Their wedding pictures.
Bailey dropped her purse on the entryway table and headed into the office. She switched on the desk lamp, then sank into the chair. The computer was still on, and when she lifted the cover the photos of her and Logan filled the screen. Visual confirmation of their love. That she hadn’t made a mistake. She scrolled through them, marking her favorites, losing time. Raine’s words becoming further away.
Her stomach growled and she realized the time. That she hadn’t eaten since early in the day. That Logan would be home soon. She moused up to close the computer window and accidentally clicked on the edge of one behind it.
The face of Amanda LaPier stared back at her. The young woman who had recently gone missing.
She scrolled down, hand trembling. The photo was connected to the same news story she had read in the Wholesome Village Voice.
Deep breath, Bailey. It doesn’t mean anything. Considering their argument, it even made sense.
Another open window, she saw. Behind this one.
Even as she told herself to close the laptop and walk away, she tapped it open.
A Web site. NecroSearch International—an outfit dedicated to helping law enforcement locate clandestine graves.
Clandestine graves.
She stared at the image, confused, light-headed. The moment felt surreal. Like something out of a novel. In the blink of an eye, everything changed. The world stopped. And shrank. Zeroed in until it consisted of her, the laptop, a digital image of a woman she didn’t know.
And a Web site she could think of only one reason her husband would be interested in.
She moved the cursor up to recent history. More stories. About LaPier. And Trista Hook, the woman who had previously gone missing. And not just one, many. As if he had been scouring the media for any news of the investigation.
Bailey swallowed against the bile that rose in her throat. Last night, this entire search. This was what he had been doing down here. Searching. Studying. Why?
She heard the slam of a car door. Her gaze flew to the clock. Logan. Home.
She couldn’t talk to him. Not now. Couldn’t look at him. He would know. What should she—
Think, Bailey. Think.
Go to bed. Quickly, heart racing, she closed the windows and shut the laptop. She snapped off the desk lamp, leaped to her feet, darted into the foyer.
And paused. She heard him in the kitchen. The sound of ice dropping into a glass, the water running.
Bailey flew up the stairs to the bedroom. There, she stripped out of her clothes and slid into bed. She curled up on her side, pretending to be asleep.
He entered the room. She heard the soft whoosh of his breath being expelled.
“Bailey?”
She lay quietly, breathing as deeply and evenly as she could with blood pounding and thoughts racing. She heard him cross to the bed, felt him standing over her. He bent; his breath stirred against her cheek.
In the next moment, the bedroom door clicked softly shut and she was alone again.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The next morning, Bailey threw up. She bent over the commode and heaved, though nothing came up but bile. She rinsed her face and brushed her teeth, then turned to find Logan in the doorway. Fully dressed, ready for the day.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes, I—” She laid a hand on her stomach. “I must have eaten something that didn’t agree.”
But she hadn’t eaten. Food, anyway. What she’d ingested was suspicion. And doubt. She was sick with it.
“Maybe you picked up a bug?” He crossed to her and laid a hand on her forehead. “You feel a little clammy. But cool.”
She took a step back. “I’m fine, really.”
He frowned slightly. “You didn’t wait up last night.”
“I just … couldn’t.” Not a lie. None of it. Her heart was shattered. “I’m sorry.”
He gazed at her a moment. “I bought you something.” He said it stiffly. Retreating from her. As if she had become a stranger to him.
She had, Bailey thought. This woman sick with doubt, a stranger even to herself.
“Thank you.”
“You don’t even know what it is. Come see.”
An iPad, she saw a moment later.
“It’s all set up. E-mail, Internet, everything. I even loaded our wedding pictures.”
She held it in her hands. Stared at it as if it were a snake. So she wouldn’t use his computer. So she wouldn’t have access to his secrets.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she lied. “I love it.”
“I thought you’d like to be able to connect anywhere. Especially with me gone so much.” He paused. “Would you rather have a laptop?”
She shook her head. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
They stood there in the bedroom, awkwardly silent. He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid it might be another late night.”
Bailey wasn’t sure what to say. What to feel: despair or relief. “Okay. Just … let me know.”
He hesitated, then bent and brushed his mouth against hers. “I’ll miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
“I haven’t left yet.”
“You know what I meant.”
“I think I do.” He held her gaze until she looked away. “I’ll call you later then.”
He left the bedroom. It felt as if the best part of her were going with him. A cry flew to her lips and she started after him.
“Logan! Wait!”
She ran down the stairs and into his arms. Bailey clung to him, face pressed against his chest. “I love you so much.”
He shuddered; his arms curved around her. He held her silently.
“I’m not myself today,” she said. “That’s all.”
“Rest. You’ll feel better.”
She walked him to the door, watched him drive off. When she turned back, her gaze landed on his office, door open to the hallway. His desktop.
The laptop was gone.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
As the days passed, the awkwardness between Bailey and Logan grew. They approached each other cautiously, married strangers, she with her unspoken fears and he with his secrets.
He had to know she’d viewed his Internet search history. It’s why he’d bought her the tablet, why he now took his laptop to and from the city with him each day.