Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Gideon
The heat of the garage was suffocating, pressing down on me as I jabbed repeatedly at the punching bag. My fists hitting the tough leather echoed like thunder in the small space, drowning out all other sounds. The controlled burn in my muscles was the only thing grounding me right now, the only thing that kept me from letting my mind spiral. After last night, every part of me was wound tight, more like a live wire than a man who had promised to turn over a new leaf.
I truly believed I could protect Imogene by leaving all of this behind. By pretending I wasn’t the monster I had no choice but to become.
Last night was a glaring reminder that I couldn’t just wish my past away.
I aimed another punch at the bag, imagining Liam’s face, the feeling of raw satisfaction that would come from finally erasing him from our lives pushing me faster and harder. The past few weeks had lulled me into believing I could build something good with Imogene, free of anything that had come before.
Free of my sins.
But the break-in made me realize something I’d been happy to ignore. My promise to keep Imogene safe and my determination to keep my past buried couldn’t co-exist in the same world.
One of them would have to go.
The jarring chime of the doorbell broke through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. Retrieving my cell from a nearby table, I checked the security app and found a tall, older man in a dark suit standing outside. Everything about him exuded authority — a suit too formal for the California heat, a stance too rigid to belong to anyone except someone used to waiting people out.
Grabbing a towel, I dabbed at the sweat covering my face and torso before hastily throwing a t-shirt over my head and making my way out of my makeshift gym.
“Gideon Saint?” the man asked as soon as I opened the door, his gaze cool and assessing.
I gave a slight nod. “And you are?”
“Agent Lawrence Myers. FBI.” He flashed his badge before tucking it back into his suit jacket pocket. “I’d like to speak with Ms. Prescott about last night’s incident.” His words were measured, his eyes never leaving mine, as if searching for something.
“Agent Myers,” Imogene said brightly as she appeared beside me.
With furrowed brows, I looked between Imogene and Agent Myers, her recognition making it clear they’d already met. But when?
“I’m glad to see you out of the hospital and moving around. I trust your recovery is going well?”
“It is. I’m hoping my doctor will clear me to return to work next week.”
I did my best to push down my unease over the prospect, especially after last night.
“I’m sure you’re looking forward to life getting back to normal.”
“I certainly am. Won’t you come in?”
She stepped back to allow him to enter, something I’d hoped to avoid.
As he crossed the threshold, his eyes continued to survey me. I tried to get a read on him but couldn’t. Which only unnerved me even more.
“Would you like some coffee?” Imogene asked as she led him toward the living room.
“You don’t have to wait on him,” I admonished. “You still need to take it easy.”
“I’m fine.” She playfully rolled her eyes.
“No need,” Myers interjected. “I won’t be long.”
“What can I do for you?” She gestured to the reading chair opposite her as she settled into the couch. I joined her, keeping my gaze trained on the agent.
“I just wanted to ask a few questions about the break-in last night.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a small notepad. “I must admit, I was quite surprised to learn about it from my supervisor and not from you, especially after I specifically asked you to reach out if William Pierce tried to contact you.”
“With all due respect, Agent Myers,” I spoke up in a firm tone. “Imogene was a bit shaken up after everything. We both were. It was nearly midnight by the time we finally finished with the local police, and all we wanted to do was go to sleep.”
“That’s understandable,” Myers said, though there was a hint of skepticism in his voice.
Then he opened a folder and produced several images — crime scene snapshots of the framed photos left in Imogene’s home.
“These were taken last night at the townhouse by the forensics team.” He placed six photos on the glass coffee table between us. “Can you tell me where and when each one was taken?”
“She already told the local police everything she knew. It should be in their report,” I interjected.
“I prefer to conduct my own investigation and ask my own questions.” He gritted a smile, then shifted his attention back to Imogene, arching an expectant brow.
“They were all taken years ago, except for one.”
“This one?” He pointed to the more recent photo we discovered on Imogene’s bookshelf.
“Yes.”
“It was taken on the beach in front of this house?” Myers pressed.
Imogene nodded.
