Page 46

Chapter 46

Fleur

I drag the tea bag back and forth over the top of my peppermint tea, creating mini waves that I watch intently. Even when Mrs. Northgate places a muffin in front of me, I can’t look up.

It’s been two hours since I was dropped off here and it’s already past 10:00 p.m. I was taken to the local sheriff’s office where the DEA and FBI had taken over, relieving the sheriff and half his deputies of their duty. I was placed in a long line of mostly women, and after waiting an hour, was finally called into an interrogation room. Even though I was told over twenty times this wasn’t an interrogation.

A female agent, Agent Evans, sat across from me with a smile, taking down each detail I provided. From my first interaction with Darrin’s crew at the bank to the farmhouse fire, Adam’s involvement, Liam’s rescue, the marriage, and my knowledge surrounding it all.

About halfway through my statement, my stomach roared, and embarrassed, I asked for a drink of water. Agent Evans brought me a turkey sub and chips as well.

Tears flowed as I narrated the events of today, and she passed me tissue after tissue as I struggled to detail the raid.

When we were done, she reached over and placed a hand over mine and said, “I’m sorry this happened to you, Fleur. Here’s the contact information for a local attorney. I’ve given his information to several of the women in case they choose to proceed with an annulment.”

Annulment.

I mumble the word aloud as I pick the walnuts off a muffin top.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” Mrs. Northgate asks.

I sniff and say louder, “The female agent mentioned an annulment.”

Mrs. Northgate leaves her post at the stove and comes over to the kitchen table, glancing at where I’m deconstructing her muffin. She taps the table with her fingers.

“Well, is that something you want?” Her eyes dart to my chin, which is no doubt quivering. Tears sweep down my cheeks and I hiccup a sob, splashing my tea with my movement.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, wrapping her arms around me. “It’ll be okay.”

Why doesn’t it feel that way? Why does it feel like what I had with Liam is crumbling? The unknown of where we go from here is debilitating.

I jump at the back door when it flies open. I’m half expecting Liam, but Mr. Northgate stumbles in. He takes one look at our embrace and walks back out the door with a mumbled apology.

It wasn’t going to be Liam anyway. He said his debrief could take days.

I allow my head to flop down into my hands, exhausted.

“Why don’t you head up to the North Room and settle in for the night. You’ll be able to think better in the morning.”

I nod, sliding back my chair and taking my teacup to the sink. When I turn it on and reach for the dish soap, Mrs. Northgate stops me. “I’ve got it. Up to bed.”

I smile. “Thank you.”

I have to drag myself up the stairs by the railing and after I’m in the room, I shut the door. With each step to the bed, I shed a piece of clothing. First my sneakers, then my jeans, followed by my pit-stained shirt. When I make it to the bed, I toss back the covers and turn out the light.

The crisp, freshly pressed sheets feel foreign on my naked body compared to Liam’s worn, plaid flannel. I reach for my wrist, desperate for control, but only find the raised brand of a horseshoe.

“Liam.” His name is a whisper on my lips. I mutter it over and over, the ache drilling deep into my chest until I finally fall asleep.

“Is Ruin ruined? That’s what townspeople from the small town of Ruin, Mississippi, are asking themselves after a joint task force between the DEA and FBI raided a compound yesterday early afternoon. A spokesperson from the DEA said this was a long-term operation and over forty-five people were arrested. Among them, Darrin Reynolds, Ruin’s kingpin rumored to be in with the Mexican Cartel, has been taken to the county jail where he will be incarcerated until trial.

“The compound was located off the Natchez Trace and law enforcement is asking everyone to please?—”

Hey ! The TV clicks off with a black poof, and I turn to see Mrs. Northgate standing behind me in the kitchen, remote in hand.

“No need to be watching that when you experienced it firsthand,” she says, moving back around to the counter, and cracks an egg into a bowl.

The movement reminds me so much of the way Liam gently smacks his eggs on the counter and empties them into the dish all one-handed. She probably taught him.

Images from the news cameras miles away from the compound showed the distant footage of the gates, and I fight the urge to turn the television back on. “Have you heard from him?”

She glances up, grabbing a fork to whip the eggs. Scrambled it is. “Nope. My son-in-law did call late last night, though, making sure Liam was okay. Had to pretend I didn’t know anything—not sure how much Liam is allowed to share yet.”

I frown. “His family had no clue he was undercover? Only you and Mr. Northgate?”

“No. They didn’t know.” That makes all of us then. Well, except the Northgates.

“Why did he tell you?” I pull out the same chair I was in last night and plop down, craving any information she’ll give me.

“He didn’t. About a year after Liam went to work for Darrin, he came to my husband, broken and hurting. He’d witnessed things he’d never dreamed of, even as someone who wanted to be a cop. I couldn’t stand seeing my grandson suffer for something he didn’t do.”

I wince imagining Liam alone and terrified.

“My husband is a retired police officer with several acquaintances in the DEA. I pieced together Liam’s plan to take his information to the DEA when my husband started making calls. I didn’t figure they’d recruit him but looking back, if there was anyone suited for the job it was Liam.”

Liam’s stony gaze and his hard exterior had been easy to forget as he shared his life with me, opened up to me.

“W-why do you think he didn’t tell me?” Gosh, I sound pathetic. Do I seriously think he’d risk an extensive, multi-year sting operation? I understand, I do. He was under no obligation other than to his job. Though, it still doesn’t stop the hurt from creeping in. Maybe I wasn’t enough?

“I’m not sure, sweetheart, but I know Liam. If he didn’t tell you, he had a good reason.”

Sweetheart . Mrs. Northgate’s name for me brings with it a familiar pain, and I glance toward the phone.

“Mind if I call my parents?” I ask.

“Not at all.” She offers me a smile, and I stand, dragging myself to the cordless phone. I dial my home phone number on the way to the back porch, letting the screen door slam behind me.

Propping myself up to look out at the pond, I notice the trees Liam helped plant fully thriving. The landscape is breathtaking.

In two rings, I hear my mother’s voice. “Hello?”

“Mom …” My breath hitches and a sob trembles past my lips.

“Oh, sweetheart?—”

That’s all my mom has to say before I crack.

Hot tears stick to my cheeks, and I cry. Cry for Liam and the life he’s had to live. I cry for me and the betrayal I’ve experienced threatening anything good in my life. And I cry for us, for the marriage I’m scared is over.