telling me you had nothing to do with her while we were married?”
Anger made my eyes narrow. “Are you really fucking asking me that?”
She flushed. “Answer the question.”
“I didn’t cheat on you. I would never cheat on you.”
But I could see the doubt in her eyes before she shut the bathroom door in my face.
It pissed me off that Charlie thought I could cheat on her, much less harm another human being. I drove her to work in silence, and she wasn’t exactly talking either.
When I pulled up to the front of her building, I tried once more. “Sabrina was a pest, but I didn’t cheat on you. Not once. I would never cheat on you.”
“What is going on, then? What about those texts?”
“She sent me those texts, and I told her to back off.”
“Why don’t the detectives see you telling her to back off in the texts?”
This conversation was going in the wrong direction. “I met up with her and told her in person.”
Charlie’s eyes went wide. “Excuse me?”
“In a public place. I told her to back off and leave you alone.”
“She told me that was your pet name for her,” she cried.
What the actual fuck? “What pet name?”
“Your little addiction. She told me that is what you called her. She said that you flew her to your away games, and that she was with you when you called me.” Charlie was fighting tears as she tried to open the car door.
I grabbed her arm and forced her to look at me.
Desperation tinged my voice. “That never happened. There were no pet names, I never flew her anywhere. She is a troublemaker, and I told her repeatedly to get out of our lives.”
Charlie rubbed her forehead. “I have to get to work.”
I didn’t let go of her arm. “Do you believe me?”
“I don’t know what to believe.”
This morning was going to shit. I walked into the house after practice as my phone rang. It was Krista.
“Turn on your TV.”
“What?”
“Turn on your fucking TV, Channel 44.”
I turned on the TV. I could hear the echo of the same channel on Krista’s side.
A reporter was standing outside Sabrina’s apartment. “It’s come to light that Sabrina might have been in a romantic relationship with NHL star Mica Petrov. A source has reported that there were some highly suggestive texts exchanged between her and the player, who, incidentally, was married late last fall. Texts included phrases like, ‘You told me you were going to tell your wife about us’ and ‘Tell your wife about me, or I will tell her. That was our deal.’ We’ve reached out to his agent, who said that he wasn’t part of Sabrina’s life, but we recently received photos that indicate otherwise.”
On the screen flashed two photos. The first was of Sabrina standing and talking to me at the Valentine’s Day gala. She was staring up at my face with an anguished expression, and I was looking at her like I wanted to kill her. The second photo was worse. It was taken at the antique clock. Sabrina had a scared expression on her face and I was glaring down at her with my hand around her wrist.
That photo had been taken right after she had slapped my face. But it looked bad. It looked really bad.
“Someone’s setting me up, Krista.”
“I believe you.”
“How’s Charlie?”
“How the fuck do you think she is?”
I started to walk towards the door. “I’m coming down to your office.”
I swung the door open. There stood Detective Wallace and three officers.
Fuck. My. Life.
“Mica Petrov, you’re under arrest for the disappearance of Sabrina Christensen. You have the right to remain silent.” He continued to read me my rights.
“Krista?” I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.
Krista breathed in my ear, “I’m calling my lawyer.”
Before I could respond, someone ripped the phone out of my hand and deposited it into an evidence bag.
They hauled me down to the police station and shoved me into an interview room that was windowless except for the two-way mirror.
Detective Wallace came in and tossed a file on the table. “So, what do you have to say for yourself?”
I crossed my arms and shrugged. “Nothing.”
He pulled out a few photos. I leaned forward, glanced at them. They looked like photos of a journal, with feminine handwriting.
“You know what that is?”
“Never seen it before.”
“This is the personal journal of Sabrina. You know what she wrote about?”
I shrugged. “Do I care?”
“You. She wrote about you. Pages and pages of how you