Page 89 of Trust No One

“I will,” I whispered. “First thing in the morning.”

Maria: I don’t want Molly in Edith’s house.

“I’ll be there when she wakes up.”

Maria: When Molly is safe, do me one more favor. Feed Gabe to the wolves.

The texts had arrived this evening. She’d died an hour later. The damp air magnified the acrid scent of the boxwoods.

Feed Gabe to the wolves.

For killing Maria, his wife.

The mother of his child.

Tears pooled in my eyes. My mother would’ve told me to grow up. I swiped away several tears before standing and grabbing my purse.

I drove back to the hospital. I found a spot in the parking garage and walked to the elevators.

I rushed to Maria’s floor because I wasn’t sure where to go. I looked in her room and saw the stripped bed. Her name had been wiped from the dry-erase board, and someone had removed all her belongings.

Dr. Webber was on duty, and I found her at the nurses’ station, glaring at a computer screen. When she saw me, she straightened, removed her glasses, and stood.

“Ms. Hale,” she said.

“Dr. Webber. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course.” She came around the nurses’ station and led me into the empty waiting room.

Pity and worry darkened her eyes. But I didn’t want any solace. “What happened?”

“She was stable. Alert. And then she crashed.”

“I was supposed to return in the morning. I had papers for her to sign.”

Dr. Webber was silent. She’d done this enough to realize there wasn’t anything she could say. “I’m sorry.”

We could continue this dance. Me verbalizing my denial. Dr. Webber apologizing. And in the end, nothing would change. I wouldn’t feel better. Her news wouldn’t change. Maria would still be dead.

“Thank you. When will the medical examiner’s office be there?”

“They’ve just arrived,” she said.

I pictured Maria on a stainless autopsy table, a stranger ripping flesh and cracking bone. “Thank you.”

I rode the elevators down to the main lobby. As I crossed, Judson pushed through the front revolving doors. “Raine.”

He approached me, then stood so close I resisted an urge to step backward. An apology darkened his eyes. In another world, he’d have opened his arms . . . I’d have stepped into them. Together we’d have mourned the loss of Maria.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I’d handled death before, but my parents had been in their fifties. They’d seemed ancient then.

He wrapped his arms around me, surprising me. I didn’t stiffen or resist. I relaxed into him. We still fit together. His familiar scent was soothing. It would be easy to think we were still us.

I pulled back. And immediately missed the warmth softening the chill burrowing deep in my bones. “Thanks for that.”

The stoic expression faltered. “Of course.”