CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 47

CAT

The White Horse was the sort of place I used to find my dad at on Saturday nights during football season. The bartender had giant breasts, a pierced eyebrow, and an infinity sign tattooed on the inside of her wrist. I navigated past a family of five, a dozen empty tables, and an old man gnawing on a chicken wing, then spotted Matt almost hidden behind a poster-covered column. I set my purse on the counter and straddled the stool next to him. “Hey.”

He turned his head and lifted his chin. “Hey, there.”

I peered at the collection of empty glasses before him. “Wow. You’ve got a serious doom-and-gloom thing going on.”

He chuckled and slid his drink toward me. “Want to join in?” He pointed to a card tent stuck along the back of the bar. “I’m moving down the drink list. Five more to go.”

I eyed the list, a little concerned that he had already knocked back three stiff drinks. “I’m game to try a few. But I have a driver. Promise me you’ll hitch a ride back with me.”

“Fine.” He slid his drink closer and peered at the contents. “I’ll take a ride home on William Winthorpe’s dime. He owes me that at least.”

I didn’t respond, catching the bartender’s eye as she moved toward us. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

“Sure thing.” The brunette snapped her gum and collected two of his empty glasses. “Here you go.” She set a bowl of Chex mix in front of me, and I vowed not to get drunk enough to eat from it.

“Who’s the big guy in the corner? That your driver?” Matt nodded to my new shadow, a massive redheaded Irishman who could kill any threat just by sitting on them.

“He’s actually private security, borrowed from Winthorpe Tech. The driver is out in the car. William is a little paranoid with everything that has happened.” I gave an apologetic frown. “Sorry, if he bothers you—”

“No,” Matt scoffed. “I should be the one apologizing. I’m the one married to the lunatic.”

“Speaking of which . . . I saw them put Neena in a police car. Have you heard from her?”

“Not since . . .” He stabbed at the screen of his phone. “Two and a half hours ago.” He turned the display so I could see the row of missed calls.

“They showed us the pictures they found in your bedroom. Scary stuff.”

“They tell you about the cash? Bundles of it stacked underneath our floor.” He belched, then apologized. “Around eighty grand. Who knows where she got that.” He glanced at me. “Could William have given it to her?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I can check our safe and accounts, but I don’t know why he would have.”

“Well, she can find her own way home from the station.” He took a long sip of his drink. “And she’s not staying at home. I’m going to let her pack a bag, but then she’ll have to find a hotel.”

“Good. I hope she ends up at a Motel 6.” Taking my drink from the bartender, I held it out in a toast. “Here’s to misfires.”

He winced, then nodded, clicking his drink against mine. “To misfires.” Our eyes met; then I lifted the drink to my mouth and took a sip. It was strong, the mixture almost pure liquor, and I swallowed it with a bit of a cough. “Jeez, that’s strong.”

He nodded at the brunette, who was drying off glasses by the sink. “Amber’s the best. Hey, Amber!”

She looked over one shoulder, a glass still in hand.

“This is Cat.” He gripped my shoulder. “She’s the only person in the world right now who understands my pain.”

“It’s true,” I agreed, smiling at him. “We’re tortured twins.”

“Tortured twins!” He cackled like it was the wittiest thing in the world. “Amber, Cat is married to the man who has been screwing my wife.”

“Wow,” she said slowly, setting the glass up on the shelf. “You guys are an unexpected pair. Where are the cheating scoundrels?”

“Well, my wife is in jail,” he said grandly, and I let his exaggeration slide. “And her husband is . . .” He squinted at me. “Well, I don’t know where William is. Somewhere expensive.”

“My husband is talking to his attorney and figuring out the best way to fire your wife.” I took another sip of the drink and shuddered.

“Ha.” He slid the glass in a circle on the bar top. “You know . . . I’ve been thinking about what would have happened if the gun hadn’t misfired.”

