Chapter Fourteen
Margo
On a Train to Scotland
Margo glanced out the window as the train hurtled toward Edinburgh.
The evening flights had been filled with commuters likely making the trek from London to Edinburgh, and the only one that had been available left far too quickly for them to make it to the airport in time, so she’d used her company credit card to book two tickets on the Caledonian Sleeper for her and Luke.
The train had left Euston a few hours ago and was due to arrive in Edinburgh in the morning.
Based on the hours listed on the website, Adriana Josephs’s restaurant served lunch starting at noon, so hopefully they’d be able to catch her right when it opened. Margo had booked them an evening flight back to London with the hope that they would have some answers by then.
She took a sip of her drink, the whiskey she ordered when she first came to the Club Car burning its way down.
She glanced at her watch.
It was just past one a.m.
It was a pretty night, too dark to see much save for the lights in the towns they passed, but there was a comfort in the stillness, in the cocoon of the carriage.
She and Luke had boarded the train looking over their shoulders like two fugitives, no sign of anyone following them.
She’d been careful when booking their travel, using an old email address that she mainly utilized to keep spam out of her main one.
She’d made sure to send an email to Bea telling her that she was going to work from home the next few days in the hopes that if her email was compromised, then whoever was watching her would keep their eyes on her flat rather than following her and Luke to Scotland.
It didn’t feel like enough, though, especially when she didn’t know what—or who—she was up against.
“Can’t sleep?”
Margo glanced up.
Luke stood in the aisle next to the empty row of seats across from her.
He’d changed from earlier into a worn black sweatshirt and a pair of lounge pants that she instantly recognized as his favorites.
She’d bought them for him on a shopping trip early into their marriage, and every time he’d commented how comfortable they were, satisfaction filled her.
She liked knowing that she had done something to make his life easier as he did for her on the days when he brought her a coffee from her favorite café when she was working at the office or made her favorite dinner after a particularly frustrating day.
He looked good. Really good. And it was too easy to remember the sensation of wrapping her arms around him, the soft fabric against her cheek as she laid her head on his chest, his heartbeat between them, tucked into the curve of his embrace, where she had always felt both safe and seduced.
Margo swallowed, her throat a little dry despite the drink she’d just sipped. “No, I couldn’t sleep.”
It wasn’t just her grief over Mr. Thornton’s death or her worries over the break-in at her office and the mystery of A Time for Forgetting keeping her up.
This whole thing with Luke was awkward as hell.
Last night, the adrenaline after finding Mr. Thornton’s body had been enough of a distraction, and this morning and afternoon, well, she’d been so preoccupied with the break-in, her worries about Bea, and A Time for Forgetting that she’d been able to mostly—okay, somewhat—ignore Luke.
But as she’d tried to drift to sleep, she’d been consumed by this nervous energy, the fact that Luke was here filling her with all sorts of complicated feelings.
And now he was standing in front of her, and the Club Car was empty and there were no distractions to focus on, no ways to avoid him.
He was just here, and they were divorced, and it seemed inevitable that at some point or another they were going to need to confront the elephant in the room and the fact that as easy as it was to fall into old habits, to work together, they weren’t partners anymore and they certainly weren’t friends.
“Do you mind if I join you?” Luke asked.
Margo shook her head despite all the emotions running through her.
Luke slid into the seat across from her, the table between them doing little to give her the buffer she needed.
“Did you have a good dinner?” he asked.
If it were anyone but Luke, she would have taken the question as nothing more than someone making polite conversation. But she knew him, despite everything that had happened between them, probably better than anyone else did, and she could hear the thread in his voice, the unspoken words there.
Did you really want to avoid seeing me so badly that you opted for a stale takeaway egg and watercress sandwich and a lukewarm bottle of water?
“It was great,” she chirped.
I would have eaten a tuna sandwich with celery if that meant avoiding this awkwardness, and you know how much I loathe celery.
He shook his head slightly, but whether he was amused or exasperated by the whole business, she couldn’t tell.
