Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Imogene
The sun had begun to set on my ninth day stuck in this hospital when a knock sounded on my door during a rare moment to myself.
Between Gideon being glued to my side, as well as my parents and Melanie visiting me as much as possible, I’d barely had any time to be alone and reflect on everything that had happened. From the accident, to Gideon’s admission, and then his promise that he was done being Gideon Saint.
I still wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I hadn’t had time to figure out how I felt about that.
But Gideon just left to attend to some business down in San Diego, allowing me some much-needed alone time. The last thing I wanted was more visitors.
I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get my wish, though.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” one of my nurses said as she popped her head into my room.
“Is anything wrong?” I asked, hoping my most recent round of tests and scans came back clear.
I’d been on the mend for over week now, but the doctors still wanted to keep me in the hospital for a bit longer to make sure there weren’t any complications from my surgery. So far, there hadn’t been. As long as I continued to make positive progress, I’d be released in just a few more days. I was itching to get out of this place.
“Not at all. There’s someone from the FBI here who’d like to ask you a few questions. I can tell him you’re not up to it yet, if you’d prefer.”
I let out a heavy sigh.
With Liam still missing after having withdrawn large sums of money from his various accounts, I knew it was only a matter of time before law enforcement came knocking on my door, considering my once close ties to him.
I prayed their investigation didn’t also lead to Gideon… Samuel.
“It’s okay.”
“I’m happy to send him away,” the nurse said, obviously picking up on my reluctance.
“It’s fine,” I assured her.
“Okay.” She turned and disappeared down the hallway.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to calm my nerves. I told myself it would be okay. That I hadn’t done anything wrong. But I couldn’t help but feel anxious about what questions he might ask.
“Ms. Prescott?”
I snapped my eyes open to see a tall man standing in the doorway. Everything about him screamed law enforcement. From the dark suit, to his perfectly groomed silver hair and shaven jawline, to his no-nonsense demeanor. I got the feeling this was a guy who took his job seriously.
“I’m Agent Myers with the FBI.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” I replied with a congenial smile.
“May I sit down?” He gestured to the chair beside my bed.
“Of course.”
“Thank you.” He walked across the room and sat in the chair, his eyes focused on me with every step.
It was unnerving.
“What can I help you with today, Agent Myers?” I asked, trying to keep my tone friendly and composed.
“I’m investigating a cold case in Georgia that appears to be connected to recent criminal activity, both in Georgia and here in California.”
“Okay,” I drew out, my anxiety increasing with every second. The air in the room suddenly felt heavy and oppressive, as if it were holding its breath, waiting for whatever question he was about to ask.
Much like I was.
“When was the last time you saw William Pierce?”
It took me a moment to figure out he was referring to Liam. I hadn’t heard anyone call him William in years.
“About three weeks ago. He stopped by my townhouse.”
“What did you discuss?”
“We’d gotten into an argument a week prior, and he came over to apologize.”
“What was the argument about?”
“He doesn’t approve of my current choice in romantic partner.”
Agent Myers arched a brow. “Gideon Saint?”
I swallowed hard, wondering how he knew of my relationship with him. In all actuality, we’d only spent a handful of nights together. Yet, this FBI agent knew about us.
How?
And why did he seem so interested in my response?
“Yes,” I finally answered, keeping my expression even.
“And you haven’t seen or spoken to Mr. Pierce since that day?”
“No.”
“Did he say anything else when he came to see you? No matter how insignificant, it could be helpful.”
“He did mention he was heading out of town that night and wouldn’t be back for a few days,” I offered, hoping that was enough to satisfy him.
“Nothing else?”
“I’m sorry,” I offered, then furrowed my brow, feigning confusion. “What’s all of this about?”
He pushed out a long sigh. “I’m sure you’re already aware, but over a week ago, a recording was leaked to the media. This recording was of a conversation between James Turner and a funeral director in Atlanta, Brian McGuire, where they discussed their roles in the botched coverup of the murder of Samuel Tate. In that same recording, they referred to a third person who actually pulled the trigger but was never named. I believe that person was William Pierce, considering he had the most to gain from Mr. Tate’s death.”
I swallowed hard, my heart heavy at the reminder of how wrong I’d been about Liam. It still made my stomach churn to know I allowed him to comfort me, all while he was the one who’d wanted Samuel dead.
“Turner was already a person of interest in McGuire’s disappearance, thanks to an anonymous tip Atlanta PD received. It’s our theory that Mr. Pierce saw the temperature rising and decided to make a run for it. So far, we haven’t been able to track him down. Phone records have come up empty. Same for bank records. I was hoping you might have spoken to him recently. Or at least know somewhere he might go if he wanted to lie low for a bit. You two have been pretty close for quite some time.”
“I assume you’ve already checked his various homes here in California, as well as in Atlanta, Chicago, New York, and London.”
“We have.”
“I don’t know where else he might go. We’ve sort of grown apart over the past few years. Since Samuel Tate’s death, I suppose.”
