“You don’t get to ask that,” Jessica snapped before Steven had a chance to respond.
“I’m your husband, Jess. I believe I have a right to know who the man is that my wife is clinging so tightly to.”
Jessica had to force her teeth apart to answer him. “You gave up any rights you had to me when you put me in this place.”
Defeat took up residence in Owen’s eyes. “I did what I thought was best. If you would just talk to me, I—”
“Move!” Jessica snapped, holding her husband’s gaze.
He hesitated a moment longer and then stepped to the side.
Jessica clung tightly to Steven’s arm as he led her from the elevator and down the hall to the exit.
“I apologize for that,” she rushed out the second they cleared the hospital doors. “Had I known we would run into him, I would have suggested we take the stairs.”
Steven jerked his chin toward a row of vehicles not far from the hospital entrance. “I’m parked over there. And you have nothing to apologize for. You couldn’t have known he’d be there.”
Jessica made her way to Steven’s car and opened the passenger side door. “No, but I should have guessed he would.”
Steven got behind the wheel and inserted the key into the ignition. “Where would you like to go?”
“Anywhere but home.”
The car started on cue. “Anywhere, it is.”
Jessica snapped on her seatbelt, relieved to feel the air conditioning blowing on her overheated face. She turned to stare out the window, watching as the hospital slowly disappeared from view.
It took her a second to realize Steven was speaking to her. She twisted her head around to face him. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I asked if you were hungry.”
She wasn’t, but she couldn’t recall the last time she’d eaten anything. “A little. Whatever you want is fine by me. I’m not particular.”
“My kind of woman,” Steven teased, pulling onto the main road. He quickly sped toward the busy intersection in the distance, leaving Owen and that dreadful hospital far behind.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Jessica finished everything on her plate and was working on dessert when Steven leaned back in his chair with a groan.
“I can’t eat another bite,” he pointed out unnecessarily, nodding toward his now empty dish.
Jess picked up her napkin and wiped her mouth. “That was delicious. I had no idea how hungry I actually was until I took the first bite.”
“I’ve always been a huge fan of Mexican food.” Steven took a drink of his water before continuing. “It’s second only to sushi in my book.”
“Sushi is my favorite as well.” She picked up her sweating water glass, watching the small ice-cubes float around inside. “I have to figure out a way to clear my name.”
Returning his glass to the table, Steven held her gaze for long moments. “I agree. We just need to figure out where to start.”
“I think we should begin with Eustice Martin.”
Steven didn’t blink. “Easy enough. We can go back to my office and pull up everything I had on him from years ago. But that’s only going to get us so far. We need to find out what was used to write the words on your wall, and also see if we can locate Sandy Weaver’s murder weapon.”
“You think Eustice would keep the murder weapon just lying around? Assuming he did it, that is.”
With a shrug, Steven dug his wallet out of his pocket. “Hard to say, but since he’s not a suspect, I doubt he’d go out of his way to hide it. Especially if he intends to use it to frame you.”
Jessica’s heart summersaulted. “Frame me?”
“If he killed Sandy Weaver, it was to make it look as if you did it. Otherwise, what would be the point in killing her?”
“Maybe because she was a psychic, and he worried she might see something?”
Steven shook his head. “Doubtful. If she hadn’t seen anything before now or turned him in after thirteen years for threatening her, he probably didn’t consider her a threat. No, I’m thinking someone killed her to make you look guilty.”
Jessica’s food settled like a brick in her stomach. “He’s the only one who had motive to kill her.”
“Perhaps, but we don’t know that for certain. We have no idea what all she was involved in. She could have been killed for reasons that had nothing to do with you, and you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Then they might never know who killed her. Which will always leave me their prime suspect.”
Laying enough money on the table to cover the bill and the tip, Steven pushed his chair back and stood. “Stop worrying, Jess. As long as they don’t have a murder weapon, that’s all you’ll ever be to them…a suspect.”
Jess didn’t want to be suspected of killing Sandy any more than she wanted Owen suspecting her of breaking into their home and leaving those words on the wall. “I just want this all to end, Steven.”
“I know you do.” He offered her his hand, which she readily accepted.
How was it that a man she barely knew could make her feel safe and protected, while her own husband—the man who’d vowed to cherish her until death do they part—could betray her?
Steven’s warm palm closed around her hand, his thumb grazing softly over her knuckles. “I promise you, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“I wish I had your optimism.”
Another swipe of his thumb across her knuckles. “I wasn’t always so optimistic. It took years of digging, researching, and bloodhounding to develop that particular skill. I’ve learned that the truth can always be found if you dig deep enough.”
Once they reached the car, Steven released his hold on her hand and unlocked her door. “You’re welcome to the guesthouse if you need a place to crash for a while.”
“I couldn’t possibly impose.” She ducked into the passenger seat.
Steven closed her door, skirted the front of the car and got behind the wheel. “It’s no imposition. In fact, stay as long as you’d like.”
Jessica wasn’t sure how she felt about staying in Steven’s guesthouse, but the alternative would be a motel room without transportation. She highly doubted that Owen would allow her access to her car, especially after her earlier stunt in the elevator.
The look in Owen’s eyes had secretly torn at Jessica’s heart, yet for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why. He didn’t trust her, and he’d gone so far as to accuse her of staging the break in. Not to mention having her Baker Acted.
She moved around the small guesthouse, admiring the furnishings. Steven had excellent taste, she noted, running the palm of her hand along the back of a red loveseat. Owen had never taken an interest in their home’s décor, leaving all the furnishing decisions to Jess.
Why was she comparing the two men as if they were in some sort of competition? Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Steven trusted her. He didn’t think her crazy or unhinged, and if he did, he hid it well.
A knock sounded on the door, startling Jess.
“It’s open,” she called, knowing without looking that it would be Steven.
He stepped into the room, holding a thick folder in his arms. “I thought we could start here.”
Jessica nodded toward the folder. “What is that?”
“Some of the notes I took when I was covering the Dayton boy’s disappearance.”
Steven set the folder down on a small coffee table and took a seat on the red loveseat. Taking hold of the corner, he flipped the folder open. “Have a look.”
Ambling over to sit next to him, Jess plucked up the first paper in the thick stack. It happened to be a picture of the drunk, blond man she’d had a confrontation with not long ago. “This is Dale Schroder. Why would you have a photo of him, was he a suspect?”
“No, but he had no alibi for the night Terry went missing. He also refused to cooperate during the investigation.”
Jess studied the picture closely, noticing a certain emptiness to Dale’s eyes. “He looks like your typical weirdo to me.”