Epilogue
EPILOGUE
LUCIEN
My arms are on fire but I keep going, my powerful strokes slicing through the water with the unrelenting mechanical ease of a ship’s propeller. Fatigue set in several laps ago, making my lungs heave and my thighs shake. I don’t care. Early every morning for the two days since I brutally ended things with Tamsyn, I’ve pushed myself to go farther and to get there faster than I did the day before, relishing the buildup of physical exhaustion. Which, by the way, is nothing compared to my mental exhaustion.
Part of me wonders if my goal is to drown myself at the bottom of this godforsaken pool that no longer provides an ounce of peace or relaxation. But I don’t think that’s it. It’s just that I’ve discovered that exertion to the point of collapse produces this blissful five seconds or so—never any longer than that—where I don’t see the devastation on Tamsyn’s face as I ripped her heart out and mine with it. She’d looked at me with exactly the sort of shocked revulsion I’ve always feared, especially when I rubbed her nose in the fact that I followed her to Europe because I was so determined to have her. I never planned to tell her that. And if I had, I would have certainly found a gentler way to do it than that .
Not that any of that matters now.
The bottom line is that I, who have always accused Ravenna of wearing a mask, ripped off my own mask and let Tamsyn see the real me underneath. The manipulator. The international stalker. I did it because I knew that was the quickest and most irrevocable way to kill her love. To drive her away and keep her safe from Ravenna. And it worked. I therefore regret nothing. Not even Tamsyn’s heartbreak, not if it keeps her alive.
It was all for the greater good. Everything I’ve done in the last few days has been for the greater good.
But it all took a toll.
And I can’t swim another fucking lap.
I heave myself out of the pool, water sluicing down my body and my foul mood even fouler because my body gave out before I reached my temporary state of Tamsyn-free nirvana. So you can imagine my annoyance when I pull off my goggles and discover Maddie standing there waiting for me, my towel in hand as she hurries closer.
I scowl. Not this again. She’s been quite the fussing mother hen since Tamsyn left, and I don’t have the energy or the inclination to reassure her— again —that I’m okay.
“What is it, Maddie?” I bark, grabbing the towel from her and roughly drying myself off. “Now is not the time.”
“Where have you been?” she says quietly, her concern level higher than ever. “We’ve been looking for you.”
I have no intention of discussing my activities of the past twenty-four hours with her or anyone else. “Don’t worry about it. Why are you whispering?”
Maddie’s attention shifts to something over my shoulder just as a new voice startles me.
“Mr. Winter. I’m sorry for the early morning visit.”
I whip around and discover Detective Smith flanked by a couple of uniformed police officers and Daniel, all of whom look grim. I shoot Daniel a what the fuck? look that he answers with a tiny shrug.
“Detective Smith.” I quickly wipe my hand dry and offer it to her. “Has something happened?”
She eyes me with concern as we shake, which does nothing for my mood. My mirror works fine, so I know all about my hollow-eyed and unshaven appearance. That’s what happens when you haven’t eaten or slept much. Not that I plan to admit any of that to her.
“Let’s sit, Mr. Winter,” she says, gesturing to one of my own damn lounge chairs.
“I’m fine,” I snap. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Okay,” she says with a quick glance at the uniforms, who quickly take off their caps, tuck them under their arms and bow their heads.
Maddie gasps. “Oh my God.”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news about Mrs. Winter,” Detective Smith says.
“Ravenna?” I say, watching her tap on her phone and pull up an image. “What about her?”
“She’s dead, Mr. Winter,” she says, passing me the phone.
It’s an extreme close-up shot of Ravenna’s beautiful face, eyes open and an enigmatic Mona Lisa smile on her parted lips. She’s the same as ever, secretive and maddening. As long as you ignore the gray skin and glazed eyes.
I stare at the photo, schooling my features because I know everyone is watching me and privately wallowing in the fact that she’s really dead this time.
The witch is dead.
Maddie cries out and slaps a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Winter.” Detective Smith pauses to gather her words with great care. My dread spikes accordingly. “We need you to answer some questions for us about your whereabouts last night.”
Thank you for reading Hush Money !