“Have you heard anything from the police about your office?” he asked her.
“No. I tried calling them to get an update on the situation, but the officer didn’t answer, and his voicemail was full.
I figured I’d try again in the morning. I thought sending them the contents of the flash drive might convince them that the two events were connected, but I’m not sure if they believe it.
They’re certainly not looping me in on the investigation, regardless.
“Before the break-in, I called the detective who questioned me, and to say that he blew me off is an understatement. Maybe he’ll change his mind now that my office has been broken into.”
“They might. It may take some time for them to get there, though. In their minds, the most obvious answer is the likely one, and the details of the robberies surrounding the bookshop are too close for them to ignore. When the goal is to close cases, sometimes the easiest answer looks to be the most promising one. Crimes are never wrapped up neatly with a bow. There’s always an acceptance that there will be details that don’t fit. ”
“Do you miss it?” Margo asked.
“Working as a detective?”
She nodded.
“Sometimes.”
“I’m sorry.”
Luke shook his head. “I don’t regret it.
And it was never your fault. It was my choice.
I wanted to make things work. And my job—my job took me to some dark places.
When I was younger and just starting out, I loved the chase, loved the thrill of solving cases, of trying to find some semblance of justice.
But as time wore on, it took its toll. And not just on our marriage. ”
Margo glanced out the window once more, unable to meet his gaze.
Darkness stared back at her, the faintest hint of lights so far off in the distance that they were barely visible.
Her fellow passengers had long since abandoned the carriage, leaving her and Luke alone, the rhythmic chugging of the train tracks the only sound between them.
She stared back at him, his profile to her as he, too, looked out the train window.
Did he come here searching for her, knowing she might somehow be here, or had he been hoping for solitude? Had she?
It was too hard to tell these days. Everything was so jumbled and she couldn’t make sense of much of anything anymore.
It was entirely too comfortable being here with him, and at the same time, things were different between them, a discordant note in the air that confused everything.
They’d never settled anything between them, never had one of those difficult conversations that cleared the air or gave any kind of closure.
She’d avoided it, truthfully, because she’d never had the words, but now it was a gaping wound that had never been properly cared for.
Luke looked tired, shadows under his eyes and stubble on his jaw.
“Couldn’t sleep, either?” she asked him.
He shook his head, turning his attention back to her.
“I’ve been worried about you. Ever since you showed up on my doorstep last night.
” A pause stretched between them and then—“I never stopped worrying about you. I know I was supposed to. It seems like it should have been written in the divorce decree or something, alongside who got the dining table.” He had.
She couldn’t stand the idea of sitting in her usual chair without him staring back at her.
“But I still thought about you, wondered if you were okay, if you were happy and healthy. That night I saw Mr. Thornton, I asked him how you were doing. I couldn’t help myself. ”
Margo’s heart pounded.
She slid her glass of whiskey across the table to him.
Luke hesitated for a moment, and then he picked up the glass and lifted it to his lips.
How many times had they shared a drink like this?
It was natural and easy, and maybe that was the danger of it all, the reason that she’d had to leave in the first place, because there was something so right about being with him even though they wanted very different things and seemed unable to get past the habit of unintentionally hurting each other.
And still—
It was supremely unfair that he looked this good, and that after everything, she still experienced that feeling in the pit of her stomach—that aching, tumbling sensation of fear and want.
Margo ducked her head, terrified that he would see a glimpse of it in her expression, would notice how she took in his long, tapered fingers, his sharp jaw, his tanned throat.
This was a spectacularly bad idea.
“He said you were doing well,” Luke continued, even though she hadn’t asked. “And I was glad to hear it. And also—I wondered what that meant. If you’d moved on, if you were seeing someone…”
He trailed off as though waiting for her to finish his thought.
She didn’t dare. It was too much. It was all too much.
Silence descended between them.
“Sasha and I aren’t seeing each other anymore,” Luke said, his tone casual despite the undercurrent of seriousness lingering there.
What?