Chapter 20
April
I stretched my neck, feeling knots of tension beneath my fingertips as I massaged the spot where the headache had settled. Working late had become my new normal these past weeks—partly from necessity, partly to avoid returning to an empty house. The office’s familiar quiet after hours offered more comfort than the hollow silence of home. Although, I couldn’t resist glancing at the screen showing the home security feed, where the empty cups still sat on the counter.
The soft blue glow from my computer screen cast ghostly shadows across my desk as I sorted through files—a task I could have delegated to the ever annoying Cassandra but chose to handle myself. Each focused minute was another minute, not thinking about Rory’s continued absence and Stewart and Christian’s repeated excuses for their late nights.
A knock at my office door made me start. I wasn’t expecting anyone at this hour.
“Coffee delivery,” Reeves announced, pushing the door open with his shoulder. Two steaming cups balanced in his hands, the rich aroma of fresh brew filling my office. His smile looked almost apologetic. “Thought you might need reinforcements. You’ve been at it for hours.”
“Thanks,” I said, accepting the cup gratefully. The warmth seeped through the cardboard sleeve into my palms, a small comfort against the chill that seemed permanently settled in my bones lately. “You’re here late.”
“Paperwork waits for no man, and I thought you might want some company working on the security paperwork for tomorrow,” Reeves replied, settling into the chair across from my desk with casual grace. His suit jacket was missing, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to reveal capable forearms. The formal agent from our first meeting had gradually given way to this more relaxed version. “Especially when you’re trying to help your friends.”
I sipped my coffee—prepared exactly as I liked it, I noticed with mild surprise. Cream, no sugar, dash of cinnamon. When had he learned that detail? “Any progress with Jenny’s case?”
Something flickered across Reeves’ face—frustration, perhaps, or something deeper. “Some. Nothing concrete yet.” He ran a hand through his short hair, the gesture unconsciously mirroring one of Rory’s habits so closely that I felt my chest tighten. “The trail’s been deliberately muddied. Professional job.”
“That matches what Stewart found in the digital evidence,” I said, careful not to reveal too much. Even with all Reeves had done to help, years of working with detectives had taught me caution. “It’s like they knew exactly what we’d look for.”
Reeves’ expression sharpened with interest. “The detectives found something?”
“Just patterns that don’t quite fit,” I hedged, suddenly wary of the intensity in his gaze. “Nothing specific enough to help locate her yet.”
A muted buzz from my phone interrupted our conversation—a text from Rory. My heart leaped traitorously, then plummeted as I read the message: Working late again. Don’t wait up.
Seven words. Not even a question about my day. No endearment, no emoji—nothing of the man who used to send me random texts throughout the day just to make me smile. My finger hovered over the keyboard, tempted to demand answers, to ask where he’d been, to beg him to just talk to me—but pride stopped me. Instead, I typed a brief OK and set the phone down, screen deliberately facedown.
“Bad news?” Reeves asked, his expression softening with concern.
I forced a smile that felt like broken glass. “Just Rory. Working late again.”
“Ah,” Reeves nodded, something knowing in his eyes. “The job can be demanding. Especially cases like this.”
“It’s more than that,” I found myself saying, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “He’s different lately. Distant. Secretive.” I stared into my coffee, embarrassed by my unexpected candor. “Sorry. You didn’t come here for my relationship problems.”
“I don’t mind,” Reeves said, leaning forward slightly. His voice dropped, becoming gentler. “Sometimes it helps to talk to someone outside the situation. Especially when the situation is…complicated.”
The way he said complicated carried no judgment, just acknowledgment. I found myself studying him. The earnest set of his features, the genuine concern in his eyes. When had Reeves become someone I considered confiding in? The realization was unsettling.
“It’s been a difficult few weeks,” I admitted, choosing my words carefully. “For everyone.”
“Sometimes intense cases affect relationships in ways we don’t expect,” Reeves offered. “I’ve seen it happen to the best partners. The stress, the secrecy…it can create distance where there wasn’t any before.”
My gaze drifted to the photo on my desk—my favorite of the four of us, taken on our anniversary trip to the coast. Rory’s arm around my waist, Christian laughing at something Stewart had said, all of us sun-kissed and happy. The memory felt like it belonged to someone else’s life.
“Maybe,” I conceded, not quite convinced. “But this feels…different.” I looked up to find Reeves watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite name. “Like he’s deliberately pulling away.”
Reeves seemed about to respond when the building’s air conditioning cycled on with a mechanical hum, temporarily drowning out conversation. I used the moment to gather myself, embarrassed by my unexpected vulnerability. When the noise subsided, I deliberately shifted topics.
“Any word on the interview with Jenny’s brothers? Are they well enough to provide any new details?”
