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I want to make sure Patrick knows he’s needed. I want to assure him that I’m human and make mistakes. And I also want to clear my conscience. I have to tellsomeone.
I clear my throat. “So many people were drunk that night. It was because of everything that was exposed in that hack. And my team had to scramble around to make sure the donors were shielded from most of it. Except there was this one person on our team... well, she was supposed to be pulling her weight, too, but instead... well, instead, she was a mess.”
When I peek at Patrick, I see he’s listening intently, his head tilted to one side.
“I could see it in her eyes the moment she stepped into the room,” I go on. “She was hysterical. I eavesdropped on some of her first conversations with donors—it was all over the place, and certainly not good for Aldrich.” I shake my head in dismay. “She shouldn’t have come.”
Patrick frowns. “Who was this?”
“Oh, no one you’d know.” I slide another oyster into my mouth. “Just a colleague.”
I can’t give him any specifics. I’ve never vented about working with Kit, but he’ll recognize her name because of Greg’s murder. And I’m certainly not going to get into the reason the story about Greg broke wide open. When the hack started, I looked up Kit. Problem was, there was nothinginterestingabout Kit, so I got the bright idea to look up her husband. And there—well. Obviously, there was a treasure trove. I might have forwarded some of the e-mails to a few very gossipy people I know. And they might have forwarded them on. And on and on, until they got to Kit.
“Anyway, it’s probably better you left,” I go on, dabbing my mouth with my napkin. “How’s your stomach been, by the way?”
“Fine,” Patrick says cautiously. “So what happened with this woman?”
“Oh. Well, she was causing such a spectacle, but George was tied up with his other clients, so I felt that I needed to babysit her. And so... well, I’m not proud of this, but I made a decision. I did it for the good of the department. It was the right choice. I’m sure of it.”
Patrick sits upright. “What did you do?”
I wave my hand. “I put Ambien in her drink. I had one in my purse, and I thought she needed to chill, and so...” I shrug. My heart thumps. Is this coming out okay? Do I sound blameless?
Patrick gapes at me. “Did sheknowyou put a sleeping pill in her drink?”
“Of course.” I can feel my lips twitching, a tell Patrick recognizes. “I mean, IthinkI told her it was in her drink. There was a lot going on.” I push my lips out in a pout. “What wouldyoudo if you had a colleague that was being completely inappropriate at a public function?”
“Not give her drugs.” Patrick crosses his arms. “You shouldn’t mix sleeping pills with alcohol. The woman could have died.”
The scent of seared steak wafts into my nostrils. The worddiedslices through me like a blade. “She’s fine,” I say quietly. “And it’s not like I’m going to make a regular habit of it.”
Patrick scoffs. “I hope not.”
We fall into silence—but not the good, comfortable kind. I open my mouth, wanting to protest the way everything has just played out.I’mthe good guy here.Isaved the department. I want Patrick to tell me that Ambiening someone isn’t a crime—and that there’s nopossible waythat someone under the influence of Ambien and alcohol would go home and murder their spouse. I want Patrick on my side, but instead he seems... unnerved. Like he’s sitting at the table with a monster.
“I thought you of all people would understand,” I say. “I made a few mistakes.”
Patrick looks at me carefully, and then something in his face softens. “I guess you’re right. There are moments when your decision seems like the right one, even if it isn’t totally ethical.” He says this in a small voice, almost to himself.
“Exactly,” I say. And here’s the rush of gratitude I’ve been waiting for. The true, clean whoosh of absolution. “Nothing would get accomplished if people didn’t take risks now and then.”
There’s a faraway look in Patrick’s eyes. “I guess that’s true.”
“I bet I’m going to get a promotion. I mean, Patrick, I brought inmillionslast week.”
Patrick’s eyes crinkle, just like the old husband a few tables away. “I’m really happy for you, babe. You’re so good at your job. You’re so good ateverything.”
Thank you,I think, and once again, I’m on top of the world. “Anyway,” I say, reaching into my bag and pulling out a small leather box. “Happy anniversary, baby.”
Patrick eyes the box with surprise. When he opens it and sees the gold, antique Patek Philippe watch I’ve chosen for him, he sits back. “Lynn,” he says sternly. “This is too much.”
“Oh, stop.” I wave my hand. “You deserve it.”
Patrick bites his lip, looking like he wants to say something but then changing his mind. “Well, thank you.” He slides the watch onto his wrist, then turns it this way and that.
Throat bobbing, he reaches into his jacket pocket. “Here. Happy twelve years.”
The box glints in the light, the logo of the jewelry store winking at me. I smile at him innocently, pretending I have no idea what’s inside. I wait in case Patrick wants to say something else—usually, when he gives me such a grand gift, he has a whole spiel about the process he went through to choose it. But he’s just looking at me with a bland, faraway smile on his face.
