Page 3 of Trust No One

“When will you know about the job?” I asked.

“A day or two.” He sounded cheerful. Optimistic.

He came up behind me, arms encircling my waist, his breath warm against my skin. “We need a vacation. Mom can watch Molly, and we can go to the beach for a few days. You love the ocean.”

Offers like this weren’t real. I used to believe they were. But Gabe had terrible follow-through. Promises made, but not exactly kept.

“You don’t mean that,” I said.

“Of course I do.” He kissed me on the cheek, his lips curling into another smile. Despite my frustration, I leaned into him. Loving him was stupid. But I hadn’t always made good choices.

I pulled out of his embrace and walked back to the dining table to gather the pasta bowl. My mouth was sweating. “You make it sound simple.”

“It is easy, babe.”

I faced him. “Gabe, I went to the bank. You withdrew our entire savings account two days ago.”

His grin faltered. “Babe.” He held out his hands, pleading. “I had supplies to buy. I’ll put the money back.”

“When?”

“As soon as I get these contracts signed. We’ll be flush with cash soon.”

I couldn’t look at him. “You said that last year.”

“Look, the economy has been soft. It’s picking up.”

“You should’ve talked to me about the money first.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

My vision blurred as I faced him. “Are you sorry? Does Amy know you took the cash?”

“Amy?” The smile tightened. “What’re you talking about?”

“From high school. She now lives in Waynesboro. Works for a real estate agent you’ve been trying to hook up with.” I set the bowl down hard on the counter.

His grin faded. “I don’t know what you think is true.”

“You changed the passcode on your phone. A few weeks ago, you passed out. I held the phone up to your face, and it opened.”

His mask slipped. “What does that mean?”

My stomach tumbled. My chest squeezed. I recited, “‘Babe, you’re so hot. I can barely think when I see you.’”

“That’s not what you think it is.” His voice had dropped a notch, stripping away all traces of easy humor.

When had we become a cliché? “What do they mean, Gabe?”

“We were just joking around.”

My neck stiffened, and my mouth dried. I reached for a clean glass and turned on the tap. Concentrating, I angled the tumbler under the spigot. Water filled it. My vision blurred.

Sweat pooled between my shoulder blades. My heart rate doubled. Water flooded over the glass’s lip. I swayed.

What the hell? What was wrong with me? This made no sense.

I leaned against the counter to support my wobbly legs. My chest stiffened. I couldn’t pull in a full breath. I stumbled sideways, knocking the pasta bowl to the floor. It shattered, spraying shards and noodles.