“Do you know when exactly?”
She squinted, studying the photo. “I can’t be sure. It could have been any time over the past three weeks. I don’t have my sling on, which I stopped wearing all the time a few weeks ago. There’s nothing that stands out about our clothes to indicate a specific date. Truthfully, the days have sort of blended together lately.” She returned her gaze to Agent Myers. “I’m sorry I’m not more helpful.”
“Not at all.” He gave her a smile that felt borderline condescending. “And the rest of the photos were taken years ago?”
She nodded once more. “Except they’ve been altered.”
“You told the local detective that the original photos featured Samuel Tate, but in these, he’s been replaced with Mr. Saint.” He looked my way.
“That’s correct.”
“Do you know why someone would do that?”
She shook her head, parting her lips.
“Isn’t it your job to figure out the motives behind a criminal’s behavior?” I chimed in.
“It is. But considering you both mentioned to the local police that you suspect William Pierce is responsible for this, it seems a reasonable question given Ms. Prescott’s close relationship to him.” Myers returned his attention to Imogene. “Any idea why he might not only return these photos to your bookshelf after you’d taken them down, but also alter them to replace Samuel Tate’s image with Mr. Saint’s?”
Imogene hadn’t told the investigators the truth last night. To be honest, I was actually surprised by how convincing she sounded. But there was something different about Agent Myers.
Almost like he already knew the truth.
But how?
“I can’t possibly try to rationalize Liam’s actions,” she said finally. “I’ve realized I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.”
“Did Mr. Pierce have access to your townhouse?” he asked, his voice smooth and controlled as he steered the conversation.
“He…he did at one point,” Imogene answered. “But I changed the code a few weeks ago.”
Myers arched a brow, clearly intrigued. “Can I ask why?”
She swallowed, choosing her words carefully. “My dog, Ollie…he was poisoned. Just a little over a week before the crash.”
“Did you report this incident?”
Imogene’s shoulders tensed, and I knew she was struggling to maintain composure. “I didn’t think it was necessary. There was no proof anyone had broken in. It’s possible my dog could have consumed the antifreeze when we were out for a walk, but I changed the code, just to be safe.”
Myers looked back at me, and I could see the silent calculation in his eyes, as if he was trying to put a convoluted puzzle together without all the pieces.
Finally, he tucked his notepad away and pushed to stand.
“I’ll let you get on with your day.” He looked from me to Imogene. “If you think of anything else, make sure to call.”
I escorted him to the front door, the tension in the air thickening with every step.
“I’ll let you know if I find something,” he stated as we stepped outside, the California sun warming my skin.
“Thank you.”
He extended his hand toward me and I took it in mine, shaking it briefly. Then he turned and started up the driveway.
But he only made it a few steps before facing me once more.
“While I’m here, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“About?” I drew out, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.
I wasn’t sure if it was because of my mistrust of law enforcement in general or because something about this guy in particular didn’t sit right with me.
“The night of Ms. Prescott’s attack a few months ago. It’s my understanding you’re a part owner of the club where it happened.”
“I’m more of a silent investor. And I fail to see how that relates to last night’s break-in.”
“Just humor me. You came to her rescue. Did you not?”
“I did,” I answered somewhat reluctantly.
“Why were you in the alley?”
“I saw a man approach Imogene in the club and her body language suggested something was off. When I noticed her follow him down the rear corridor, I trailed her into the back alley. Which is where I came across her being attacked by another man.”
“Who you ended up killing.”
“He had a knife to her throat and had already drawn blood. I did what I had to in order to protect her.”
“And then you took Ms. Prescott to the hospital?”
“She fainted. I wanted to make sure she was okay. It was a good thing I did, since she actually had a minor concussion.”
“How long did you stay?”
I wanted to tell him to call my lawyer if he hoped to continue this line of questioning, but I didn’t want to do anything to make him suspicious.
“A few hours. Once Imogene was clear of the various tests they gave her and I knew she’d be okay.”
“What time do you think you left?”
“I don’t know. Maybe two or three in the morning. Why?”
