Fidelity (Infidelity #5)

The activity on the television screen caught my attention. I’d muted the sound, but now reached for the remote control and allowed the reporter’s voice to replace the soothing snap and crackle of the fire.

“…pleaded not guilty to felony murder in the death of Melissa Summers. As you may recall, her body was found on Edward Spencer’s family estate on Saturday evening. The coroner has not released any details of her death at this time other than the time of death is believed to have been only hours before her body was discovered.”

I tucked the blanket around me as I listened to a videotape of Melissa’s parents. My heart broke as they talked about their daughter, shocked that she’d been alive for all these months. Her mother cried as she begged for justice, afraid to speculate on how her daughter had been living and under what conditions.

My breath caught in my throat, a lump forming as they played another video of Alexandria and Chelsea entering the police station. I didn’t know one of the men with them, other than that Alexandria had told me it was her new attorney. The screen had their names, even Isaac’s.

I’d never felt overly attached to most of the staff at Montague. There were only special ones who’d stayed with us through the years: Jane and Brantley. The tea bubbled in my stomach at the thought of Brantley purchasing drugs for Alton’s plan.

It was the memories of Jane that brought me relief. That was the same feeling I had seeing Isaac following Alexandria. Relief and gratitude. I’d been so close to pushing her into a life with Bryce, with a man who could murder someone in cold blood and show no remorse.

His picture came on the screen. He was leaving the jail, flanked by Ralph Porter and Suzanna. I scanned the crowd for Alton. Surely he’d be there, but he wasn’t.

“Amore mio.”

I turned away from the television to the loving gaze, the one that saw what no one else had seen, had tried to see.

“You’re sad?”

I nodded, unaware that my cheeks were damp.

“Talk to me.”

I looked down into the mug. The warm golden liquid moved as my hands trembled.

Oren reached for the cup and placed it on the table as he sat beside my legs, his warmth against me. “I’m listening.”

I lifted one of his hands to my cheek and tilted my face into his palm. Closing my eyes, I felt the dampness as more tears fell. “I don’t want to be sad.”

“I don’t want you to be sad.” He looked at the television. The reporter was speaking about the penalty for murder in the state of Georgia. Felony murder carried the possibility of death, or to life in prison with the possibility of parole in 25 to 30 years. “I can’t believe a young woman is dead. I can’t believe I’m alive. I can’t believe any of this.”

Oren’s cheeks rose as small lines formed in the corners of his eyes. “Death is sad.”

I nodded.

“Being alive shouldn’t be. My dear, we have a whole life to live.”

“I think I’m ready.”

His smile grew. “Then we will live.”

My lids fell, my lashes damp as they closed. “First, I need to talk to him. I need to talk to an attorney.”

“Not in that order.”

“What?” I asked as Oren came back into view.

“An attorney first.”

“I know you’re right, but I owe him…”

“No, you don’t owe that bastard a thing. You don’t think he knows. He knows where you are. He even knows who you’re with. Adelaide, this is a game of chess, or if you like, make it a game of Battleship. I don’t care.” He grinned.

A memory of the two of us playing Battleship came back to my now-clear mind. We’d met at a small bed and breakfast in the middle of the Ozarks. It was hidden away in the dead of winter. How I made it up the icy roads I’ll never know. When we woke, we had another foot of snow. The roads were closed. Other than the caretakers, we were alone in a winter wonderland.

The cabin where we stayed had electricity and a fireplace. The shelves were filled with books and games that had been used by hundreds of other guests. Somehow one of us pulled out the box.

I was sad to say I’d never played the game. My daughter would probably have loved it, but I’d never played it or any games with her. Instead of demeaning me for my confession, Oren admitted that he too had never played. Never as a child or an adult.

In the middle of a cabin, isolated in what looked like a snow globe from the window, we sat on a shag rug in front of a fire and played Battleship. We didn’t play one game. Over the course of our three-day reprieve, we played it over and over. Each game was more strategic. Each game became a new challenge, because we had knowledge and experience. We learned one another’s strategies and weaknesses.

I took a deep breath. “He knows me.”

Oren nodded. “And you know him.”

“I do.”

“I agree it’s time. I didn’t want to rush you, but you need to make a move. What will he expect?”

“Submission. Acceptance. For me to acquiesce to whatever he demands.”

“Can you imagine his board, the way he has his ships aligned?”

Another tear fell. “Do you think I can?”