If Reeves noticed the abrupt change in subject, he didn’t comment. “They’re still struggling with some memory issues from the head trauma, but we’ve scheduled another session for tomorrow. I was planning to—”
The door swung open without warning, cutting him off. Rory stood in the doorway, his silhouette backlit by the hallway lights. The sudden appearance of the very man we’d been discussing sent a jolt through my system.
“Working late?” Rory’s voice was casual, but I caught the undercurrent of tension. His gaze moved from me to Reeves, then back again, something predatory in the assessment.
I straightened involuntarily, conscious of how the scene might appear—coffee cups between us, the late hour, Reeves’ relaxed posture and rolled-up sleeves. “Just finishing some of the security checks for Scarlett tomorrow,” I said, hating how defensive I sounded. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Clearly,” Rory replied, stepping fully into the office. Every movement carried controlled energy, like a hunter carefully positioning himself. “Special Agent Reeves. Didn’t realize you’d be here.”
Reeves stood, smoothly professional once more. “Just comparing notes on the case. Your team’s insights have been invaluable.” He gathered his coffee cup, nodding toward me. “I should head out. Early meeting tomorrow.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Rory offered, the politeness in his voice belied by the tension in his stance.
“No need,” Reeves smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know my way around by now.” He paused at the door, looking back at me. “Let me know if you need anything else on those reports we discussed.”
When he was gone, silence settled between Rory and me like a physical presence. I found myself studying the man before me, searching for the familiar in what suddenly felt like a stranger’s face. The circles under his eyes were new, as was the careful distance he maintained, stopping just short of the desk rather than coming around to greet me with a kiss as he once would have.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming by the office,” I said, hating how tentative I sounded.
“It wasn’t planned.” Rory’s tone was neutral, giving away nothing. His eyes moved to the coffee cups, then back to my face. “How long has that been going on?”
I blinked, momentarily confused, then understanding dawned with a flash of indignation. “Are you serious right now?” I stood, anger suddenly burning through the weeks of hurt and confusion. “You disappear for days at a time, barely communicate, and then have the nerve to question me about having coffee with a colleague?”
Rory’s expression hardened. “That’s not what I asked.”
“You didn’t have to,” I shot back. “It was implied in your tone, your stance, everything about the way you’re looking at me right now.” I gestured toward the door Reeves had exited through. “He’s been more present and helpful during this case than you have, despite supposedly being one of its lead investigators.”
A muscle twitched in Rory’s jaw—the only sign my words had hit their mark. “My involvement in this case is complicated.”
“Everything about you is complicated lately,” I countered, moving around the desk to face him directly. The familiar scent of his cologne hit me as I drew closer, intensifying the ache of missing him. “Where have you been, Rory? Why won’t you talk to me?”
Something flickered in his eyes—regret, perhaps, or guilt—before his expression shuttered again. “I can’t discuss this here.”
“Then where? When?” I demanded, my voice rising despite my efforts to stay calm. “You’re never home. You don’t answer texts. The few times I do see you, you’re already halfway out the door.” I crossed my arms, a barrier against the pain his distance caused. “Christian and Stewart insist nothing’s wrong, but I’m not blind. Something’s happening, and I deserve to know what it is.”
Rory checked his watch, the gesture so dismissive it felt like a slap. “This isn’t the time or place.”
“It never is with you anymore,” I said, the fight suddenly draining from me, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. “Go ahead, run off to whatever’s more important than us. Than me.”
His eyes snapped to mine, something fierce and unreadable in their depths. For a moment, I thought he might finally break, might finally give me something—anything—to hold onto. Instead, he pulled out his phone, checking a message before pocketing it again.
“I have to go,” he said, already moving toward the door. “We’ll talk later.”
“Will we?” I asked softly to his retreating back. Tears stinging at my eyes threatening to burst forth.
Rory paused in the doorway, looking back at me standing there pathetic and crushed. If it bothered him at all he didn’t show it. “It’s not safe to be here alone so late I’ll see you at home, April.”
Then he was gone, leaving me with the faint impression of his cologne and more questions than answers. I sank back into my chair, emotions warring within me—anger, hurt, confusion, and underneath it all, a growing suspicion that refused to be silenced.
My gaze fell on my computer screen, still displaying the security logs I’d been reviewing. The cursor blinked accusingly over Rory’s login credentials, used to access files he shouldn’t have needed—files about Scarlett, about the A-List department, about the corporate structure of the firm where Jenny’s photo had been traced.
Before I could second-guess myself, I pulled up the building’s security logs, searching for Rory’s access. The results confirmed what I’d suspected—he’d entered the building two hours ago, but hadn’t checked in with me until now. Where had he been all that time?
