“I know you were seeing her.” Her statement catches me off guard.
“I didn’t know she told anyone.”
“It was all over the papers,” she confesses. “I read about your so-called affair. Pair that with her limited free time … well I assumed she’d met someone.”
I can only nod, remembering the beginning of … whatever we were. With a tight throat, sadness rocks through me.
“So I have questions.”
“Of course you do,” I respond lowly.
“And I’m sure you know … statistically speaking, when someone is in a relationship and taken or—”
“I know the partner is the first suspect. Lover or husband.” My tone turns colder as Marcus comes to mind. Clearing my throat again, I lean forward and reach for the tumbler on the table, only to find the whiskey’s been drained from it. “I love her and I’m going to find her,” I say with every intention of upholding my vow until I glance down, from Cadence’s hopeful gaze, to the laptop screen that’s turned black.
Hopelessness is a traitor. “Would you like anything to drink?”
Cadence only shakes her head, not a hair out of place in her bun as she does so. It’s at odds with her face, completely devoid of makeup other than traces of mascara around her eyes, which only adds to the darkness beneath them.
“It’s the second day.” Her voice cracks and it resonates in my chest. “Please tell me you know something.” Her plea morphs into a whisper, the almost palpable sadness overwhelming it.
The only words I have for her are, “I’m sorry,” but I refuse to say them. It’s what I’ve told the loved ones of bodies I’ve found, all the men, women and children who weren’t found alive. I can’t do that to Delilah. I won’t utter a statement that echoes defeat.
“We’re going to find her.”
“I was hoping you would tell me it wasn’t real.” Cadence’s expression crumples. “After my mother’s body—” Her statement is left unfinished, but I know what she’s referring to. The news covered it and Evan sent me the report. Her death was quick.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” I say, offering my condolences, wishing I’d spoken them sooner.
Her eyes glaze over and her shoulders hunch forward as she stifles a sob. “I’m sorry.” Her apology is barely heard as she reaches into her purse, pulling out tissues.
If I could comfort her, I would, but I don’t want to approach her. I’ve never been the best at soothing someone else’s pain. My uncle made a point to tell me that fact frequently.
“Let me get you a bottle of water,” I offer and stand, making my way to the room’s small fridge and pulling out one of three that remain. The whiskey on the laminate desk stares at me, the amber liquid sloshing as I close the fridge door.
“Thank you.” Her voice is weak, so much smaller than it was a moment ago.
She’s still sipping on it when I’ve retaken my seat.
“What questions do you have?” I ask her to move this along.
“Do you know who took her?”
“No.”
“What can you tell me?” My chest aches as she searches for any information at all.
“I wish I could give you answers. But I called you for them because I don’t have any.”
With trembling hands, her gaze moves to her lap and it’s quiet for far too long. More than a moment passes with Cadence visibly distraught and neither of us having any new information for the other.
Just when I think she’ll stand to leave, she leans forward with a look of uncertainty on her face. “There’s something I have to tell you.” Her tone is deadly serious. “I couldn’t tell the cops.”
“You can tell me anything.” Although it’s the truth, the statement comes out too eagerly and she hesitates, but gives in. More than likely due to having no other options.
“There is no man who killed my father. My mother killed him. So it couldn’t have been Marcus or whoever the police are claiming killed him.”
I already know. Delilah didn’t tell me, but Marcus did in so many words.
Debating whether or not I should feign ignorance doesn’t last long. Instead I lie. “I know. She told me.”
Shock lights her eyes and I can see it from across the room. “Did she tell you why?”
“No.” I haven’t the faintest idea why her mother did what she did. All Marcus hinted at was that it was deserved.
“My father wasn’t a good man.”
“Good men and bad men, it’s not quite as well defined of a line as I once