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I’m just trying to protect them. Violet. Sophie. Kellan. Even Troy.
Especially Troy.
I miss him. God, how I miss him.
I miss how it feels to be in his arms. How it feels when we kiss, when we laugh, when we spend time together. I miss the evenings spent working on the renovations with him. They feel like they were a lifetime ago.
It’s been four days since I ended things with Troy. Four days since I last saw him. He hasn’t been at the office all week.
Correction. He’s been at the office. Before I get here. And after I leave for the day.
The phone rings, and I answer it. “Carson Construction. How may I help you?” I singsong into the phone as if my heart isn’t ripping in two from just thinking about Troy.
“Hi, Jessica,” a woman says. “Can I speak with Troy please? This is Theresa Bell.”
“Oh, hi, Theresa. Sorry. He’s not in the office right now. Can I take a message?”
“Yes, please. Tell him I spoke to my father about him canceling the festival sponsorship, but unfortunately, I can’t get him to budge on his decision. Can you tell Troy I’m really sorry? I saw the video from the Fourth, and I agree with everyone else. Chief Wilson overreacted to what Troy did.”
I’m vaguely aware of telling her I’ll give Troy the message, but the majority of my brain is numb as I attempt to piece together everything she’s saying. Festival sponsorship. Canceled. When did this happen? And why is this the first I’m hearing about it? Especially when the loss of that money is a huge deal.
They were our biggest sponsor.
And Troy still refuses to accept any more of my restitution money to cover the cost beyond the five grand I donated.
We end the call, and I go back to doing some simple accounting that’s part of the job. There’s a reason I went into investigative journalism in college and not math. I love writing. And I love the research involved with producing a good investigative piece. Math and numbers? They bore the hell out of me.
If only this job relied on more of the former than the latter.
I focus on inputting the numbers a supplier just sent me into the spreadsheet, and I try not to dwell on how Violet and Sophie are alone in my house. I’m so focused on making sure I’m typing the numbers correctly, I barely register the click of the door shutting over the keyboard-tapping quiet of the office.
“Jessica Smithson.” The dagger-sharp demand in the male voice cuts through the near silence, and I startle.
I look up from the computer screen to the man standing in front of my desk. Chief Wilson.
My body turns into a stone statue. My heart stops for a fraction of a moment, and then resumes beating—faster, and hard enough to chip away at the stone.
He might be darker blond than my husband was, but that’s where their dissimilarities end. They’re both tall and spend their time honing their bodies in the gym. Turning their muscles lethal to anyone considered beneath them. I recognize those same ice-blue eyes. The ice blue that turned even icier when my husband’s anger was directed at me.
Right now, Wilson’s eyes are the blue of a calm ocean. I shiver, not so easily fooled.
It’s not my husband. It’s not my husband. It’s not my husband. I keep repeating this as I discreetly massage my thigh under the desk, hoping the trick is enough to prevent me from slipping into a flashback.
Bailey whimpers. I give her a look that warns her to stay lying down on the floor next to me and keep quiet.
“Yes, what can I do for you, Chief Wilson?” The words come out sandpaper-rough, leaving my throat raw, my nerves exposed. I’d reach for the glass of water on my desk, but I’m afraid the tremor in my hand will give away the fact I’m involved in his wife and daughter’s disappearance. And I have no delusions about the reason he’s here.
He steps closer to my desk. “I understand you’re a friend of my wife’s.”
“We know each other from when she was in yoga,” I reply in the way of a nonanswer.
He knocks over the small container on my desk where I keep my pens. The move is deliberate, full of a veiled annoyance. “When was the last time you saw her?”
I knead my thigh harder. “July Fourth.”
Bailey whimpers once more.
“And you didn’t see her after that? Perhaps at the grocery store?” He places his fists on the desk and leans forward, his breath hot on my face. His broad body fills most of my view of the room and the door to the outside world.
