Fidelity (Infidelity #5)

“How?” I asked Deloris. “How can you leave him? You’re supposed to take care of him!”

She shook her head. “I thought they were after you, trying to make you stay. When they arrived, I regretted sending you the news video. Shock would have been your best reaction.” She leaned forward. “I also tried to convince them that you’re not married.” She paused. “You aren’t, are you?”

“No!”

“It didn’t occur to me that the entire scenario was a ploy.”

“A ploy?”

“It was a diversion,” Clayton said, the two of them seated across from Chelsea and me. “They were keeping us here until the warrant for Mr. Demetri was signed.”

I closed my eyes and fell back against the seat. “How does he always win?”

Deloris reached for my knee. “The war isn’t over.”





MY GAZE MET Charli’s only briefly as the policeman guided me into the backseat of his car. Guided was a kind way to say that he pushed. That wasn’t my concern. Connecting with the golden-eyed love of my life and making sure she was safely out of Savannah was.

“Go!” I silently willed. “Get out of here. Do it before they suck you back in!” Though the words had never left my lips, I sent them with all the urgency I could muster.

Closing my eyes, I recounted the devastation in her expression and anguish in her tone.

Fuck!

We were so fucking close. Two more minutes and the plane would have been moving. We would have been gone.

Then it hit me. The police knew they couldn’t keep Charli or Chelsea here. It was all a sham, a stall.

My shoulders ached at the pressure on my wrists as the police car bounced along the Savannah roads.

I willed my muscles to relax, to not fight the handcuffs. I’d have them off soon enough.

My mind filled with everything I knew and all we’d learned. If the two officers in the front seat spoke, I wasn’t listening.

The memory that fought to consume my thoughts was of Charli. I’d had her in my grasp, feeling her warmth next to me, inhaling the scent of her perfume, and holding her hand in mine. I exhaled, pushing those thoughts away as the car bounced along Savannah’s roads. I needed to concentrate. What was the charge?

I assumed it was battery. I’d punched Alton Fitzgerald. I expected more of a fight from him at the estate. That wasn’t the way he played. He’d never make it in an octagon. His technique was slimy and backhanded. Give us a little taste of freedom and pull it all away.

I reached for my own fingers and rubbed. My hand was obviously injured, not severely, but my knuckles were scraped. It could be used as evidence. More than likely the manor had surveillance footage of me punching Fitzgerald. I wouldn’t and couldn’t deny the altercation. The guards, I could. Without proof, there was no way I’d admit to hitting them.

After what seemed like forever, the police car pulled into the back of the police station. I deduced our location by the chain-link fence and multitude of police cars as well as the crowd of people near the front. Thankfully, I didn’t appear to be the main attraction.

No one outside the fence seemed to care as the two officers escorted me up a ramp and through back doors. As a new officer booked me, I took in the scene. My location was relatively isolated, yet I could hear the buzz.

Melissa Summers.

Edward Spencer.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked as they took my final photograph.

“You’ll learn more as soon as the detective comes to question you.”

I tilted my head toward the large room of desks filled with people. “I mean over there. It seems like a busy Saturday night.”

The officer led me by the arm. “It’s not like we never have murders. We do.” He leaned closer. “But this is a big deal. The FBI is here. It’s a shit show.”

The handcuffs were gone. They’d come off during the booking. Unceremoniously, the officer deposited me in a small room with a metal table and four chairs. “The detective from the scene will be in here in a few minutes to ask you some questions.”

“I refuse to answer any questions until my attorney arrives.” I knew it was the right move; nevertheless, I wondered when that would be. Demetri Enterprises had a slew of attorneys, none of whom were in Savannah, Georgia.

“Mr. Demetri, we’ve been informed that your counsel is on his way.”

Truly all I wanted was to hear the charge, make a plea, and pay my bail. “After he arrives, when can I see the judge? I have places to go.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath. More than likely your case won’t be heard until morning. It’s already after midnight, the detective needs to question you, and as you saw, this place is hopping with a case much bigger than yours.” And then he was gone, behind the solid door. I’d watched enough crime shows to guess the large mirrored surface was really a two-way window. Did anyone ever not know that?