Stirred (29 page)

“What guy?” she interrupted.

“That tool in the Mercedes I saw you with down the street from Starbucks. I didn’t like the way he treated you,” I explained, and Trin’s face paled noticeably. “But I stayed out of it, because you looked strangely content. And given that new trinket on your finger, I’d say you still are. So, even though I don’t understand what you see in him, I figure it’s none of my business. Just like Eden is none of yours.”

Trin took a step closer. “Except
I
felt responsible for you and that woman, for putting you in that position. I pushed and you played.”

I tightened the small gap until I hovered above her, mere inches from her stoic face. “And why was that, I wonder? Was I just another one of your subjects? Because I thought there was more between us, Trin. I trusted you, and you used that against me.” I shook my head in disgust. “You fucking women. You’re all the same. Deceitful, self-serving—”

“Don’t you lump me in with Hayley and that…that woman. I’m
nothing
like them.”

“No, you’re right. You’re worse, because what we had was so much more.”

She snorted. “Well,
I’m
not the one who threw everything away over a good fuck.”

“True. You threw it away for far less.” I shook my head and sighed. “Goodbye, Trinitee.” I offered a clumsy salute, turned, and walked away.

I made the ten-minute drive back to my building in downtown Bellevue, going over every word Trin and I had said to each other. Several things she’d brought up stuck out, particularly Eden’s wealth, like Trin knew exactly how much Eden and her husband were worth. And she seemed to already know that something had happened between me and Eden. But how could she? I’d never said a word about that. And lastly, it struck me odd how Trinitee looked, her face paling and her eyes wide when I’d admitted seeing her with that suit near Starbucks. But what could she possibly have been worried about? Maybe because I knew something about her she’d never seen fit to share.

I thought back on that day at Starbucks, on Trin’s reaction when she saw me walk in right after her. Her eyes were wide in shock, and her flesh blushed bright pink. But Trinitee never blushed, because she was never self-conscious or embarrassed. On the contrary, she was the epitome of cool and collected. Always confident. So why had she reacted that way? It didn’t make any sense…unless…she was hiding something. But what? Only thing I could think of was the asshole on the sidewalk. Maybe Trin
was
embarrassed after all if she thought I’d seen their exchange, the way he’d treated her and her reaction to that—or lack thereof. But that made little sense either, because she often acted out of character around people she studied. It was how she managed to get them to engage and drop their guard so she could coax the most out of them.

But even still, my intuition told me it was more than that. It was the man himself. So, as I pulled my car into the assigned parking space at my building and slipped it into park, I replayed, very methodically, the scene on the sidewalk, over and over, every detail from the moment he pulled curbside. Something about it resonated with me, a sense of familiarity. And then it hit me—the car, the man. I’d seen them before. Or rather, since. Last night, out front of Eden’s house. It was the same car model. And when I spied on Eden with her husband—same height, same build, same color hair—he could easily be the same man. Which meant…

Trin knew Declan Ross. She’d been seeing him.

I wondered if she knew who he was, how we were connected. But that was a stupid question. Of course she knew. Trin
always
knew. But what did it mean? How did everything fit together? Who was manipulating who? More importantly, who was using
me
? Trinitee? Eden? Her asshole husband? Perhaps all three? And what exactly was I being used
for
? What was the end game here?

Jesus Christ…so much for being best friends!

Paranoia began to close in on me, and I suddenly felt claustrophobic in my car, like I was being watched or monitored somehow. I turned the engine off and popped my door open, scanning the surrounding area before swinging it wide. Once I did and stood from the driver’s seat, I was hit with a wave of dizziness that drove me to my knees onto the concrete pavement. I cursed myself for drinking over at Trin’s, but, though it had been strong liquor, for me, it hadn’t been so much that I would be impaired.

With a shake of my head, I gathered myself up, closed the door, and secured my car. From there, I walked to the elevator. After a woozy ride up to the forty-first floor, I barely managed to make it into my apartment when another surge of vertigo engulfed me, this one much stronger than the last. I tumbled to the wood floor as the world tilted and spun. Intense heat began to creep from my gut to my face and the tips of my fingers and toes. I crawled to the living room, intent on climbing onto the cool leather sofa, but I only made it as far as the plush area rug, where I crumpled, face up.

I stared up at the ceiling, concentrating hard on my breathing, on the rapid beat of my heart that seemed to be accelerating at an alarming rate. That’s all I could hear, my breathing and my heart, hammering, thrashing, wheezing, until the very walls around me seemed to collapse inward, and all I could see was a single, far away light. But even that started to fade, growing smaller and dimmer, until it flickered out altogether, and I was left in silent darkness.

It was a good effort. Gave it everything I could, willing myself to lie still, remain relaxed, and not think too much. But, no matter how hard I tried, I could
not
ignore the pounding in my head as it grew louder and harder and ever more intense each and every second. Nothing worked, certainly not rolling over in bed with a pillow covering my face. I moaned as reality slammed into me with the force of a locomotive, and the drumming grew so insanely acute, it seemed to fill not just my head or even my bedroom, but the entire house.