I watched him carefully. “If the gun hadn’t misfired . . . ,” I said slowly. “You’d be hurt, or dead.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “But”—he raised a finger in speculation—“would she have gotten away with it?”

I frowned. “They would have done the same investigation, right? Still discovered the photos and the money. And the photos were what really caused them to find the affair, right?” My voice broke a little, and he reached over and patted my arm in the helpless manner of a man who didn’t know what to do.

“You know . . . ,” he said carefully, “I don’t know why he did anything with her when he had you. It doesn’t make any sense.”

I swallowed a burst of emotion that threatened to bring on tears. “Thanks,” I said quietly. Thanks, but so what? It didn’t matter if I was prettier or younger. Sweeter. Less psychotic. He still went for her. If I hadn’t stepped in, how far would it have gone? What could have happened?

He withdrew his hand. “Have you talked to him about it? Found out how it started? Or why?”

“Yeah. He—” I took a deep breath. “He said it just happened. That it was a mistake. That he didn’t know how it got to that point, but it had.”

“Sounds like bull,” he growled.

“Yeah.”

He hunched toward me. “Did you suspect it? Anything between them?”

I made a face. “I haven’t been a fan of your wife for a while now. I thought they were spending too much time together, but he brushed off my concerns.”

The bartender paused by us. “Ready for the next on the list?”

Matt nodded, then glanced at me. “Are you staying with him?”

I had to lie. If I told him the truth, it might give him permission to follow suit. I hesitated, then slowly shook my head. “No.” I met his eyes. “I can’t forgive what he did. Do you think . . . that you would have forgiven her? If she hadn’t—” I waved my hand in the air as if to indicate his situation in general. “You know. Tried to kill you.”

He unexpectedly laughed, a contagious one that started as a chuckle and wheezed through his body, his chest racking, tears dotting the corners of his eyes. I joined in, and it was sad how much he needed my approval, his posture lightening when I began to giggle.

Then, as suddenly as he had started, he stopped. “I don’t know what I would have done,” he admitted. “But this wasn’t the first time she’s cheated on me.” He looked down at his drink, then downed half of it in one continual sip. “Last time I didn’t even confront her with it. I found out and never did a thing about it.”

“Wow.” My faux shock delivered well, but I wasn’t surprised. I had pegged Neena for a cheater from the very beginning. And while Matt played the clueless husband to perfection, no one was that dense. We all had our instincts. He had to have known, at some point in his marriage, that he was playing the fool.

“I have all of the text messages between them,” he confessed. “The detective is giving them to me. And the call logs. In case you want them.”

“That’s nice of you. And of the detective.” I glanced at him. “Is that normal? Sharing all that?”

“I don’t know. They—” He reached into the Chex mix and grabbed a handful, then offered me the bowl. I shook my head. “They are kind of putting this in my hands. They can’t—at least not yet—find proof of a connection between the shooter and Neena, especially since they don’t have any idea who the shooter is.”

I frowned. “What do you mean, they’re putting it in your hands?”

“The next steps. We have a meeting with the district attorney tomorrow to discuss my options.”

“You and Neena?”

“No, me and Detective Cullen.” He glanced at me. “I was wondering if you could come.”

I hesitated. “Would that be appropriate? I’m not sure—”

“It’d be nice to have a friendly face there. Someone I trust. I . . .” He paused, as if he were trying to find the right words. “You’ve been through this. Right alongside me. Maybe not last night, but with you going to the hospital for poisoning, I think we’re about even.” He gave me a weak smile, and I returned the gesture.

I wanted to be there when they decided her fate. Desperately. Still, I feigned apprehension. “Honestly, I’m not sure Detective Cullen would even let me—”

“Cat,” he chided, “if there’s anyone in town they’d bend a rule for, it’d be you.”

“Me or William,” I said quietly, my gaze floating around the bar as I killed a dozen seconds of time. “Okay,” I said as reluctantly as I could, “I’ll come.”