Every Last Secret - A.R. Torre Page 0,93

a half hour. Packed her stuff and then left. I’m not sure where she spent the night.”

Yes, I’d be curious to know where Neena had ended up. I’d spent the night in bed with William, still frosty and aloof, stretching out his punishment while I watched the fire flicker in our bedroom hearth and enjoyed the thought of a lonely Neena checking in to a cheap hotel room.

“Where’s William?” Matt nodded out the front window of the station. “I saw him drop you off.”

“He’s going to the office for a few hours. I told him I’d call him when I was done.”

He nodded, and I saw the tightening of his lips, the flash of anger in his eyes. I didn’t blame him for being mad at William. The men had been friends, and not in the twisted and backstabbing way of Neena and me. I struggled to find something to say. “William was selfish, but he wasn’t manipulative. He had a weak moment one day. He wasn’t pursuing her, and I know he didn’t intentionally mean to hurt you, just like he didn’t mean to hurt me.”

He shrugged. “I still hate him. He got her, and despite what you said last night, it looks like he’s keeping you. It just doesn’t seem fair.”

I nodded, part of me struggling with the same emotions. But this event would change us for the better. If we emerged from this with a more loyal and open marriage, I didn’t need to punish him out of spite. And I had this chip, this history, to use at any future point in our relationship if I needed it.

My stomach growled, and I instinctively put my hand on my belly to cover up the sound. Matt’s eyes followed the movement. “Do you feel okay?”

I forced a smile. “Yeah. My stomach’s still a little temperamental.” I reached in my purse and pulled out the package of saltines. I had skipped breakfast, complaining of stomach pain, in an attempt to subtly remind William of Neena’s poison. It had worked, his face darkening, manner shifting, and he’d brewed me some chicken broth and made me promise to come home and relax after this meeting. As a result, I was ravenous. Between my hospital visit and stress over Matt’s “murder attempt,” I was down four pounds in three days. I was starting to daydream about cheeseburgers and pound cake.

Matt sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “You wouldn’t believe Neena. She won’t admit to anything. She’s still denying there was anything in that limoncello.”

Yeah, I bet she was. I would have paid a million dollars to see the look on her face when Matt accused her of poisoning me. I stuffed the saltine in my mouth to keep myself from smiling. Drinking a shot of antifreeze had been risky but well worth it. I’d known that William would rush me to the hospital. Putting a couple of drops in Matt’s drink had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, an easy one once I convinced him to try the limoncello, also.

Matt glanced at his watch, then leaned forward in his seat, his knee bumping mine. He lowered his voice. “She accused you of poisoning yourself.”

Of course she did. Neena wasn’t stupid, despite her complete underestimation of me. I still flinched, as if surprised. “Why would I do that?” I pressed my lips together and growled, wondering if he had believed any part of the accusation.

He shouldn’t. It was why I’d gone to such painful and life-threatening lengths.

“So, you faked your fall, also, right? And the gunman?” I choked out a bitter laugh. “All of us. A conspiracy against her.”

He nodded. “Right. A conspiracy. I think she even used that word.”

I considered hugging him but offered my sleeve of crackers instead. He took one, breaking the saltine in half before eating it.

“Mr. Ryder? Mrs. Winthorpe?” The uniform at the end of the hall smiled at us. “They’re ready for you.”

The evidence was stacked in three piles, the division quickly explained.

“This,” Detective Cullen stated, her hand resting atop the smallest stack, “is what we can tie to Neena in a manner that would hold up in court. It includes the cash and photos found in her bedroom, phone records and affidavits that prove her sexual relationship with William Winthorpe, and the financial gain she would have secured by Mr. Ryder’s death.”

The district attorney sat to my left in a pinstripe suit that barely fit. His bald head nodded, as if blessing the designation.

She moved