“It was?”
“I woke up in her bed at the hotel. She was wearing expensive lingerie, lounging in the bed, so thrilled when I woke. She kissed me, and took a picture of us together in the bed. A selfie. I was too much in shock to think straight. I had a wicked hangover, my head was fit to burst, and I didn’t remember anything past the drink at the bar the night before. Running into her felt odd at the time, but I’d had a few pops, and was surrounded by strangers and sycophants. I was relieved when she sidled up to me, all surprised, what a coincidence, we’re at the same hotel, and we chatted for a few. I hit the loo, came back, and that’s the last I recall until I woke up and she showed me the pictures.”
“Sounds to me like she may have dropped a little something in your drink, something to make you compliant.”
Ethan set the ice pack on the table. “You’re being kind. I don’t remember, but even if she slipped me the Mickey, it’s no excuse. Sutton and I were having trouble. Ivy had been hanging around a lot. I was happy to see her, I remember that. Happy to have a friendly face. She may have tricked me, might even have drugged me, but I’ll bet I went willingly. I am such a complete arse.”
“That’s your conscience speaking, not mine.”
“She’s had that hanging over me for over a year. Every time I saw her, I was filled with shame and revulsion. And Sutton, I couldn’t tell her the truth. I admitted screwing around, but I swore it was a nobody. That’s what Wilde had on me. He was threatening to tell Sutton the woman was Ivy, not some inconsequential barmaid.”
“It’s solid blackmail material, for sure.”
“It would have killed her. She would have left me without a backward glance. Everything I’ve done has been to prevent that from happening. I love my wife, Officer Graham.”
“I don’t doubt that for a moment, Mr. Montclair.”
“Where is Ivy now? What’s her next play?”
“I have no idea. Like I said, we’re looking for her. And we’re going to have protection here around the clock until we find her. I get the sense she’s not done yet.”
“Why? Why would she do this? Why would she target us like this? Is she barking mad, or is she wanting something? Money, fame? What is she after? What does she possibly stand to gain by hurting us like this? To ruin our lives, to take our child from us? What sort of madwoman does such a thing? I don’t understand.”
Graham played with the edge of a place mat. Ethan caught the gesture. She knew something. There was more. He steeled himself.
“What is it? I can tell you’re holding something back.”
Graham looked up, and he saw true pity in her gaze.
“There is one last thing. I need to talk to you about what happened to your wife when she was a teenager.”
LEAVIN’, ON A JET PLANE
Paris, France
Things quieted down. Ethan, left alone to write and come to terms with the lies his wife had told him, was under constant watch by the Franklin Police in case Brookes tried to hurt him again. And as a reward for her hard work, Moreno sent Holly Graham to Paris to bring Sutton Montclair home.
The agreements made between the two governments on the charges to be filed against Sutton Montclair and Hank Tomkins were drawn up and executed in near record time, considering. The French had been quite cooperative in the terms of Sutton’s extradition agreement, most likely because the FBI was going to let them have a crack at Hank Tomkins sooner rather than later, an action met with resounding approval by the Parisian police. Such a high-profile murder case solved so quickly made everyone feel better.
Graham arrived at the station on Rue Fabert in the morning, looking sharp considering the red-eye flight she’d just been on. She met with Amelie Badeau for fifteen minutes, signed a great deal of paperwork, and was then escorted to meet Sutton Montclair, who was alone in an interview room.
Sutton brightened when she heard Graham’s soft Southern accent. Relief coursed through her. Whatever her punishment was to be, at least she’d be doing it on home soil.
The cop was pretty in a Tennessee back-roads way: pert nose, white-blond hair, narrow hips, a black-and-gold badge attached to the belt of her gray slacks, a gun strapped to the other side. Young. Excited. Tired.
Badeau and Graham escorted Sutton back to her flat in the 7th, where she packed her small new life into her small new used suitcase and ruefully accepted the fact that she was never going to be allowed back into France again.
Despite this, she counted herself lucky.
Badeau drove them to the airport herself. Along the way, Badeau and Graham shared what they felt was appropriate for Sutton to know about the case, Badeau reciting the facts animatedly in her staccato accent; Graham supplementing with her side of the story. Sutton couldn’t help herself; she really wanted to make both of them characters in her next book. Assuming she’d ever sell one again.
Sutton learned Ivy Brookes had gone to ground. No one knew where she was. After her incident with Ethan, who was sporting a wicked black eye and a broken nose, she’d departed the house on Third Avenue and disappeared.
Constantine’s real name was Hank, and the only thing he’d allowed Sutton to see that was real were the bones under his skin. The entire conceit of the man she knew as Constantine Raffalo was a carefully manufactured persona designed specifically to attract Sutton, a bee to honey, from his worldly accent to their intimate conversations. Sutton had always been easily seduced; with three years of friendship confessions to Ivy, Hank was playing with a full deck of information on how to work Sutton to the core.
Sutton was embarrassed. She’d been had by a brilliant con, yes, but she’d been searching for something to break her from her life and had seized upon the first available dick to do so. It was beneath her. The indignity of it rankled.
When she mentioned it, Badeau told her not to worry. Lesser women had been felled by lesser men. Sutton got the sense Badeau may have known whence she spoke, and left it alone.
The deal negotiated meant Badeau saw them onto the plane and then waved them away. Graham wasn’t much of a talker, so once they were buckled in their uncomfortable, last row window/aisle seats, Sutton accepted the headset from the flight attendant and plugged in, pretending to watch a movie, and instead stared out the window at the darkening sky, trying to come to grips with her new normal, where she was escorted onto flights by police officers, and probably faced severe punishment at home.
After takeoff, once the meager meal had been served, it was clear to both women that neither was truly resting, and so they began to talk. Cautiously at first, but Sutton soon realized the blonde cop knew more about her than any woman she’d ever met, and so she let down her guard completely, and told her the whole story, start to finish.
SHINE A BRIGHT LIGHT IN THE CORNERS