He nodded, his penetrating gaze studying me for several anxiety-inducing moments. “You don’t seem surprised at the idea that William Pierce could be responsible for what happened to Mr. Tate. In fact, you barely reacted, as if you already knew of the role he played in all of this.”
My face heated, my mouth growing dry. “I guess I saw how money and success affected him. He’s not the same person he was when we first met, which is why we’re not as close as we once were.”
He didn’t immediately say anything, simply studying me with even more scrutiny. Every other sound in the room seemed amplified — my unsteady breathing, the tapping of my nails against the bed railing, even the rustling of my hospital gown. I feared the longer he stayed, the more he’d realize the truth.
“I wish I could be more helpful,” I said with a smile, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. “But I just don’t know where Liam could be.”
Time seemed to stand still as he continued studying me with an intense, unwavering gaze. His piercing dark eyes bore into mine, making me feel like he could see right through me. I understood why he made such a good cop. Hell, after mere minutes in his presence, I was ready to confess every bad thing I’d ever done.
Finally, he gave a subtle nod, as if in approval of my response. He stood and reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
“If you think of anything else or if he contacts you in any way, give me a call.” He handed me a business card.
I took it, relieved he hadn’t pressed too much about Gideon Saint or Samuel Tate.
But just as he was about to open the door, he unexpectedly turned around again.
“Do you mind if I ask one more question?”
My stomach twisted with unease over what that might be.
“Of course.” I gritted out.
“When was the last time you saw Samuel Tate?”
“S-Samuel Tate?” I repeated, my heart rate kicking up, the tiny hairs all over my body standing on end.
“It’s my understanding you two were good friends before what happened to him.”
I nodded slightly. “We were.”
“So when was the last time you saw him?”
I shook my head, desperately trying to buy myself some time and hoping he wouldn’t sense any deceit in my words.
“The day he died. Or that I was made to believe he died.” I furrowed my brow. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s just a theory I’ve been working on.”
“A theory?”
“My gut tells me this entire scenario isn’t as clear cut as some of the evidence suggests.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No.”
He took a few steps back into the room, but didn’t sit down. Still, his presence seemed to fill the space, suffocating me and reminding me what was at stake.
“When I started looking at the big picture, a few things stood out. Starting with you being sent those necklaces, then being attacked in the alley.”
His words hung heavy in the air, each one landing with a thud and leaving me reeling. I tried to maintain my composure, flashing a poker face I’d perfected all those years ago while living with my sperm donor. But as he continued reciting off all the suspicious events, I felt it slip.
“Approximately two weeks later, a body was found on Mr. Pierce’s boat that belonged to the man who’d given you the necklace in the club, Benjamin Astor. Then less than a week later, Alton Sinclair was found dead of a supposed self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head, and a glass containing Samuel Tate’s fingerprints was found at the scene. Just a few days after that, James Turner paid Brian McGuire a visit in Atlanta, who then turned up missing. Then just a few weeks later, a recording of their conversation was released, which would have resulted in Turner’s arrest, had he not attempted to flee from the cops.”
As he leveled his stare on me, my heart pounded in my chest, making me think it was about to burst out of my body.
“And your theory is?” I prodded, despite every voice in my head telling me to put an end to this conversation right now.
“That maybe these recent deaths aren’t simply attempts to cover up what happened all those years ago, but are acts of revenge. By Samuel Tate himself.”
“But he’s dead,” I protested, surprised at how convincing I sounded. Hell, if I didn’t know any better, I would have believed me.
But I knew better.
“We don’t know that,” Agent Myers argued. “In the recording, Brian McGuire confessed to selling Mr. Tate. He could have survived and escaped, and is now getting back at everyone who he believes wronged him. Alton Sinclair. James Turner. Brian McGuire. Now with William Pierce having essentially disappeared, it’s possible he’s also eliminated him. Which means you’re the last name on his hit list to cross off. Hell, the necklaces and the attack in the alley could have been his first attempt at doing just that.”
“That sounds a little far-fetched,” I said, praying my voice didn’t sound as nervous as I felt right now. “Like something out of a movie.”
“My boss said the same thing, considering the only proof we have that Samuel Tate is still alive is a single fingerprint, which could very easily be several years old.” He arched a single brow, his unnerving gaze locked on mine, as if looking for the slightest indication I might believe him.
Agent Myers seemed determined to get a reaction out of me, waiting for me to slip up and reveal something incriminating.
“Samuel Tate was the kindest, most gentle person I knew,” I declared with vindication. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone. Not like you’re suggesting. And he certainly wouldn’t hurt me.”
“You’d be surprised what people are capable of when they’re pushed to their limits.”
I didn’t respond. Just glared at him.
I expected him to turn and leave, but he didn’t. Instead, he stated, “It’s my understanding Gideon Saint is the one who came to your rescue that night in the alley.”
“What does that have to do with everything?”
He raked his scrutinizing stare over me once more. “I’m not sure yet.” He smirked. “Good day, Ms. Prescott.”
With one last look, he turned around and disappeared into the hallway, leaving me on edge and making me regret ever agreeing to answer his questions.