Page 24

Chapter Twenty-Three

KAT

Samantha set my bag on the bed in her guest room. I sat on the edge and gripped the gray comforter with little white flowers on it.

“Here.” Samantha walks into the room, hands me a glass of water, and drops a little white pill in my hand.

“What is this?”

“It’s a Xanax. You need it, so take it. It’ll help you relax a little bit. I called the firm and talked to the partners. They told me to tell you to take off as much time as you need, and they’ll reassign your cases until you return.”

“Thanks, Samantha.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She sits on the bed and wraps her arms around me. “I am so sorry this happened. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

I can because I’ve already gone through it once before.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to lie down,” I say.

“Of course.” She grabs my bag and sets it on the chair in the corner. “I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything.”

She leaves the room, and I climb under the covers. Tears pour from my eyes, for I can’t believe my Oliver is gone. I never should have taken that damn pill last night. If I hadn’t, I would have heard him or something. I could have stopped it. How? I have no idea, but I would have tried.

The first time it happened, the killer tried to kill me. This time, I don’t have a scratch on me. Did the killer think I wasn’t home? Did he come into my bedroom, see me, and freak? I wish he would have killed me because I’m sure I won’t ever get over this. It may be enough to land me in a mental facility. The thought twisted inside me, squeezing my chest and making it hard to breathe. If I didn’t get myself under control, I might end up in a sterile white room with padded walls, surrounded by people in lab coats and clipboards.

I slept for four hours. I only woke up because I heard the creaking of the door.

“I’m sorry, Kat. I didn’t mean to wake you,” Samantha says. “I was just checking on you.”

“It’s fine.” I sit up.

“Why don’t you come downstairs? I’m just about to start dinner.”

“Okay.” I climb out of bed and follow her downstairs.

Travis is home already. He takes one look at me and holds his arms out. I fall into them, holding back the tears that inevitably escape.

“God, Kat. I’m so sorry. Oliver was a good man. He didn’t deserve this.”

“He was a good man,” I sob.

“Let me pour you a drink. What would you like?” he asks. “Wine?”

I shake my head. “Something stronger. ”

“Scotch?”

“Scotch is fine. Make it a double.”

I perch myself on a stool in the kitchen while Samantha preps dinner. Travis hands me my scotch, walks over to Samantha, and kisses her cheek. “I’ll be in my office working.”

“Okay. I’ll let you know when dinner is ready,” she says.

I stare at them—jealous, envious. I’ll never get a kiss or get to kiss my husband again.

Dinner is ready—roasted chicken, scalloped potatoes, steamed carrots, and a loaf of freshly baked bread from the bakery fill the middle of the table. I mostly pick at my food. I’m sick to my stomach. I know I should eat, but I can’t.

Travis gets up from his seat when he hears the elevator ding. A few moments before, the doorman called to inform us that Detective Walker was heading up.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner. I can wait until you’re finished.”

“It’s fine. I can’t eat anyway,” I say, standing up and walking into the living room.

We sit on the couch, and she reaches over and places her hand on mine.

“I know this is very difficult, Mrs. Tate. But I have to ask. Did you know your husband was having an affair?”

“NO!” I snap, shaking my head. “Oliver would never do that to me.”

“How well did you know your husband?” she asks.

“What do you mean?” I furrow my brows. “I knew my husband better than anyone.”

“But you didn’t know he was having an affair?”

“He wasn’t!” I cup my face in my hands.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Tate, but he was.”

“No.” I shake my head and sob .

“Okay,” she sighs. “That’s enough for tonight. I’m sorry for having to put you through more pain, but we’re trying to catch the psychopath who is walking around the city murdering men. Please call me if you can think of anything or remember something that might help.”

She gently pats my shoulder and leaves the room. Samantha walks over, sits beside me, and softly runs her hand up and down my back.

“Does she really think that Oliver was cheating on you?”

I nod, my face still buried in my hands.

“That is ridiculous. Oliver was madly in love with you. He would never.”

With a slight turn of my head, I stare at her. “I’m not sure I knew him at all.”