I chucked the pillow aside, wanting only to retrieve the bottle of ibuprofen from my nightstand, until I realized the pounding
was
actually filling the entire house, because someone was hammering on my front door. Instead of the pain reliever, I fished my iPad out of my bedside table and pulled up the home security app. I’d had four DropCams installed on the property, one at each of the most frequently used exterior doors. I found the feed for the one at the front entry and clicked on it. In an instant, the image filled the screen.

“What the hell?” I whispered as I sat straight up in bed.

Two men stood at my front door, one a young uniformed policeman, the other older and wearing a cheap sport coat over a wilted button-down with a loosened tie at his neck. I pressed the audio button on the app and spoke into the microphone on my iPad.

“May I help you?” I asked, wincing at the pain exploding between my temples.

“Mrs. Declan Ross?” the grey-haired one asked as he looked up at the camera. His blue eyes were so intense. He reminded me of a rugged version of Anderson Cooper.

I pressed the audio button again and replied, “Yes?” as the ticking in my chest amped up to equalize the pummeling in my head.

“Mrs. Ross, would you come to the door, please? We need to speak with you,” he requested, his voice pleasant and silky smooth.

“Oh, um…sure, I guess…but…would you mind showing me your ID first?”

He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a wallet. Opening it, he held the badge and ID up to the camera. “If you wouldn’t mind, Mrs. Ross, we have some urgent business to discuss.”

“Is everything okay?” I asked right before a terrifying thought hit me. “It’s not Ian, is it? My son? He’s not hurt or in trouble, is he?” I threw the covers off and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, but had to stop when the world simultaneously spun and threatened to explode. I wrapped my arm around my head to keep the pieces from flying free.

“No, ma’am. We’re not here about your son, but we’d like to talk with you in person, so if you wouldn’t mind…”

I paused in relief. “All right, um…just…give me a few minutes. I’m not dressed.”

The men glanced at each other before they each nodded and took a step back, almost in unison. I stood gingerly and waited for the worst of the pain to ebb before trudging to the bathroom. After taking care of my needs, I splashed cold water on my face, rinsed with mouthwash, and tried to pull a brush through my hair. I’d forgotten to pull it back into a ponytail before bed, so now it was a wild nest of mats on one side and frizz on the other.

Pretty foolish of me to drink the entire bottle of Palmer’s. The ’61 Bordeaux wasn’t even a favorite of mine, but it was Declan’s. I’d only settled on it because I knew how much it meant to him and wanted purely to spite him. It was a bottle he was saving for a special occasion, but that didn’t mean my birthday or our anniversary or any other family event, but rather to impress some other investor he fancied a competitor. Why he’d save a $7,000 bottle of wine for someone he loathed was beyond me. But then again, I’d taken great pleasure in dusting off the last drop after Declan had stormed off last night following our latest spat.

Granted, things had escalated way beyond the usual hurtful words we tended to hurl back and forth. I’d even drawn blood and had dented both his manhood and his considerable pride. But he deserved it. And, after everything I’d promised Sean, I’d felt a certain responsibility to make sure Declan knew precisely where I stood. He’d left quickly, and I assumed he wouldn’t be back for at least another day, maybe two.

“He’s probably with Aurelia,” I said to my reflection as I secured the last button on my plain, white cotton blouse.

I smoothed down each leg on my jeans and slipped on a pair of cozy UGG slippers. After a pinch to each pasty cheek and a bite along my pale lips, I made my way up the long south wing hall, wincing at the sharp morning light filtering in through the exterior wall of windows. With one last deep breath, I opened the front door.

The uniformed officer and his companion, who’d been chatting on the flagstone walkway, both took several steps closer until they were but a few feet away as I stood in the open doorway.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I was in bed with a nasty headache.”

The younger officer—dark-haired with olive skin and amber-colored eyes—stood unmoved with his hands resting on his well-equipped gun belt, his brow set low and his jaw rigid. His colleague looked more relaxed, his expression serious, but friendly enough. His close-cropped, silver hair emphasized his sense of authority, so I locked in on him. He smiled, subtle, but enough to steady my uneasiness at the cops summoning me to my front door on a Sunday morning. It was then I noticed, both by the young man’s uniform, as well as his patrol cruiser, that they did not hail from the local Medina Police Department, but rather from Seattle, something I missed when I glanced at the ID.

“We apologize for disturbing your weekend, Mrs. Ross. I’m Detective Matt Reed, and this is Officer Amari,” the silver fox said as he nodded toward his partner.

I gave them each a tight-lipped smile and a nod of my own before focusing in on Reed. The fact he was a detective concerned me a great deal, and I wondered what on earth could have brought them to my doorstep.

“What can I help you with?” I asked.

The detective’s mouth mashed together for a moment, and he bowed his head. “May we come inside? Speak in private?”

I couldn’t help my eyes from bugging out a little as I worried even more what was serious enough to warrant a private conversation. Nervous, I swung the door wide and raised my arm to welcome the pair in. I ushered them to the kitchen and offered coffee and water, which they both declined. They were all business, both of them. Officer Amari removed his hat and stood at ease with his feet apart. Detective Reed laid his hands along the back of a barstool, the kitchen island between us.

“When was the last time you saw or spoke to your husband, Mrs. Ross?” Reed asked.

That he asked proved he knew Declan wasn’t home. “Why? Is he all right? I mean, was he drinking or something, get arrested?”