on the floor, before stepping under the shower head. The shower pressure hammered the water against his skin and he closed his eyes, finally feeling a sense of normalcy. Of course, this wasn’t normal—this wasn’t his bathroom, where he should’ve been showering—but it was as close to normal as he was going to feel right now.
He switched off the water and dried himself with a towel before wrapping it around his waist.
“I’m decent,” he said so that Mitch could stop staring at the wall. “I need to shave.”
Mitch nodded. “Go ahead. And for what it’s worth, detective...” he said, turning to face him, “I’m sorry this is happening. I’m sorry your wife was murdered and now it’s all being dragged up again.”
“Thank you. I didn’t kill either of those girls, I swear to you,” Lachlan said, holding his gaze. When Mitch nodded, Lachlan turned to the mirror. He really did need to shave and he didn’t want to waste Mitch’s time. Mitch needed to be finding the killer, not supervising Lachlan’s personal hygiene.
He shaved quickly, dabbed a towel against his clean skin and dressed as Mitch turned to face the wall once more.
He looped a tie around his neck and fastened it, straightening it into position.
Despite wearing a suit every day, he felt uncomfortable wearing a tie. It felt like a noose around his neck, and he loosened it until it sat correctly without strangling him.
He slipped on his shoes and threw his towel in the hamper in the corner. He did a double-take, looking at it closely. It was identical to the one he had at home—that’s what happened when there were only two home-goods stores in a small town.
“Ready,” he said and Mitch stood.
Lachlan followed him out. Maybe it was the tie, or maybe it was the fact that it was time to go to court, but the reality of his situation hit him like a freight train.
Until now, it had all seemed like a bad dream.
But the morning sun had brought stark reality, and he felt sick to his stomach.
He inhaled a steadying breath as he walked through the back of the station. He was thankful Mitch didn’t march him through the station, past his colleagues, and out the front door. The back door was hardly discreet, but it was still a better option.
He felt eyes on him and wondered what they thought.
Did they believe him?
Or did they think he was guilty?
Redwater was the first place that had given him a sense of belonging in a long time. He’d felt like that in the CIA—he’d never imagined he’d leave. In fact, he’d always thought that late in his career he’d be caught and likely executed by a foreign intelligence unit. Never did he imagine he would resign. But Eden’s death changed everything—and now it was all changing again.
Despite the feeling of dozens of sets of eyes on him, he was only searching for one pair. She sat at her desk and their eyes met. She gave a reassuring nod and he breathed a little easier. She was still on his side, and right now that was all he cared about. Even if everyone else turned on him, as long as Bethenny was working to prove his innocence, he felt like his name would be cleared. He turned his attention ahead and saw Emma standing by the back door, but she wasn’t looking at him—her eyes were looking in Bethenny’s direction.
He looked back to Bethenny, but she had her head down now, reading something on her desk.
Returning his gaze to Emma, she was now looking at him.
His spine tingled and he wondered exactly what she was planning.
Lachlan wondered if he’d been looking at this from the wrong angle the entire time—maybe the CIA was out to set him up. They certainly could slip in and out of houses without being noticed.
His breath got stuck in his throat.
“You okay?” Emma asked as he neared her.
“Fine,” he said, reining in his racing mind. The CIA was definitely capable of that, but they had absolutely no motive he was aware of. He exhaled the breath he’d been choking on. “Are you prepared?”
She beamed an arrogant smile. “Yes.”
He nodded, continuing past. Something about Emma—more than her arrogance—put a bad taste in his mouth, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
