There were words, and hugs, but Sutton was so tired and relieved she hardly understood them, just clung to Ethan’s hand as they made their way out to the parking lot where the unmarked car awaited them. As they got into the car, Sutton saw Ethan and the cop share a look, an almost marital glance of understanding. She felt a second of jealousy, but pushed it away when Ethan plopped into the back seat next to her with a grin, grasped her hand, and passionately kissed her lips. She saw the cop look at them with something akin to satisfaction on her face, and felt only gratitude.
Ethan was a handsome man, and he’d clearly been through something with this cop, but Sutton was not going to allow her petty emotions to get in the way of a true and full reconciliation with her husband. Never again would she doubt him. Never.
Goodness, she was feeling emphatic.
The drive to Franklin was slow, traffic south on I-65 heavy, and Ethan and the cop filled her in on everything they knew. It was the safest conversational topic. Sutton had things to say, confessions to make, and she sensed Ethan did as well, but those revelations would have to wait. They needed to be made in private, with care and understanding.
But as the car wound its way south, the words from their mouths were still difficult. Ethan held tightly to her hand the whole time, and she allowed their words to wash over her.
“We’ve positively identified the woman who was supposed to be you. An immigrant who answered an ad in the paper.”
“When she hit me, I had a second to look in her eyes, and they were blank, empty.”
“She used a wig and your rings to make it look like you.”
“They reopened Dashiell’s case. He was most likely murdered, but he wouldn’t have felt a thing, just went to sleep and didn’t wake up.”
“It seems she put software on the computers that allowed her to see every keystroke, so she had passwords, access to your accounts, everything. She and her friend were the ones behind the internet incident, and she was the one who went to the reviewer’s house dressed as you, facial recognition positively ID’d her.”
“I think she stole $50,000 from our accounts, just because she could.”
“The French aren’t pursuing charges against you, but you’re going to need to make a full statement so my boss can decide whether to press charges. No, I don’t know if he will. It all depends on what happens when we find her.”
“Filly and Ellen and Rachel were senseless with worry. They thought I did it, though. Not sure we can have them over for dinner again.”
“Yes, the man’s real name is Hank Tomkins, and we’re waiting to see what sort of deal they gave him, but he’ll do extensive jail time for the murders.”
“I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“No, we don’t know where she is.”
“Officer Graham made detective. She was just given her badge. She was the only one who believed in me.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry it happened this way, but I’m glad I caught the case.”
Ah, there was the connection. She saw it now, gleaming like a silver thread between them. Not sexual. Gratitude. Ethan had been a suspect, but Graham had held back her judgment, sensing something wasn’t right about the case. Her instincts had been handsomely rewarded, and Sutton’s husband was a free man because of it.
Then, finally, “We think we might know why she’s done it, but I’m going to let you two discuss it. Here we are.”
The house on Third Avenue appeared. The cocoon of safety in the car vanished. There were two more police cars sitting outside the house, and a man on her porch wearing a uniform.
Ivy was still out there. They weren’t going to be safe until she was in handcuffs.
Detective Graham spoke into her walkie-talkie, then said, “Okay, we’re clear. Let’s get you inside. I still wish you’d let me get you a hotel room somewhere.”
“We’ve been through this,” Ethan said. “We’re no safer there than we are here. Come on, sweetheart.”
He shielded her body and hurried her inside. Graham searched the house—overkill, surely, if there were guards—but Sutton didn’t care. She only wanted to be safe, and then, to be alone. Graham talked to the man on the front porch, then gave Ethan and Sutton a small salute. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
Sutton was surprised she was being given this much latitude but didn’t complain. When the door closed, she went to Ethan, put her arms around him. The hug was long and meaningful, the kiss sweet and soft.
And then she said, “We need to talk.”
He cradled her chin in his hand, his smile gentle and forgiving. “We do. Darling, why didn’t you tell me you had a baby?”
YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN
Holly was running late. She’d promised to be at the table by eight sharp; her father was a tyrant for punctuality. Thankfully the Montclairs’ house was just around the corner from the restaurant. She felt good. This case wasn’t over, not by a long shot, but the two of them were reunited, and safe, for now.
There were no parking spots on Main Street. She drove around the corner, found an empty space three blocks away on Bridge Street. If she hurried, she’d only be five minutes late, would only receive a heavy-lidded glance and purse of the lips before an enfolding bear hug.
She hated to be late for her father.
She locked the car, the familiar squawking beep ringing out. She turned her mind to the menu. She was famished; she’d shoved down a bag of cookies from the vending machine at the airport, riding through the afternoon on a wave of crumbly sugar and coffee.
She ran through the conversation. Moreno was tough; a great cop. She’d already learned so much, knew she had much, much more to go. But she’d done it. She’d made it.
She fingered the shield on her hip, a small smile on her face. This was going to be an excellent dinner. She could already see the pride in her father’s eyes when she brought it out to show him. So yes, he’s pushing me hard, but, Daddy, they made me detective!
Detective Graham.
The dinner would turn into a celebration immediately. They would drink champagne. She loved champagne, the tickle of it going down her throat, the warm surge from her stomach.
All thanks to Ethan Montclair. And her gut. Wow, Sutton Montclair in person was amazing. A Botticelli angel, carved of ivory. Holly could only imagine what the real hair color would make her look like. They were a pair, the two of them. Unforgettable.
The case that leapfrogged her career into action. She should buy them some wine or something.
A shadow formed behind her.
She caught it out of the corner of her eye, a flash reflection in the window of the building she was walking past.
The hair stood up on the back of her neck.
She turned just in time to deflect the first thrust of the knife. It caught her in the shoulder. She gasped and got her hands up, but her attacker was fast, and had the advantage of surprise.
The blade stabbed again, and this time, Holly felt the flesh of her stomach part. The knife was large, it went deep. There wasn’t pain, just shock and confusion and a sudden concern for her parents. They’d be waiting at the restaurant, worrying about her tardiness.
A searing fire began. Holly fell to her knees, hands cradling the handle of the blade jutting absurdly from her stomach. She heard the words, whispered, maybe she dreamed them, she didn’t know, it all hurt, so much pain, she’d never felt anything so horrible, she felt invaded, could feel every inch of the metal inside her. She tried to pull the knife away, felt the warm gush of blood, and realized she was dying.