Bailey held her own hand out. Logan took it and she led him upstairs, to their bed.
Silently, she undressed him, telling him with hands and mouth how much she loved and needed him. That she understood, that she was here for him.
She drew him down with her, into her. They’d only been apart a day, but it felt like weeks. Months even. Bailey realized it had been the emotional distance between them, her suspicion separating them.
She trusted him completely now. She felt it in her body’s response to him. Not just physical but somehow spiritual as well. Wild, free. She held not one part of herself back, not one thought or feeling. It hadn’t been like this since before the accident, before the red shoe and Billy Ray’s outlandish theories.
Afterward, they nestled together under the covers.
“We have to talk,” he said.
“Yes.”
“No more secrets.”
“No. God, no.”
He rested his forehead against hers. “What I said in the car, it’s true. It’s not over, Bailey.”
“What do you—”
His stomach growled loudly. In response hers did, too. She laughed. “What a pair.”
“Jail grub leaves something to be desired. What’s your excuse?”
Laughing, she jumped out of the bed, taking a pillow with her. As he started after her, she swung it at him. Surprised, he stumbled backward, then a grabbed a pillow of his own.
A raucous pillow fight ensued, complete with chasing each other around the room, jumping on the bed and feathers raining over them as her pillow burst with her last blow.
They tumbled to the bed and made love again, this time slowly and tenderly. An exquisite expression of their love.
When it was over, he collapsed beside her. “I’m done. Completely spent.”
“No round three?” she teased, playfully nipping his chest.
“Not until you feed me. I’m weak with hunger.”
She laughed. “You? I’m the one who’s supposed to be eating for two.”
His smile turned tender. He splayed his fingers on her belly. “How is she?”
“She?”
“I just have a feeling.”
Bailey smiled. “She’s fine. Growing.”
“I see that.” He looked up at her, eyes misty. “In jail, thinking about you two was all that kept me sane. You gave me something to hope for.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Thursday, April 24
9:15 P.M.
They raided the refrigerator and pantry. Ate chunky-style peanut butter from the jar, cereal from the box and leftover pizza cold. Bailey drank milk, Logan Abita beer.
And they spoke of nothing of consequence. The weather and the farm, of baby names and of their dreams. Their future together.
The way newlyweds did. The way they should. Bailey held tightly to those moments, memorizing each word and thought, each glance exchanged and smile shared.
The calm before the storm, she thought. And as if her own thoughts had conjured it, his mood changed, became serious. Almost brooding.
“We have to talk,” he said.
She wanted to argue. To beg him for a few more minutes of bliss. But it was too late, he’d already moved on.
“Yes,” she said. “We do.”
They positioned themselves across the kitchen table from one another, interview style. Face-to-face, she thought. Eye-to-eye.
He began. “I’ve made a mess of everything, I know that. From the beginning, by not telling you about everything. My family, True, the investigations. I wanted to keep us, what we had, in a bubble.” He laughed, the sound sharp and unforgiving, directed at himself. “I was a fool.
“Now, tonight I learn I was even more a fool than I—”
He choked on the words, emotion seeming to overcome him. He looked away, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw.
“Don’t,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”
“How can it not be my fault? I was her husband. How could I have not known?”
“Because she didn’t want you to.”
He didn’t accept that; she read it in his eyes.
“True and I, the fight we had before I went to Jackson, I accused her of having an affair, Bailey. She’d been distant. Secretive and moody. She denied it, but I knew she was hiding something from me. But instead of coaxing her, I stormed out. Left her alone and heartbroken.”
Bailey held her hand out. He took it. “That’s why it was so easy to convince myself that she’d run off with someone else. I don’t believe that anymore. I think she’s dead. I think the bastard who took Amanda and Trista, whoever he is, killed her.”
“I do, too.”
His eyes turned glassy, and he looked quickly away. After a moment, he cleared his throat, met her gaze once more. “I let her down, Bailey. Someone hurt her, but instead of moving heaven and earth to find out who, I chose to vilify her. How do I … forgive myself for that?”
The words came out tight. She leaned forward, her own eyes teary. “We find out who,” she said. “We make it as right as we can.”
He seemed to digest that, then went on. “I didn’t just start believing that tonight. It began the night you and I argued. I was angry and hurt. I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about True, about Billy Ray telling you that those women were buried here on the farm. The thought was repugnant. It infuriated me. But I wondered, what if he was right? Could he be right?”
He paused, met her eyes. “That’s why I went online. Looking for something, anything that would free us from all this suspicion.”
“I saw it, the search, on your computer.”
“I knew you had because you changed. We changed.”
She swallowed hard. “I should have asked you about it. I should have trusted you, but—”
“I wasn’t trustworthy.”
“No—”
“Yes. I imagined how it must look to you. Saw it through your eyes. And how messed up it all was. That it could ruin what we had. But I was so afraid of losing you. And then you and Tony found that shoe. I tried to play it cool, but it totally freaked me out.”
Her mouth went dry; her heart began to pound. “Did you recognize … was it True’s?”
“I knew it wasn’t hers. I’d never seen them before and she wasn’t a red-shoe kind of person.”
“So why’d you take it out of the garbage?”