A flashing icon in the corner of my screen caught my attention—a notification from our home security system. Someone had accessed the front door. Heart pounding, I clicked on the alert, watching as the footage loaded.
Rory appeared on screen, entering our home with practiced ease. But he wasn’t alone. A woman followed close behind him, her face turned away from the camera. They moved with the familiarity of people who’d done this before, disappearing into Rory’s home office—the same office where I’d discovered the unauthorized access to my work files.
My coffee cup slipped from suddenly numb fingers, the remaining liquid spreading across my desk in a dark pool that reached the edges of my keyboard. I barely noticed, transfixed by the footage playing out before me.
This wasn’t just distance. This wasn’t just work stress. This was betrayal—on what level, I wasn’t yet sure, but betrayal nonetheless.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway made me hastily close the security feed. I grabbed tissues to blot the spilled coffee, my movements automatic while my mind raced with implications. When I looked up, Reeves stood in my doorway again, concern etched on his features.
“Forgot my pen,” he explained, gesturing to the desk where a sleek black fountain pen lay. “Everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I swallowed, trying to compose myself. “Fine. Just…clumsy.” I gestured at the coffee mess.
Reeves retrieved his pen, but didn’t immediately leave. “That was tense earlier. With Rory.”
“Just a misunderstanding,” I said automatically, the lie bitter on my tongue.
Reeves studied me for a moment, then reached into his jacket and pulled out a small card. “My private number,” he said, placing it on my desk. “Not the office one everyone has. If you need anything—anything at all—don’t hesitate to call. Day or night.”
I stared at the card, a thousand thoughts colliding in my head. “Thank you,” I managed, not quite meeting his eyes.
After he left, I sat motionless, surrounded by the wreckage of my spilled coffee and what felt increasingly like the wreckage of my life. The card sat innocuously on my desk, a lifeline or a complication—I wasn’t sure which.
My phone buzzed again. Christian, this time: Everything okay? Rory said he saw you at the office.
My fingers hovered over the screen. What could I say? That I’d caught our partner on camera bringing an unknown woman into our home? That I suspected him of accessing restricted files? That our carefully built world was fracturing, and I didn’t know how to stop it?
Fine, I typed instead. Working late. See you at home.
Another lie, another evasion. We were all becoming experts at those lately.
With trembling fingers, I opened the security app again, downloading the footage to my private drive. Evidence. Insurance. Protection against whatever storm was gathering on the horizon.
The clock on my wall ticked steadily forward, marking the minutes until I’d have to face not just Rory, but Christian and Stewart as well. What would I say? How could I confront them without revealing how deeply I’d been investigating on my own?
Decision crystallized within me. Rather than going home, I’d follow Rory. See where he went, who he met. Confirm with my own eyes what the growing evidence suggested. It wasn’t just about our relationship anymore—it was about Jenny, about Scarlett, about connecting dots that might lead to answers we desperately needed. Something deep in the pit of my stomach churned as the thought crept in. We had a leak, a mole within the department. Could it be?
As I gathered my things, I caught my reflection in the darkened window—determination replacing the uncertainty that had haunted me for weeks. Whatever Rory was hiding, whoever the woman was, I would uncover the truth.
The private number card sat on my desk, a temptation I wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge. After a moment’s hesitation, I slipped it into my pocket. Just in case.
As I locked my office door behind me, a strange sense of finality settled over me. I was crossing a line—from passive worry to active investigation, from waiting for answers to demanding them.
“I’m coming for you, Rory,” I whispered to the empty hallway. “Whatever you’re hiding, whoever this woman is—I’m going to find out.”
I stepped into the elevator, my reflection in its polished doors showing a woman transformed by resolve. As the doors closed, I mentally prepared myself for what might be the most important confrontation of my life—and quite possibly, the end of everything I’d built with the three men I loved.
The soft chime announced my descent, each floor bringing me closer to answers I both craved and feared.
The elevator doors opened to the parking garage.
As I moved toward my own vehicle, a sudden movement in the shadows caught my attention. I froze.
“April.” Rory’s voice emerged from the darkness, followed by his figure stepping into the dim light. His expression was grim, determined, but something else lurked in his eyes—was it fear? “We need to talk. Now.”
“Rory, I don’t understand. I thought you left.”
“Only to watch you.”
Anger rose again at what I thought he might be implying, and he put his hands up to quell my outburst. “To keep you safe, my love. I know it’s been hard and I’m sorry, but I had to… To find out who—”
The sound of a gun being cocked echoed through the concrete structure.
“Awe now, ain’t that touching? I’m afraid that conversation will have to wait,” came Reeves’ voice from behind me. “Both of you have someplace else to be.”
Rory instinctively reached for his gun, but Reeves had his already pointed at me. “Tsk, tsk, detective, you should know better than that. Drop it and kick it over here.”