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A contemplative expression came over his face. “There’s a lot to discover outside of Tremonton.”
The worry she’d been feeling for him eased ever so slightly. “Exactly.”
At first, Ismay couldn’t tell what the pictures she’d just received on her phone were all about. They’d been taken at a crowded restaurant, from a distance. But once she enlarged the first shot, she recognized Remy sitting at a table in the corner. She couldn’t tell who he was with, though. It looked like a woman.
What was this about?
She moved on to the second picture, taken from a closer angle. He wasdefinitelywith a woman. Ismay could see that clearly now. She was wearing a little black cocktail dress. Actually, they were both dressed up. The restaurant looked like a fancy one, the kind Remy preferred.
When were these photographs taken? Remy loved going out. But he wouldn’t be going to a place like this when he couldn’t even take five minutes to talk on the phone.
She studied the number from which she’d received these photos. There was no contact name attached, and they’d come without an explanation. Who was this?
The sound of Bastian coming up the stairs caught her attention. He stopped outside her door, which made her freeze. Would he say something? Try to come in again?
She breathed a sigh of relief when his footsteps receded as he continued to his own room. After going to the beach, she’d had dinner with Bo and Jack at a sidewalk café not far from the old-world mansions that lined Elm Street—built by the owners of various vessels during Mariners’s whaling heyday—and they’d laughed and talked until it’d grown too dark. She’d only had a pair of loose-fitting cutoffs to wear over her swimsuit and a towel to sling around her bare shoulders.
She’d hoped she’d find Bastian gone when she got home—visiting his “friends,” if he really had any—but she’d found him in the living room, so inebriated she’d gotten him a blanket and suggested he sleep on the couch.
Apparently, he hadn’t taken her advice.
At least he’d made it safely up the stairs.
When she heard the TV go on in the master bedroom, she knew she was probably safe from bother and returned to the mysterious pictures she’d received. A third one had just come in. This one showed Remy holding the woman’s hand across the table as they seemed to talk earnestly.
Then a short video arrived.
Ismay knew she shouldn’t click on it. This wasn’t going in a good direction. But she couldn’t stop herself. The video showed fifteen seconds of Remy kissing the woman so passionately it left little doubt in her mind what would come next, since they were obviously leaving together.
Was he cheating on her? Could this be happeningtonight?
She felt shaky as she navigated to Remy’s last text. He’d sent a message to her earlier to say he was heading to the library and would be up most of the night studying with Sam again.
This was definitelynotthe library...
She switched back to the video. Maybe it was masochistic, but she couldn’t keep from watching it again. He’d been so busy, so worried about his exams. Could it be that whoever was in this video wasn’t really him? After all, the lighting was so dim...
A second later, she caught sight of the gold ID bracelet he always wore with his Rolex—a gift from his parents when he got his bachelor’s degree. She didn’t know one other man who wore an ID bracelet, let alone one who was the spitting image of her fiancé.
She swallowed hard as she sat up and focused once again on the number of the person who was sending her this stuff.
Who are you?she wrote and held her breath, hoping to get a response.
Fortunately, she did.
A friend.
Of mine? Or Remy’s?
I think this makes that plain.
When was this taken?
Just a few minutes ago.
Who’s he with?
Samantha Something. I don’t know her last name.
