Every Last Secret - A.R. Torre Page 0,74

the hall. “Let me put on a pair of jeans. I’ll come, too.”

We approached the Ryder house together, my hands stuffed in the deep pockets of the cardigan. Above us, spotlights moved through the dark, white circles of light illuminating the trees. I moved closer to the officer and glanced behind me, grateful for the well-lit driveway. “Where have they searched so far?”

“The Ryders’ property and the surrounding lots. The back drop-off is pretty steep, and the guy has a fifteen-minute head start on us, at least.”

I glanced at the dark sky. “Could you bring in a helicopter? Search that way?”

He chuckled. “Not for this. If there had been an actual homicide? Maybe. But murder attempts kind of fall into a budgetary gray area.” He caught a glimpse of my face and hurried to reassure me. “Which isn’t to say that they won’t do everything they can to catch him. But things like a helicopter are a bit overkill at this point. Don’t worry. We’ve got a set of dogs on the way. They’ll be able to track his path.” He herded us toward the driveway.

William frowned. “Murder attempt? I thought this was an armed robbery.”

“I’d have to let you get the details from the detective.” He shrugged in apology. “I don’t have the full scope of the investigation so far.”

I walked faster, anxious to be inside the house and closer to some answers.

We stepped into the open garage, and I skirted Matt’s Volvo, heading for the interior door. The officer grabbed my arm just before I touched the knob. “Mrs. Winthorpe?”

I turned and noticed the bright-blue tissues he held out to me. He nodded to my shoes. “They’re booties. We’ll also need both of you to wear gloves.”

“Oh.” I let out an awkward laugh. “Our prints are throughout the house already. We’re over here all the time.”

“Still, we have to preserve the scene as best we can.”

I pulled the booties over my shoes and could see, through the glass panes in the door, more officers inside. Neena had to be flipping out over the intrusion. I worked the gloves on and nodded at the man, holding up my palms to prove my adherence.

When we stepped inside, the first thing I heard was Matt’s voice, muffled, but clearly raised in anger.

CHAPTER 41

NEENA

Over the last sixteen years, I had seen Matt run through every gamut of emotion. Pride. Fear. Pain. Love. And he had been mad, even furious upon rare occasion. But I’d never seen the look of hatred he wore when we stepped into the office and closed the door.

“Did I just hear you tell her that you think I invented this entire thing?” His voice was very calm, but the glint in his eyes was that of a man pushed to the edge.

“That wasn’t what I was saying to her,” I protested. “I was just saying that I was tired and that I didn’t see anything. That for all I knew, there wasn’t anyone in our room.”

“Look at me, Neena.”

I did. I looked into the eyes of the man I had married at nineteen and wanted to divorce by twenty-two. It wasn’t his fault. Over the past twenty years, he’d gained an extra forty pounds and lost half of his hair, but he was the same guy. Loyal. Dependable. Hopelessly in love with me. I was the one who’d changed.

“Have I ever made anything up?”

No. He was annoyingly honest. Once, when he’d bought a used car and found a hundred dollars tucked in the manual, he’d tracked down the prior owner just to return it. It was freakish and unnatural, and I couldn’t help but think that some of it was guilt over a then-five-year-old crime.

“I didn’t say you made it up,” I insisted.

“Yes, you did. That was exactly what you were saying.”

“They’re going through all our stuff, Matt. I’m exhausted, and I’m ready for them all to leave, and there’s a big difference between a psychopath standing in our bedroom versus a thief. If someone was in our room, it wasn’t to kill us. He was robbing us. You’re being overdramatic, and it’s causing them to look at this in the wrong way.” To look at me in the wrong way.

“I came this close to dying.” He held his thumb and his forefinger a hairbreadth apart. “You haven’t even reacted to that. You haven’t even asked if I’m okay. To be frank, I’m not sure you even care. You’re exhausted? Could you make this any more about you?”

I