In Her Eyes Sarah Alderson (e book free reading txt) 📖

is watching,’ I tell him. ‘The lawyer told me we’re not being recorded. So you can tell me the truth.’

He turns to me with a queer expression on his face.

‘Did you do it, Robert? Did you organize the break-in? Did you pay those men to do it?’ My voice trembles.

Robert glowers at me.

‘They told me that you planned this,’ I say, trying to read him. ‘That you pawned all our things, you planned the break-in, paid people to do it . . . that you wanted me dead.’

Robert puts his clasped hands on the table and bows his head. He takes a deep breath then looks up at me. ‘Is that what you think?’ he asks.

‘I . . .’ I break off. I don’t know what I think.

‘Do you believe it?’ he asks, startling me with the anger in his voice.

‘I don’t know,’ I admit, shaking my head and fighting back tears.

The look he gives me could slice through flesh.

I swipe at my tears. ‘I’ve seen the evidence, Robert. What were you doing with those men? How do you even know them? Why did you increase the insurance premiums?’

He just stares at me and his expression is impossible to fathom. I’m the one who has to look away first because I can’t bear it. It reminds me of the time we went to the Grand Canyon for our honeymoon. One glance over the edge had me scrambling back to safety, away from the abyss. I couldn’t look down again. I was too afraid of how it made me feel.

For a minute Robert and I sit in silence, the fissure between us widening.

‘How’s June?’ he suddenly asks.

I look up. How are we talking about June? ‘She’s the same,’ I hear myself answer. I close my eyes again. Did he do it? If he did, then he’s the one responsible for what happened to June. It’s on him.

‘And Gene?’ Robert asks.

‘I don’t know,’ I snap. ‘I haven’t seen him. I had to call him and leave a voicemail telling him about you, just in case he hadn’t seen the news yet. I’ve had to leave a hysterical Hannah with Laurie. She’s asking me what the hell is going on and what do I say? What do I tell her?!’

Still more silence.

‘For God’s sake, Robert . . . talk to me! Tell me what you were doing with those men. Tell me the damn truth!’

He snorts a little at that. ‘The truth? That’s rich, coming from you.’

‘What?’

‘Asking for the truth. When all you do is keep secrets.’

I draw in a sharp, stabbing breath and stare at him, alarmed.

‘You think I didn’t know?’ he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘Know what?’ I ask, my back stiffening, my pulse skittering.

‘About you and the Sheriff.’

The air is punched out of me. ‘There’s nothing to know.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’

He presses his lips together so tight they bleach and nods thoughtfully. ‘So before you saw the Sheriff in the hospital you hadn’t seen him in over twenty years – is that right?’

Blood pounds in my face as though someone is beating on a drum. ‘I . . . no . . .’

‘Don’t, Ava,’ he growls. ‘Don’t lie.’

‘I’m not,’ I protest.

‘Yes, you are. I know about you and him.’

My mouth is dry and my heart has started galloping. What does he know? And how does he know it?

‘You told me you were going to book club. There was no book club. I saw you together in that restaurant.’

Oh God. ‘Robert—’ I start to say.

‘I don’t want to hear it,’ Robert spits and he gets up, crosses to the door and bangs on it with his fists.

‘Robert,’ I say, standing up on legs that threaten to give way, the floor sliding beneath my feet.

‘I want to get out!’ Robert hollers.

A key rattles in the lock.

‘Robert,’ I stammer again. ‘You can’t just go. We need to talk. We need to . . .’

Robert turns around. ‘Save it for lover boy,’ he sneers. His eyes narrow. ‘Is he the one who sent you in here for a confession?’

I don’t answer and he shakes his head at me in disgust. ‘It was, wasn’t it?’

The door opens and a uniformed cop takes Robert by the arm and starts leading him back to the cells.

‘Robert!’ I shout, following him out into the corridor. He can’t just leave like this. We need to talk.

‘Tell the kids I love them,’ he calls over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

Chapter 22

18 MONTHS AGO

It’s just coffee.

I keep saying that to myself. It’s just coffee. But if it’s just coffee, why did I lie to my family and tell them I was going to a book club meeting? If it’s just coffee, why did I take extra care with my makeup and wear the perfume I save for special occasions? Why did I spend three hours trying on different outfits and then, exasperated at how middle-aged I looked in all of them, drive fifty miles into Santa Barbara and spend almost a thousand dollars on a new dress, a pair of Spanx, and a cripplingly high pair of shoes? If it’s just coffee, why did I delete the text invite from my phone?

I keep telling myself that it’s just coffee. Except it isn’t. And the moment I walk into Coffee Connection and see Nate, rising from his seat to greet me, I know that.

Two days after we ran into each other he sent a text message asking if I wanted to grab a coffee. He’d got my number from one of the forms I’d filled in prior to them releasing Gene. I hadn’t expected him to call. I thought the comment about owing him coffee was a joke, just one of those throwaway comments you make, like when I tell Sam, Abby’s mom, that I’d love to go to her church fundraiser, or tell the PTA women that of course I don’t mind running as chair again.

Is it wrong to admit that my heart skipped a beat when I saw the text? Hannah tried to peer over my shoulder to read it and I quickly dropped the phone to