Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
“That’s--” I trail off because I don’t know how I feel about what Mary is telling me. I’ve always thought he was creepy but I never pinned him as a real murderer. I may have referred to him as one because he defended clients that did awful things, but I never thought he was running around killing people. It’s hard to wrap my mind around all of it. He killed his own clients.
“I’ve heard whispers they’d already been investigating him. There are a bunch of unsolved murders they are trying to piece together. I guess all of the victims weren't upstanding members of the community. All of them had committed crimes and gotten away without paying for them at all or completing light sentences. No one was really searching too hard to find out who might have killed them but they all started to add up.” This still doesn't add up to me, but what do I know? I’m not a detective.
“And Chad admitted in this letter it was him?”
“Something like that.” She shrugs. “I’m sure we’ll hear more soon. The news will be picking it up any minute now.” Mary takes another bite of her salad, mumbling about how she won’t miss seeing him in her courtroom. That makes two of us. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I am somewhat relieved. That thought should make me feel bad because a life has been lost but it doesn’t.
“I’m going to head out for the day.”
“See you next week.” I grab my bag heading straight for my car. I swing by the pharmacy, grabbing the pregnancy test. I have no patience and end up taking it in the bathroom of the store. My mind goes over everything Mary had told me.
I still can’t imagine Chad as some vigilante. He wasn't a good man. A good man doesn't trap a woman against her car and scare her. If Chad didn't kill himself then who killed him? The list of possible suspects could be a mile long. Some of the people he’d gotten off for their crimes had enemies. Mostly the families of the victims. They could’ve blamed him and exacted their own revenge.
My mind snaps back to my own husband. The look on his face the day I’d told him about Chad. The rage that came off him that day in the parking lot. If anyone could get away with killing someone and making it look like a suicide it would be Lucas. I look in the mirror of the bathroom. Do I believe that Lucas could do such a thing?
To protect me I think Lucas would do anything. That is one thing I’m certain of. Before I even look down at the test I know my life is about to change. I pick it up without looking, sliding it into my purse. I am going to the one place I know I can get answers.
My husband.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lucas
“You’re home early,” I say as Angel comes through the back door and into the kitchen. I take her bag and coat from her as she slips off her shoes.
“I’m surprised you didn’t hear. Chad Dering killed himself last night.” She stops by the center island and drums her fingers on the countertop. “Don’t you think it’s odd? He’s not really the type to take his own life. He loves himself way too much for that.”
“I haven’t given it much thought.” I hang up the jacket and set the bag on the desk nook just to the right of the refrigerator. From inside the icebox, I grab a pitcher of tea and carry it over to the counter.
“It’s not as if I spent a lot of time thinking about it either, but it just didn’t feel right.”
“Go with your gut,” I advise and pour her a glass.
She doesn’t take it. The wheels in her head are turning. We’ve never really gotten close to this topic. I rub a hand across my jaw and wait for her questions. I don’t know how I should answer them. I don’t want to lie, but I can’t lose her. I won’t lose her. Angel is my anchor in this life. When I saw her, I knew the reason for my existence was to love and cherish her. The things I did were because I wanted to create a better world for her.
“My gut says that last night Chad wasn’t the only one in his office when he died.”
“Does that bother you?”
Instead of answering that question, she asks another one. “If I ask you questions, will you lie or will you tell me the truth?”
My hand is wet from the pitcher, but it could be sweat. “What do you want?”
“The truth.” It’s stated plainly, without animosity or anger, which gives me some hope. Mild. My heart thumps faster.