“Are you aware that a body was found on Mr. Pierce’s boat? And it belonged to the man who Imogene followed out of the club before she was attacked, Benjamin Astor?”
“I may not be well-versed in police investigations, but if a body was found on his boat, perhaps he had something to do with it.”
“William Pierce has an alibi for the estimated time of death. He was with Ms. Prescott at the hospital all night, a fact corroborated by the staff there. Can you tell me where you were between the hours of three and eight in the morning after you left the hospital?”
“In bed.” I maintained steady eye contact so he couldn’t detect even a hint of deception.
I was glad Henry subjected me to intense interrogation techniques before I started down my path of revenge. At first, I told him it was unnecessary, but he insisted, claiming it might help me out of sticky situations.
Now I was grateful for it.
“Can anyone corroborate this?”
“Doubtful. Before I started seeing Imogene, I lived alone. I do have a security system installed at my house, complete with cameras. They’ll show me arriving home. I’m happy to provide the videos for you.”
I leveled a stare on him, expecting for him to end this line of questioning.
I was wrong again.
“It’s my understanding you met with Alton Sinclair approximately a week before his death.”
“He was interested in managing some of my assets.”
“A few people claimed to have observed a heated exchange between you and Mr. Sinclair at a golf tournament in Pebble Beach a few days before his death.”
I swallowed hard, doing my best to keep my breathing even. “He discovered some confidential information while at my home and used it for illegal trades.”
“And yet you still hired him to manage your investments?” He scrunched his brows.
“I wasn’t aware he’d snooped through my files until he accused me of planting that information. While I allowed him to handle a small percentage of my investments, I wasn’t affected by his illegal activities.”
“A few days after his death, you flew to Atlanta. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“Around the same time James Turner was there. And Brian McGuire, a funeral director, went missing.”
“I had a meeting with a startup looking for angel investors.”
Again, it wasn’t a complete lie. Henry had set it up so I’d have a purpose for being there, should any of my actions come to bite me in the ass later.
Like right now.
“Would you like the name and number of the group I met with?”
“That would be extremely helpful.”
“I’ll have my assistant send it along with the video, as well as a copy of my calendar. Now if we’re done here, I’d like to check on Imogene.” I glowered, as if challenging him to keep pushing me.
“My apologies for taking up so much of your time.”
I nodded, then turned.
“I wouldn’t blame him,” he said as I was about to open the door.
I looked over my shoulder, meeting his intense gaze. “Who?”
“Samuel Tate.”
I fully faced him. “Samuel Tate?”
“You’re obviously familiar with who he is.”
I gave a subtle nod. “He was killed several years ago.”
“See, this is where my colleagues and I disagree. I like to explore every possible scenario, regardless of how unlikely it might be. And after that recording was released — the one implicating Senator Turner and Mr. McGuire in trafficking Samuel Tate for profit — it made me think. What if he’s still alive?”
I pushed down the heat crawling over my cheeks, my pulse increasing.
“How?”
“I know it’s a long shot, but it makes sense. Hell, if I were in his shoes and the men I knew and trusted did what these bastards did to Samuel Tate, I’d want to make them pay. I doubt I’d be able to sleep until they suffered just as I had. I’d slowly dismantle their lives until there was nothing left but ashes. Wouldn’t you?”
“I’d trust karma to come for them instead of playing God myself,” I answered in a firmer tone than I thought myself capable of at the moment.
Myers studied me for several excruciatingly long moments, as if trying to read my thoughts. There was something familiar about him. Not his appearance, but the way he spoke.
It rattled me more than it should have.
Finally, he stepped back and turned. “Well, you’re a better man than me.”
I watched as he retreated down the driveway and slid into his sedan. It wasn’t until he’d driven away that I remembered to breathe.
When I’d decided to seek revenge against the men who betrayed me, I went into it knowing someone may eventually uncover the truth.
That was before Imogene. Before I realized there was something worth living for again.
That there was some one worth living for again.
I foolishly thought I could leave my past behind me and only look toward the future.
But with every passing day, I was starting to realize just how impossible that may be.