Chapter 25
Juliette
“It was so awful,” I said with a sob, my eyes and cheeks wet with tears. The cop staring at me with big, sympathetic eyes didn’t know they were tears of pure happiness. “There was so much blood. By the time the paramedics showed up…”
“It’s okay.” The policeman placed a hand on my shoulder. “Do you want to take a seat for a minute or two? I know how hard it must be to tell me all the details, but it’s better to get them while they’re fresh. Why don’t you sit down and drink some water?”
Wiping at my eyes, I nodded. “Okay.”
It was hard to hold back my laughter. I wasn’t a good actress. When it came to the arts, painting was definitely more my thing, but this had to be my ultimate performance. The sad, broken-hearted wife who couldn’t hold her tears back—when really, all she was trying to do was hold back her laugh.
I did what the cop suggested and took a seat at the edge of the fountain at the front of the house.
Cop car after cop car had filled up the driveway, the flashing blue and red lights irritating me, but at the same time, they felt so calming.
The deed was done. So far, no one seemed to suspect a thing.
Gordon was dead. He was gone. My husband was finally a dead man and I was finally a free woman.
For the first time in my whole life, it felt like the world was finally letting me do what I wanted.
I let my eyes linger on the house that had been my prison for the last five years.
I could see the bedroom Gordon and I slept in.
I wished I could see through the concrete, wished I could see his lifeless body just one more time.
The cop tilted his head at me, that same sympathetic look on his face. “Are you ready to give us more details, Mrs. Cavendish?” he asked.
“I… I suppose so,” I said, breathing out shakily.
“Take your time. We were about to go into details about what the man looked like.”
I nodded. “He was wearing a mask, so I couldn’t see his face.”
“Did you happen to see his eyes?”
“They were brown,” I lied. “That’s all I remember. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Mrs. Cavendish. Any scars? Tattoos? Anything that would set him apart from everyone else?”
I knew all of that. I knew Bridger’s tattoos to a T. But I just pouted at the cop, offering him a weak shrug. “He was dressed head to toe in black. Gloves and everything. I’m sorry. I didn’t see anything besides his eyes, but his voice? He had an accent. It was… European maybe? I’m sorry… I…”
“It’s okay, Mrs. Cavendish.” The man sighed. “I think we have all the details we need for now, but we’ll be in touch.”
Oh, great. Now I had to keep playing the part of the grieving widow.
Still, though… Widow sounded so, so good in my head.
We had skipped straight past separation and divorce and went straight to death, and it excited me way too much.
Freedom was just around the corner. No, it was in my hands. I could taste it in the air.
Looking up at the cop with big eyes, I nodded. “Thank you.”
“We’ll be ready to take you to the hotel in a minute. Sorry for the wait. Shouldn’t be much longer now.”
He touched my shoulder and moved over to one of the many other officers that were loitering around the front of the house. I’d be staying at a hotel. One of the finest in Chicago, free of charge—which was nice since I didn’t even have a single dollar to my name.
The cops let me pack a couple things before bringing me outside. Just some clothes and toiletries. I brought some toothpaste and my hairbrush and grabbed a few of the pregnancy tests I had never needed until tonight.
The cops had actually suggested I call my family and tell them what happened.
I had done that, just to make it look good, to make it look real.
I talked to my mom, forcing out a cry after the cops arrived and I told her what happened to Gordon on the phone.
I had no idea I had so many hidden acting skills.
It must have been the excitement of it all. The adrenaline.
Despite me telling her my husband had just been killed and that I had seen it all go down, she didn’t offer me a place to stay. That was fine. I didn’t want the offer, anyway.
Tightening the blanket around me, I knew full well that I wouldn’t be able to see Bridger for at least a few weeks.
He had given me a quick rundown after killing Gordon, speaking as casually as ever as if he hadn’t just murdered a man.
He had sat me down in the kitchen as he went over all the rules.
No contact for a little while. No coming to the tattoo parlor.
No moving just yet. It had to look real.
I had to look like I was utterly distraught.
“Ready to leave, Mrs. Cavendish?” the cop from earlier asked.
Nodding weakly, I blinked at him. “I… I think so.”
The cops escorted me to the hotel. It was beyond peaceful as I lay down in the bed, arms stretched wide in the California King, my eyes glistening with tears of happiness. It was so hard not to celebrate by ordering everything on the room service menu and calling Bridger over to come join me.
The smile wouldn’t leave me.
I hadn’t felt Bridger Underwood in five years, and it was like feeling him for the first time all over again. We had made love over three hours ago, but his touch still lingered. That ache. That craving for him.
Time and people and lies had kept us apart. No more of that, though. We’d be able to love each other again, the way we were always meant to. My eyes fluttered shut. Bridger Underwood was it for me. My past, present, future. My everything.
Soon we’d have what we both always wanted: that quiet, peaceful life without my parents, without the control. It had been five years in the making, but we got there in the end.
Now I had to wait. Wait for the right time while making all the right moves. I was the heartbroken widow. I was the pained woman who ached for her poor, murdered husband.
Everyone else saw the fake smile at the galas. The superficial laughs at the country club. The loveless kisses at the charity balls.
They saw the woman Gordon had presented and never the one hiding inside. That woman was free.