Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

Charlotte Mitchell

T he smell of a late supper wafts throughout Nix’s place. I’m in the kitchen, staring at the contents of the box he brought back while the food cooks in the oven and Nix showers off the horrible feeling of the night.

The entire evening, the entire time he was gone, I paced. I tried watching TV, but that did nothing for me. I strode through his apartment and eventually ended up on the balcony with the couch’s throw blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I didn’t like him being out of my sight. Not that I could help him if things went south, but right now, they have no reason to suspect us of anything. That still doesn’t mean I like it, nor do I like what he had to do tonight.

Poor Anya. God, I wish she’d just call the number, but Miles promised me he’d let me know as soon as she does. If she ever does .

I can’t get the image out of my head of someone fucking her corpse, of someone ripping her to shreds to bathe in her blood while they do it. She’s so young to have her life end that way, all for the sake of her family being taken care of. But what happens when she’s dead? Will her family continue to receive any benefits? Or does it end when a heartbeat is seized?

Nathan’s shirt is sprawled across the granite, and I pluck off a fuzzy. A few weeks ago, I thought my life had ended too. But in reality, it was just beginning. It’s wrong for his death to feel like a blessing because I wouldn’t have had the chances I do now: Being with Nix, catching a big-time arrest, saving countless people from the same fate Anya will have.

This? This shirt? It feels like it’s from another life. All of his stuff does, especially as I was telling Nix what the belongings meant to me. Or did mean to me. It makes me feel like a shit person for wanting that part of my past to stay there, to forget that I lived a life so superficial when I’m living a dangerous but great life now.

I ball up the shirt, travel around the counter, and toss it into the trash. It’s time to fully move on.

And then I turn my back from the box and head toward my future: Nix, who is still in the shower. I sit on the corner of his bed and pick up my phone where I had left it, the phone Miles gave me. As I check to see if there are any incoming texts, I accidentally drop it to the floor. It makes a thud sound, and I curse under my breath as I hop off the bed, get to my knees, and grab it.

But I pause with my hand half-stretched to it because something is poking out from underneath the bed frame. I bend a little more at the waist and get a good look at it then ignore my phone altogether and snatch the object from its hiding place .

“An envelope?” I whisper to myself.

I look at the bathroom door and nibble my bottom lip. Why would he have a large envelope under his bed? And by the weight and feel of it, there’s a good amount of stuff inside.

The seal is still intact. He hasn’t opened this envelope yet. Do I dare open it? I mean, he looked at Nathan’s stuff when I wasn’t around. He snooped…. So why can’t I?

It’s probably the stupidest decision of the day, but I open the envelope and pull out the folder that’s inside.

My heart stops, and the folder shakes in my hand, because on the tab is a name I least expected. A name whose theme is tonight.

Nathan Mitchell.

“What the fuck?” I whisper under my breath. Why does he have a folder on my husband? I mean, I knew Nathan worked for the business, but . . . Do they keep tabs on their accountants like this? By stuffing it underneath their bed?

Without further hesitation, I open the folder. The first thing on top is a picture of Nathan walking down the street in East Harlem. It’s such a random picture, and it makes me wonder why he was being tailed like this.

I flip the picture over and find another one. And then another. And on the fifth picture, I pause. It’s one of Nathan and me. I remember this day with perfect clarity because of the shoes I’m wearing as we trudge through the snow.

Before we separated, every year for Christmas, he would take me out and buy me a new pair of shoes. It was always a nod to our favorite Christmas song. Those shoes? The black knee-high boots? He had bought them for me that day.

How long had Nathan been working for the business? Was I part of the tabs they were keeping? Or did I just happen to be there when they took the photo?

I flip to the next thing, and this one is a report on his death. I read it carefully, but it’s not what I thought it’d be. I assumed it would recount everything I’d been told, but this . . . this is a report from the fucking Department of Treasury, and it’s not stating the same things that I was told by the police when they came to tell me he died and how it happened.

According to the report, they don’t believe it was an accident. When I read that they think he was murdered by someone he worked for, that paper nearly drops from my hand.

The Department of Treasury was keeping tabs on my husband? My husband? Why?

The bathroom door opens, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I hadn’t even heard the shower turn off nor Nix moving around. As soon as he steps out in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, our eyes clash. Confusion takes over his features as he gazes upon mine, and then he looks at what’s in my hand.

“What are you doing?” he asks with caution.

I point to the folder. “I found it under your bed, but –”

“You opened it?” he demands.

“Yes,” I hiss. “And I’m glad I did. What the fuck is going on, Nix?”

He scowls and squats before me. Carefully, he takes the paper from my hand, and his face relaxes in understanding. “I can explain,” he murmurs.

“You better. Why do you have papers on Nathan from the Department of Treasury? Does the business have fingers in a government agency? Is their reach really that far? ”

“I don’t know,” he says softly and then brings his gaze up to mine. I find nothing but the truth there.

“Why do you have this information? Why was my husband being looked at by them? And no fucking lies.”

He scrubs at the wet hair at the nape of his neck. “Noll gave it to me.”

“Noll? Your best friend?” I ask incredulously. He nods, and I press on with determination in my tone. “Does he work for the government?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he mutters, “Yes.”

“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” I hiss. “And he’s trading stuff with you? A man within the business? About my husband?”

“Calm down,” he says, dropping his hand to his knee.

“No! I have so many questions, Nix, because none of this makes sense. I want answers, and I want them now!”

He stands up at the same time I do and sighs deeply as I cross my arms over my chest, firmly standing my ground. “We don’t trade information so I can use it to exploit anyone.”

“Then what do you use it for?”

“I haven’t received any information in a long time, Charlie.”

My eyebrows pinch together angrily. “What are you talking about?”

“Miles?”

“What the fuck does he have to do with this?”

“He’s your partner. And Noll?” He pauses as he studies me and then whispers, “He’s mine.”