Page 34 of Over Her Dead Body

Four minutes now.

My shoes are beside the bed. I shove my feet into them, grab my carry-on, and head for the front door.

It took me ten hours and several bad decisions to get into this apartment. It takes less than thirty seconds to get out.

I take the narrow stairwell two steps at a time. When I reach the street, the green door is half a block to my left.

I turn right.

The car I requested is pulling up at the corner. I get in.

Lisbon moves past the window. I do not look for Reid. Looking for him has gotten me far enough.

What I need now is to get on the flight I booked and put an ocean between us. After that: a shower, water, food, and a serious reconsideration of every decision I have made since the Tempranillo.

The driver says something in Portuguese I don’t catch. I shake my head once. He takes the hint and leaves me alone.

Thankfully.

I sit back with my carry-on at my feet and the understanding that I came to Lisbon for an explanation and I am leaving with a problem.

Reid is alive.

But he is not the man I married.

CHAPTER 14

ANONYMOUS

The man responsible for the Lisbon debacle has soft hands.

This is the first thing I notice, which is rarely a good sign. Soft hands suggest a life spent touching nothing that matters. Paper. Phones. Glassware. Other people’s money.

He is standing in my study with his jacket misbuttoned and a thin line of sweat at his temple.

The room is cool.

Still, he sweats.

“Tell me again,” I say.

His eyes move to the man by the door.

“She’s on her way back to Austin.”

“I know. Tell me where you lost her.”

His mouth tightens. “We didn’t lose her.”

“No?”

“She entered an apartment with the man from the bar. The man we hired remained outside.”

“And then?”

“He stopped answering my calls.”

“How many times did you call?”