Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Imogene
Present Day
My chest constricted, a weight suffocating me, freezing me in place. Nothing made sense. Not after hearing that name… Samuel Tate .
It echoed in my head, a never-ending nightmare I couldn’t wake up from, no matter how hard I’d tried.
I thought moving to California would give me the fresh start I desperately needed, an escape from the overwhelming grief of Samuel’s death.
But now, after five years, a glass with his fingerprints was found at Alton’s cabin?
How was I supposed to process that information? What could it mean?
A part of me had always held on to a tiny glimmer of hope he might still be alive. Without a body, that was all it was.
Over the past few weeks, however, I let go of the idea. Let go of him .Moved on from the constant pain of losing Samuel.
Now this revelation had shattered everything. Could it be possible? Could Samuel still be alive?
The notion sent chills down my spine, obliterating the fragile peace I’d finally found after years of turmoil.
I didn’t know how, but I somehow managed to force my heavy legs to carry me down the hallway of Liam’s house. Each step required a herculean feat, my world spinning around me, threatening to throw me off.
As I emerged into the foyer, Liam’s housekeeper approached, scanning my appearance in concern.
I had no idea what I looked like right now, but I must have looked rattled. Like I’d just seen a ghost.
In a way, I had.
“Is everything okay, Ms. Prescott?” she asked in an accented voice, her tone soft and soothing.
But nothing could soothe the confusion swirling within me.
“Sure. Yeah. He’s busy. I’ll reach out to him later,” I rushed out, practically running toward the front door.
I could feel her suspicion watching me as I left the house.
Samuel often teased me for having a horrible poker face. Said I wore my emotions on my sleeve for all to see. After overhearing what I just did, I was pretty sure even a complete stranger, like Liam’s housekeeper, could sense I was teetering on the edge of having a breakdown.
I jumped into my car and peeled out of the elaborate driveway, speeding all the way back to La Jolla. I wasn’t even sure how I got home, the thirty-minute drive going by in a blur as I contemplated every single scenario for why Samuel’s fingerprints could have been found on that glass.
And why Liam sounded petrified over the notion.
When I walked into my townhouse, Ollie bounded toward me with his usual excitement, his tail wagging and mouth hanging open. Normally, I looked forward to seeing my sweet boy after being away from him all day. Today, the sight of him was yet another reminder of Samuel.
“Want to go out?” I asked Ollie rather unenthusiastically.
He must have picked up on my mood, tilting his head to the side and studying me. If he could talk, he’d probably ask if I was okay.
The truth was, I wasn’t sure what I was. Other than fucking confused.
“Come on, pal.” I moved through the living room and headed toward the back door.
The wooden panels creaked under my feet as I swung the door open, allowing the ocean breeze to rush in.
Ollie bolted onto the deck, and I followed him down the steps to the fenced-in back yard. It wasn’t as much space as he was used to back in Atlanta, but considering where I lived, it was better than not having any yard at all.
As I threw Ollie’s ball for him, I continued to replay the conversation I overheard, my thoughts tangled and twisted. I cleared my mind, trying to keep emotion out of it and think about everything rationally. Only focus on the facts.
And the only facts I did know were that investigators found a glass on the coffee table at Alton’s cabin containing Samuel Tate’s fingerprints. That it wasn’t the only glass there, either, which was why investigators found it odd, considering Alton was supposedly alone when he took his life. That Liam and James both sounded nervous about the idea of someone purposefully leaving a glass with Samuel’s fingerprints for investigators to find.
But why? What would that have to do with them?
I had no idea, but I needed to find out.
And I knew where to start.
“Come on, Ollie. Want some dinner?”
He darted past me and up the deck, eagerly wagging his tail as he sat obediently at the back door.
When I opened it for him, he dashed inside, dancing circles in front of me, causing me to trip over him several times during the short walk toward the kitchen. After pouring his kibble into his bowl, I poured some red wine into a glass for myself and took a sip.
I had a feeling I’d need the wine to get through what I was about to do.
As Ollie ate, I slipped down the hallway and into my office, heading toward the stacks of Banker’s boxes piled high in one corner, looking for one in particular. After finding it, I carried it into the living room and set it on the coffee table.
With my wine glass clutched tightly in my hand like a security blanket, I simply stared at the box for what felt like an eternity.
It had been years since I last looked at the contents of this particular box. I almost didn’t bring it with me when I moved, hoping to finally leave my past behind me. But something prompted me to pack it at the last minute, as if a part of me knew it wasn’t over. That there were still too many unanswered questions.
After taking a fortifying sip of wine, I sat on the floor in front of the box and lifted the lid, immediately assaulted with a wave of memories of what once was.
Memories of a past I thought I’d moved on from.
Memories that now threatened to break me all over again.