Page 30 of Trust No One

Ken: I’m on it.

Within weeks of marrying Ken, I’d realized I’d made a mistake. He loved his work and was deeply loyal to his firm. If the job required a one-hundred-hour workweek, he did it. I’d accepted the job’s demands. And when our jobs chewed up time, it was easier to pretend I had my happily ever after.

And then last year, late-night cash withdrawals from our joint savings account started piling up. A Google search put the ATM across the street from a strip bar. Then I saw the charges on his credit card for random nights at a local hotel.

I’d laid out all the receipts on the kitchen island. He’d denied, shouted, accused me of disloyalty. I’d seen my share of lying clients and lawyers. And Ken was good. Real good. His story never wavered. Even when I told him to leave, my own doubts circled.

After Pete’s attack, Ken drove me home. Once I was settled on the couch, he offered to move back in. Rattled and sore, I still refused. He’d honored my decision. Even sent several DoorDash meals and flowers.

In our modern city town house, I became very aware of all the glass. One brick through my window . . .

I’d taken medical leave and moved back to Hale House, my Alexandria life indefinitely suspended.

I tipped my head back against the headrest as my breath caught in my chest. Ken had found a crack—an opening. And like any good lawyer, he’d drive a wedge into it.

Forty-five minutes later, Gabe walked out of the police station. No sign of Judson. If not for me, Judson could have held Gabe until he appeared before the magistrate.

Gabe yanked open the passenger door and dropped into the seat, running a trembling hand through his hair.

“What happened in there?” I asked.

Anger tightened Gabe’s expression. He smelled of holding cells and sweaty, unwashed bodies. “Not much.”

I switched on the heat and rolled down the windows. “Judson didn’t question you?”

“You got me out before he could ask much.”

“Are you sober now?”

“Better. A lot of coffee and water.” He looked out the window. “He kept asking me about my relationship with Maria. Potential affairs.”

“What did you say?”

“Maria and I were fine. No different than any other married couple.” He shook his head. “How did it all get messed up?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“One day it’s all good. The next Maria is in an ambulance.”

Life could turn on a dime. But most times there were hints, receipts, unnamed worries. Take the guy who’d strangled me. He had a long rap sheet. He’d been agitated that day. His unwavering gaze captured mine. Tension had stiffened his body and fingers.

“What happened before she collapsed?” I let the car idle. My fatigued brain was drawing on every cell to concentrate.

“We’d had dinner. She wasn’t very hungry, and I could tell she was annoyed. It was about money again. She’s always uptight about money.”

Maria had grown up with the constant drumbeat of unfairness and lack. She’d landed on the poor side of the Hale line. The lawsuit was her way of evening the scales.

I traced the steering wheel with my palm. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“What about the affair Judson mentioned?”

“I wasn’t . . .”

“You’re wasting my time.” I nodded toward his door. “Get out of my car.”

He reached for the door handle and pulled. The door opened. And then he hesitated and closed it. “She thinks I’m having an affair.”