Page 29

Her eyes shimmered with tears, making Hawke feel like the lowest form of humanity. Which was damn stupid. He could show her why he’d had doubts. He had tons of proof.
Instead, because he couldn’t give her any more pain now, he hedged. “I had some…questions.”
“Questions? About whether or not I was a killer? These people were my friends, my family. How could you believe I would do something like that?”
He had never seriously considered that she could be involved. Yes, there had been evidence, more than enough to rouse suspicion. But both his heart and his gut had been in agreement on this. Until his entire life had literally blown up.
“Why, Hawke?” she asked again. “Why would you believe something like that?”
He threw a small amount of info her way. “You were in Mexico when Rio was killed.”
“What?” she mocked sarcastically. “You thought I took a quick break from rescuing children from a human trafficking ring, jumped on a plane to go kill my friend, and then went back to work?”
He flinched at that. Yes, it sounded boneheaded, but there was more.
“A woman fitting your description was seen in the area minutes before he was killed.”
“I’m sure there was more than one blond woman in Ixtapa that could fit my description.”
“You were the only one who knew Layla was in Nashville. We all thought she was still in Fiji.”
“So because my friend, my very good friend, wanted to keep her location private from everyone but me, you assume I used that information to kill her?” She shook her head in wonderment. “Who are you, Hawke? What happened to the man I married? How could you believe the woman you supposedly loved, the woman who shared her body and soul with you, is a cold-blooded killer?”
“I don’t think you’re a cold-blooded killer. Maybe you said something to someone or—”
“So which is it? Either I’m a cold-blooded, heartless killer, or I’m too bloody stupid to know how to keep secrets? Make up your mind.”
This was the time he should tell her. It’s the reason he’d come in here to talk to her. If he explained everything, she would see exactly why he’d made the decisions he had.
The pain in her eyes, the trembling of her mouth stopped him cold. She had plastered herself against the door, and her body looked so fragile, so tired. So crushed. The hurt in her eyes could not be faked…not like this. Knowledge stunned him into immobility, and he inhaled a breathless gasp as the truth washed through him. Olivia really was innocent. She truly had no idea what had happened. Even as his gut had told him repeatedly that she hadn’t been responsible, the resulting agony had tainted his every thought.
He couldn’t hurt her any more tonight. The truth would tear her to pieces, and hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do.
“We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
Her shoulders slumped farther, and she moved away from the door, no longer interested in trying to stop him. “Then leave. I’m tired of your vague innuendos.”
He stopped with his hand on the doorknob when she said softly, “I always thought we had the perfect relationship, the perfect marriage. That nothing could tear us apart. Now I see we really had nothing but lies between us from the start.”
Unable to deny her statement, Hawke walked out the door.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dressed in running shoes, a long T-shirt, and shorts, Olivia stepped outside her bedroom. It was still early, just before six, but she had slept fitfully and had given up trying at dawn. With her mind whirling from all that she’d learned and all the questions she still had, sleep was impossible.
When she and Hawke had been with OZ, they’d stayed here frequently. The accommodations were better than any hotel. The views and hiking trails were second to none. When possible, she would wake before dawn and hike. There were several trails, but her favorite was an easy two-mile trek to one of the most spectacular views she’d ever witnessed. She’d often thought that if anyone ever doubted the existence of a creator, this view would convince them. There was no way this magnificence had happened by accident.
Since she hadn’t eaten the food Hawke had brought her last night, her stomach was an empty cavern. Hoping to avoid running into anyone, she grabbed a couple of energy bars and a bottle of water from the kitchen. Rose always made sure there were plenty of supplies.
She stepped out onto the back porch and drew in a breath of fresh, crisp air. It was early September, and autumn was already peeking around the corner. Leaves were turning, and a mossy, earthy scent wafted on the breeze. Hawke used to laugh at her when she told him she could smell the seasons. Each one had its own unique scent. He’d told her she was part bloodhound.
Hawke.
She took off down the steps, running at a slow, easy pace toward the beginning of the trail. With each step, she felt freer and less burdened. If only she could outrun her thoughts. The last two days had been a revelation. Not only was her husband alive, he had believed she was a traitor. That she had killed their friends.
After all they’d shared, all they’d been through, if he could believe that about her, nothing they’d had was real. Having been trained to endure physical discomfort and pain, nothing could control the hurt she felt. She had valued Hawke’s opinion above anyone else’s. What did it say about their marriage that he could believe she could be that evil?
How could everything you believed about yourself, about your life, be a lie? Reaching the beginning of the trail’s incline, she set a brutal pace, her legs eating up the distance as she tried to come to terms with why he believed she could be a traitor. What flaw or defect did she have that could make anyone believe she could do that, much less the man who supposedly knew her better than anyone?