I feel something between us, always that radiating heat, but this time more penetrating, turning my stomach sour.
“I guess you heard about Annie and Dede,” I say.
“Yeah. You have any information?”
“None,” I say. “I’m not on the inside anymore.”
“But you have that friend, that young cop. What’s her name again?”
Playing dumb. I’m not going to play back. “What do you want, Noah?”
He opens his hands. “Same thing you want,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I thought we were a team.”
So did I. Before you tried to help Aiden kill me.
“What’s wrong?” he says.
Ask him. Just ask him and see what he says.
“Were you adopted, Noah?”
He gives me a funny look. “Adopted? No.”
“You sure?”
“Am I sure I wasn’t adopted? I think I’d be sure about that.”
I look him over, try to read him. I’m not getting a solid hit either way.
“It’s public information,” I say. “I can find out.”
“I don’t think so,” he answers. “I don’t think adoptions are public information.”
“For a guy who wasn’t adopted, you seem to know a lot about them.”
“Murphy, what the hell?” He steps toward me. “What’s with this bizarre interrogation? I’ve been leaving you messages—”
“By the way,” I say, getting my Irish up now, “I went to Justin’s last night, like I told you I would. And guess who paid me a visit?”
He shakes his head. Playing dumb again.
“Aiden,” I say. “He came through a window at me. With a knife.”
“He what? Are you okay?”
“I wonder how he knew I’d be there, Noah. Got any ideas?”
He waves his hand, like he’s erasing something. “Wait a second, wait a second. You don’t think it was me—”
“Oh, no, of course not. It was probably the long list of other people who knew I was going to be at Justin’s last night. Oh, wait—nobody else knew.”
“Murphy, just hold on a second.”
He reaches for me, but I pull back.
“Don’t you touch me,” I say. “Don’t come near me ever again. Just know something, Noah—I will figure this out. You tell your buddies, whoever’s a part of this: I’m close. I’m going to nail all of you. Or die trying.”
Noah steps between me and my car.
“Okay, you got to talk,” he says. “Now I get to talk.”
“Get out of my way, or you’ll be sorry.”
“Hey!”
Noah and I both turn. Justin is jogging toward us, from the restaurant.
“Is there a problem?” he asks.
Noah glares at him. Something primitive in his eyes. These two are casual acquaintances—each has said a kind word about the other—but something passed between Noah and me last night, until I mentioned Justin. I remember the look on his face, the blow he suffered, even though I insisted Justin and I are just friends.
“Nothing that concerns you,” Noah says to Justin.
Justin stops short of us, looks at me. “Jenna?”
“It’s none of your business,” Noah says.
“You’re on my property, Noah. And you’re bothering my friend. So I think it is my business.”
“Stay out of this, Justin.” Noah squares off on Justin. “This is a private conversation.”
Two men, the macho thing, battling over the damsel’s honor. Only this damsel ain’t interested.
“Uh, guys? Over here?” I wave my hand. “I’m leaving. I’ll call you later, Justin. And Noah? Stay away from me.”
I climb into my car and slam the door. I start up the engine and throw it into reverse, gravel flying in my wake, then head north on the turnpike, unsure of my destination, only certain that wherever I’m going, I’m going alone.
94
I DRIVE HOME as darkness sweeps over Bridgehampton.
Aiden’s still out there, and while I seriously doubt he’d be dumb enough to hang around the Hamptons to take another shot at me, I take simple precautions. I lock the dead bolt and prop a chair against the door, and I move the dresser against the small window. It’s not much of a deterrent, but at least it will keep Aiden from doing another nose dive through a plate of glass.
I have almost nothing in my cupboard but some noodles, so I boil some water and drop them in.
Eat and sleep, Murphy. Or you’ll crumble like a stale cookie.
But I have no appetite. My stomach is a pool of nerves and chaos.
You’re getting closer, Murphy.
I push the plate of noodles aside.
But you’re not there yet.
Then two things happen at once, causing me to jump from my seat.
My cell phone buzzes, and my doorbell rings.
The phone is Ricketts. I punch it on while I move to the door.
I look through the peephole at the man standing at my door.
It’s Isaac Marks, our beloved chief of police.
“Ricketts, let me call you back,” I say into the phone. “Your boss is at the door.”
“No, Jenna, wait—”
I punch the phone off, release the dead bolt, and open the door.
And stare at the man who just might be responsible for the murder of eight people. Including the man he replaced as chief.