Page 30 of Anchor

“I remember,” I say hoarsely, and I lean heavily against the dash as I turn to face the man whose wife I couldn’t save. “I was the one leading the team.” By the end, my voice is barely audible.

“You’re the reason why I’m all alone, Mr. Rossi,” Jones says.

Chloe

My father was always a stoic man. In fact, I don’t think I can even remember ever seeing him cry. As a police officer, he’d seen a lot of horrific things and he was raised to keep those things locked up tight. I never saw him seek my mother out for comfort. He was affectionate, to a point, but not very open. I imagine he was that way because if he ever did open up, all the pain and fear and regret could never be shoved back in and sewn up again.

If he’d ever broken, I imagine he’d bear a striking resemblance to Gabe when he realizes why Jones orchestrated this whole horrific ordeal.

The fight goes out of him and he slumps against the console behind him. The string keeping his spine straight snaps and he crumples and his hands cover his eyes as though he can blot out the images running across his brain.

I itch to cross the room and offer him something, anything, to comfort him, but Jones towers by my side. He watches Gabe break with sick satisfaction. When I look back at Gabe, his fingers are trembling as he wipes the sweat from his brow.

I can’t even imagine how he’s feeling. I ache for him. I want him to curl up with his head in my lap so I can soothe his bleeding heart.

“She died,” Gabe says once he gains control of his emotions.

Jones nods. “She drowned less than a mile from whereyoudirected the search.”

Gabe mirrors his nod, both hands now supporting him on the console. “I remember now.”

Jones crosses an ankle and cocks his head to the side. Unlike Gabe, his hands are steady as he caresses the gun on the table with a single finger. “Do you like playing God, Mr. Rossi? Do you like feeling in control of whether people live or die?”

“I—” Gabe struggles to find words and he scrubs a hand over his face. “I’ve never looked at it like that.”

“No? You’ve never felt a rush when you’re responsible for saving a life? Or ending one?”

“All I’ve ever wanted to do is help people,” Gabe says, finally slinking to the floor as if his legs can no longer support his weight.

“You only had to keep searching,” Jones says, his voice growing more urgent. “She was right there.”

“I’m sorry,” Gabe whispers.

“Sorry won’t bring back my wife.”

Sensing the situation is deteriorating, I turn to Jones. “What was her name?” I ask, grasping at the first question that comes to mind.

“Her name was Sheila,” Jones says. The gun clatters against the table and he presses both fists into his eyes.

“How long were you married?”

Just keep him talking.If you can distract him, maybe someone will come.

At least, that’s what I hope.

“We were married for nineteen years when she died.”

“I’m so sorry,” Gabe whispers.

Jones is across the room with his hands around Gabe’s throat before I know what’s happening. In seconds, Gabe’s face goes from ghost-white to purple. Panicked, I look around the room for some way to help and I see that Jones has forgotten the gun on the table in his haste.

I stare at it for a few long heartbeats and then it’s in my hand, heavier and bigger than I would have imagined. I flick off the safety and then cross the room.

Jones is still so intent on Gabe that he doesn’t notice me until I press the muzzle against his head. “Let him go,” I say, not recognizing the confident voice of the woman speaking.

Gabe’s bloodshot eyes find mine and he shakes his head as much as he can with Jones’ hands still around his throat.

Ignoring him, I jam the gun against Jones’ skull. “I said, let him go.”