Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

AINSLEY

A s I'd expected they would, the police pulled into our driveway that evening while Peter was out. I'd hoped Illiana would've kept her mouth shut, but I knew that wasn't likely to be the case.

The officer that stepped from the vehicle was around six foot tall, and wide, but made purely of muscle. His strong jaw and tough expression could be seen from where I stood at the door. His partner was short and thin, with red hair and freckles spattering his pale skin. It was hard not to notice the juxtaposition of the pair.

I opened the door before they reached me. "Hello. Can I help you, Officers?"

"Are you Ainsley Greenburg?" the short one asked.

"I am."

"I'm Officer Chad, and this is Officer Andrews," he said, gesturing toward his large and in charge, but oddly silent, partner. "We'd like to speak with you about Stefan De Luca."

"Of course, come inside." I held the door open wider, letting them past me. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"That won't be necessary," Officer Andrews said, startling me with his booming voice. It matched his frame perfectly. "Let's take a seat."

I gestured toward the couch, and they sank down before I took my place across from them. "Illiana said they found his truck. Does that mean they found him? Is he okay?"

They exchanged a glance, and Officer Chad answered, "No, ma'am. We were able to locate his truck and they've begun to do DNA analysis, but there are no signs of Officer De Luca yet. Can you tell us what your relationship to Officer De Luca is?"

"Officer," I whispered the word, staring into space as it hit me, "that's right. He's a police officer, isn't he? I keep forgetting. Do you guys know him?"

Again, they exchanged a look, and Officer Andrews said, "We do, ma'am. We've worked with him for quite a while."

"And your relationship with him is…" Officer Chad went on, clicking his pen.

"Sorry, I, um, I don't really know him. We met on an app, Dater, and we went on a date last Tuesday. We'd messaged each other a few times, and I'm sure Illiana told you he came over on Friday night. But I never let him inside my house. We didn't talk, and he left a short while later. I haven't heard from him since."

"Why didn't you let him inside?"

"I, er," I rubbed a finger across my forehead, "I don't want to speak ill of your friend."

"Anything you can tell us at this point would be helpful to our investigation. We all want the same thing here."

"Well, to be honest, his messages had gotten a little…obsessive. I'm having problems with my marriage and I made a mistake, but I didn't want a relationship with him. It was just…like I said, it was a mistake. But Stefan didn't seem to understand that. At first I thought he was being nice, but then after he didn't stop messaging me when I was ignoring him, I started worrying about what he might do. I had no idea he was a cop, so when he learned my real name, I panicked. And then he showed up at my house… I didn't know what to do. I didn't feel safe letting him in. I wanted him to leave me alone."

"Did you tell him that?"

"I ignored him. I felt awful for leading him on."

"Is there anyone who can corroborate your story about that night?" Andrews asked.

"Besides Stefan?" I asked, furrowing my brows. "I don't think so. I called my husband to come home—he'd been working late—but by the time he got here, Stefan had gone. I hadn't heard from him since, so I assumed he'd given up. Then I saw the news."

"Is it possible your husband went after him after he left? Maybe he was angry that Officer De Luca had scared you?"

"No, no. Definitely not. Peter didn't leave my side that night after I called him to come home. I was too freaked out. And he had no idea what Stefan looked like or what he drove. He wouldn't have known how to find him or have had any reason to want to."

"I'm assuming he was angry about your affair, though?"

"No, he wasn't. We'd agreed to take some space, see other people, clear our heads. He wasn't mad about Stefan."

Officer Andrews scribbled something down while Officer Chad pressed on. "Is your husband here, by any chance? We'd love to get his take on a few things."

"He's not at the moment. He stepped out for a bit. Would you like me to call him and have him come home? It shouldn't take long for him to get here."

"Well, we'll get to that, but first, do you still have the messages between you and Officer De Luca? To give us some proof that what you're saying is true."

"Sure," I said, reaching over to the side table and pulling out my phone. I opened the Dater app and searched for his profile. As soon as I did, my heart sank. He was gone. His profile had disappeared.

My throat grew dry.

Then, with a wave of relief, I remembered that I had blocked him. I went to my settings and found him, hoping and praying that unblocking him would bring our old messages back up.

To my relief, it did. Once I could see the messages again, I held the phone out to the officers. "It starts here," I said, pointing to the conversation. "You can see where we first started talking, when he suggested we go out to eat, a message before we got there to say he was excited. Then, that night, he sent me a message to say he'd had a nice time and hoped to see me again. I didn't respond. Then, if you scroll down, you'll see the other messages he sent me. He said he was thinking about me, said he'd hoped to go out again soon. Asked if he could call me. Then, when I still wasn't answering, the messages started coming more and more." I scrolled down, through the intense, incessant messages until we reached the end. The last message I had from him.

I'm outside. I need to see you.

The officers read through the messages, scrolling back up and reading them again. Officer Chad handed the phone back to me, clearing his throat. He appeared shaken. "And there are no other messages?"

"No. I didn't give him my phone number. Although, now that I think about it, I did have a few missed calls from a blocked number during the time he was messaging me, and I haven't had any since. Do you think those could've been him?"

"It's possible," he said. "We've been combing through his phone records, so we can find out."

I nodded. "I don't understand what he wanted from me. The date was mediocre at best."

The officers looked grim but didn't respond right away.

"Mrs. Greenburg, why didn't you contact us when you'd heard the news? You obviously knew that this information could've helped our investigation," Officer Chad said.

My heart fluttered. "To be honest, I was worried about it all coming out. Our marital issues. Seeing other people. It's embarrassing. I didn't want my kids to find out…or our coworkers, our friends. And, like I said, I truly don't have very much information at all." I hung my head. "That's no excuse, I know. It was wrong. I should've come forward. Under any other circumstances, I would have. But I've told you everything I know now."

When I looked back up, they were watching me carefully, waiting to see if I'd say more. I cleared my throat.

"Do you still want me to call my husband?"

The wrinkle on Officer Andrews' forehead deepened as he leaned forward over his knees. "I don't think it'll be necessary, but if either of you do remember something else from that night, or from any of your other communications with Stefan De Luca, could you let us know?"

"Of course," I said. Officer Andrews held out a business card, and I tucked it into my pocket. "Thank you."

The men stood, making their way toward the door. "Thank you, ma'am. We'll get going now and out of your hair."

"I hope you find him," I offered sadly. "I hope he's okay."

They didn't turn around or respond as they continued out the door, and once they were pulling away, I waved casually. A few moments later, I saw Peter driving down the driveway, incredibly thankful he'd stayed gone long enough for me to get through the interview.

He'd surely have blown it.

I stepped outside and stuck my hands in my pockets, running the card between my fingers. If I needed them, I could call . I laughed to myself, tapping my foot on the wood of the porch. I could handle things just fine on my own.