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The detective’s partner enters the room, and Riley gets up and turns his back to me. A folder exchanges hands. Their words are spoken in low tones, not much more than whispers. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but it’s clear they’re talking about Monica. A minute later, the other man leaves, and Riley returns to the seat opposite me, pen in hand.
He lets a beat pass. “You said you weren’t home earlier today?”
“Correct.”
“When was the last time you saw your wife?”
“Yesterday morning.”
His pen pauses over the notepad. “You didn’t see her the entire weekend?”
Fuck. He’s had me off my guard from the beginning, and it didn’t occur to me to lie because I’ve got nothing to hide…
Except for the fact that I was with Jules. A ball of dread lands in my gut. “No, I wasn’t home.”
He takes several photos from the folder and places them on the table. “Is that not you?”
I lean forward to get a better look. The images are grainy, undoubtedly taken from the surveillance footage in the parking garage of my building. The man in the photo appears to be arguing with Monica as she unlocks her car door, but in the next few shots the two are kissing.
The man appears to be me.
I raise my eyes to the detective. “When was this taken?”
“Earlier today after someone reported a disturbance coming from your unit.”
A tight fist of anger clenches my gut. Betrayal storms through me, rampant in its destruction. “That’s not me,” I say, gesturing toward the photos.
“Let me guess,” he says with a derisive tilt to his mouth. “You have a lookalike out there somewhere.”
“Actually, I do. My twin brother.”
Riley affords me an arch of his brow. “A twin brother, you say? I’m assuming the two of you are identical then?”
“Yes.”
He shifts in the seat across from me, tapping the pen against the notepad. “Where were you today, Mr. Montgomery?”
Jesus. Dragging Jules into this mess is the last thing I want, but I don’t see any other option. “I was with my assistant.”
Again, he pauses, hand hovering above the notepad. “Working on a Sunday? You must be really dedicated.”
“I wasn’t working.” Several beats pass as we regard each other. “We spent the weekend inside her apartment.”
“I see.” Riley slides the legal pad to me, his lips sloping into a frown. “I’ll need your assistant to corroborate.”
“That won’t be a problem.” I jot down Jules’ contact info. Her name is a scrawl on the paper, drawing my eye. She’s no doubt wondering where I am since I told her I’d call her. I drag a hand through my hair, antsy to get back to her. But it’ll be hours before I’ll be in the clear. After Riley is done with his line of questioning, my father will be on me next, issuing the rundown on press releases and coaching my behavior for the foreseeable future—from what I say to the media, how I act at the office, to the hours I shop for fucking groceries. His top priority will be the company image.
And then there’s Kaden…
He’s got some fucking explaining to do.
The photo of Monica with her lover flashes in my mind’s eye, but instead of seeing a faceless man, this time I see my brother. I shake the vision from my head.
“I have a few more questions for you.” Riley leans back in his seat, fingers brushing his clean-shaven chin. For a detective, he’s young—probably several years younger than my thirty.
“Of course.”
The next hour passes in a flurry of more questions, from Monica’s routine at home to her duties at MontBlake to the names of her closest friends. How Lydia ties into this is unknown, but I answer everything he throws my way without hesitation, despite the fact that my head is in a tailspin. The situation is too surreal, and somewhere in the back of my mind I know it hasn’t hit me yet.
