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“I’m going to bring Reid.”
“Expected.”
We disconnect and I text Reid:Problem. Reese’s office in an hour.
He replies with:I have a meeting in an hour we don’t want me to miss.
I grimace and type:Fuck the meeting.
He answers with a quick:WTF is going on? Call me.
I reply with:Call Cat. I can’t talk.
His answer is instant:FUCK.
Yep. That about sums it up. I slide my phone into my pocket and walk toward Abbie, who abandons Dexter to stand up but she doesn’t turn to look at me. I step behind her, wrapping my arms around her.
She rotates to face me, those green eyes search mine in earnest, her expression stretched tight. “Gabe?” Her hands flatten on my chest, warm and soft, delicate and sweet. “Why do I feel fear right now?”
“The police have a video of a woman leaving your ex’s apartment on the night he was murdered.”
“Okay. Why is that bad? It feels like closure. Do they know who it is?”
“They called Reese, Abbie. They want to talk to you sooner than later.”
“Me. Why me? I wasn’t there. I was with you.”
“I know that. You know that, but—”
“But what?” She pales. “She had red hair.”
“Yes. She had red hair.”
“It’s a set-up. You know it’s a set-up. I was with you. You can tell them. Right? You’ll tell them.”
“Easy, baby. Breathe. Yes. I’ll tell them, but they could easily decide we’re in on this together and that I’m covering for you.”
She twists out of my arms and tries to take off. I catch her and pull her back to me. “Where are you going?”
“We can’t be together. Not until this is over. And you can’t tell them I was with you.”
“Of course we can be together. Of course, I’m going to tell them—”
“No. No. No.” She pokes my chest. “No. I’m breaking us up. I’m crazy about you, Gabe, but I won’t see you anymore. Not now. Not—”
I cup her head and kiss her. She resists, holding herself stiff in my arms for several seconds until finally, she not only kisses me, she’s kissing me back and doing it like it’s our last fucking kiss.
“No,” I say, pulling my mouth from hers. “Do not fucking kiss me goodbye. The police already know we’re together. Hell, the reporters out front sure as hell do.”
“What reporters?”
“We’re surrounded,” I say. “Obviously Kenneth’s murder investigation is now fodder for the press. But fuck them. The point is, that saying anything different about us will not help us. In fact, it might hurt us. I have camera footage that I can turn over to the police. I have a security system. We can prove where we were that night.”
“What if it doesn’t cover the right times? What if it’s when we were sleeping or at dinner or at my place?”
“Panicking does us no good.”
“When do the police want to meet?”
