77. Chapter 77
Cate
Present
The coffee smelled too strong.
Trevor always made it that way, but this morning it felt bitter. Burned. Heavy in the air.
He placed a mug in front of me like an offering.
“Drink,” he said gently. “You need something steady in you.”
I wrapped my hands around it but didn’t lift it.
He sat across from me at the kitchen island, posture relaxed, sleeves rolled, tie loosened. Domestic. Reasonable.
Dangerous.
My phone sat between us, the screen dark and waiting.
Trevor nodded toward it. “Call him.”
My pulse thudded behind my ribs.
I picked up the phone slowly. Not because I was hesitant.
Hesitation would look like resistance.
I unlocked it and scrolled to Detective Marshal’s name.
Trevor watched my face, not the screen.
I hit call.
It rang once.
Twice.
Voicemail.
Trevor’s jaw flexed, barely.
“Leave a message,” he said calmly.
I put it on speaker.
The beep echoed through the kitchen.
I swallowed. “Detective Marshal,” I said, keeping my voice measured, slightly fragile. “This is Cate Reeder. I…”
Trevor’s eyes sharpened at the name.
I continued. “I think yesterday was… overwhelming. I misunderstood the situation. I’m safe. I just needed time to process everything.”
Silence hummed on the line.
Trevor didn’t blink.
“I’d like to reschedule our meeting,” I added. “Somewhere neutral. I’ll call back later.”
Click, I ended the call.
The kitchen felt suspended as Trevor studied me.
Then he smiled.
Slow and approving.
“Good,” he said softly.
His shoulders loosened.
The pressure in the room eased by a fraction.
Not gone.
Just redirected.
He stood and walked around the island, coming up behind me.
His hands settled on my shoulders, warm and possessive. “I don’t want to fight you,” he murmured near my ear. “I want us aligned.”
I nodded once.
“I know.”
He pressed a kiss into my hair.
And for a second, just a second, grief nearly broke me.
Because this was the man who held me while I cried myself empty.
The man who rebuilt my life when I couldn’t see past the wreckage.
The man who created that wreckage.
His hands slid down my arms.
“You’re not my enemy,” he said quietly.
The statement felt like a warning.
“I never was,” I replied.
He stepped back and studied me again.
Searching.
Measuring.
Then he nodded once, satisfied.
“I have a few things to handle this afternoon,” he said. “I’ll work from home.”
Of course he would.
Control doesn’t leave the room once it’s regained.
“That’s fine,” I said.
He tilted his head slightly.
“You’re not upset?”
“I was emotional yesterday,” I answered carefully. “I don’t want to make things worse.”
His eyes softened.
There it was again, that flicker of relief.
He believed me.
Not fully.
But enough.
He picked up his laptop and walked toward his office.
The door didn’t close all the way.
He wanted to hear movement.
To track me.
I stayed at the island for a full minute after he disappeared.
Breathing.
Counting.
Inhale.
Exhale.
You are not trapped.
You are being observed.
Two entirely different things.
My phone buzzed with a new voicemail notification. It was from Marshal.
Trevor’s office chair creaked faintly.
I couldn’t play it here.
Not yet.
Instead, I picked up my mug and took a sip of coffee I didn’t want. Then I stood and walked calmly toward the hallway.
Trevor’s voice drifted out as I passed. “You good?”
“Yes,” I said evenly. “Just grabbing something upstairs.”
“Okay.”
I climbed the stairs slowly.
Not rushed.
Not sneaking.
At the top landing, I paused and listened.
There was no movement behind me.
In the bedroom, I shut the door halfway - not fully, that would be suspicious. I opened the voicemail.
Marshal’s voice filled my ear, low and direct. “Cate. I received your message. I don’t believe it. If you’re unable to speak freely, call me from somewhere secure. If you can’t, I’ll take that as my answer.”
The message ended and my heart hammered.
He knew.
I deleted the voicemail, then immediately panicked.
Deleted meant didn’t mean untraceable.
It could still be recovered…
I moved to settings and cleared my recent calls.
Too obvious?
Maybe.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at my hands.
They were steady, and that alone surprised me.
Downstairs, Trevor laughed softly at something. Like things were normal…
He was back in control, and I had just given it to him – on purpose.
Because this wasn’t about winning an argument.
It was about getting out alive.
I stood and walked to the dresser and opened the drawer where I’d hidden the ring.
John’s ring.
The metal caught the light.
Heavy.
Solid.
Proof.
I slipped it into the pocket of my jeans.
Whatever happened, I would not leave it behind.
When I went back downstairs, Trevor glanced up.
His eyes swept over me, assessing.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He watched a moment longer, then nodded. “Good,” he said, and turned back to his screen.
He thought the storm had passed.
He thought I’d chosen him.
He didn’t understand that I had chosen something else entirely.
Time.
And if I was going to survive this, I would need every second of it.