Chapter 27 Annalise
Chapter twenty-seven
Annalise
My nerves are all over the place as Aiden and I walk hand-in-hand up to the Rowes’ house. We have planned as much as we can, and sure, I have plenty of experience acting thanks to my dad, but I’ve never snuck around people’s houses to dig through for hidden objects before.
Aiden must see everything I’m feeling because he pulls me into him barely a step away from the door.
“Take a deep breath, Ana,” he says, holding my gaze. “Everything will be ok. We’re in this together, remember?”
I’m nodding against his hand that’s gently cupping my face when the door swings open and Tara’s squeal fills the air.
“Ahh you made it!” Before I can turn to face her, she’s pulling me into a big hug, almost squishing her flowers.
“Hi, sorry we’re late,” I lie. We planned our arrival down to the minute—give people enough time to settle in while looking like we lost track of time in our honeymoon bliss.
“Oh, I’m sure you were busy,” she raises her eyebrows suggestively. “Now, let me introduce you to my husband really quick, and then we will hit up the mimosa bar.”
We make our way through the beautiful, modern beach house and out onto a huge entertaining porch, where Greg is grilling and talking with a few other men. At only twenty-nine, I’m surprised to see sprinkles of grey scattered in his hair, but they look good on him.
“Ah! These must be the honeymooners!” He says, already extending a hand to Aiden. He’s almost as cheerful as Tara, but the smile he gives us seems too practiced to feel genuine.
“We wanted to thank you for the invite,” Aiden says, offering him the small box of cigars we picked up this morning after the grocery store. “We’ve been looking forward to this ever since Tara invited us last night.”
Greg’s eyes light up at the cigars. “My kind of man, you’ve got great taste.” But then his tone shifts for a moment, as his gaze moves to Tara. “Where are their drinks?” Then he looks back to us with that perfect smile, “You’ll have to forgive my wife. She gets so distracted sometimes.”
The words sound like they’re meant to be playful, but there’s an edge to them. I watch as Tara stiffens slightly, her smile stretching a bit too wide, a silent signal that she’s trying to hide discomfort.
“I wanted to introduce them to you first, dear. But you’re right, I should take them inside to grab drinks, they are celebrating after all.”
Greg nods, the smile never leaving his face. “Such a joyful time indeed.” He turns to Aiden. “Why don’t you let Tara take your bride inside to get us a round of drinks, and I can tell you the best neighborhoods to buy in, if you’re interested. Tara said you might be moving out here.”
Tara hesitates, her eyes flicking to Greg for a moment, but she recovers quickly, her voice light and cheerful. “Of course. Come on in, Annalise. Once we get the drinks, I’ll introduce you to the other guests and give you a tour.”
Her words are light, but I hear the quiet tension beneath them. She’s not merely offering to show me around; she's making an escape, and I’ve played that same part too many times not to recognize it.
Following Tara back inside into the kitchen, her pride is clear as she gestures to the ‘little mimosa bar’ that is a centerpiece in its own right.
Sprawled across the marble countertops are glass dispensers, each with a tiny gold tag: “Classic Brut, “Peach Bellini Blend,” and “Prosecco di ’Asti,” next to tiered bowls of every fresh berry you can imagine, orange segments, and even cubed mangos and peaches.
A rainbow assortment of juices in sleek glass pitchers are mixed throughout the display as well: orange, pink grapefruit, mango-pineapple fusion, and blood orange.
“Oh my gosh, Tara! I can’t believe you did all of this yourself. It should be on the cover of a magazine; it’s so beautiful. I’m almost afraid to touch it; I don’t want to mess it up!”
“I’m so glad you like it,” she says, her voice almost giddy. “I spent all week setting it up. It’s been the highlight of the party so far. You’ve got to try the mango and pineapple blend. It’s my favorite.”
I smile and nod, picking up a glass and filling it with a generous pour of sparkling wine, a splash of orange juice, and a hint of the tropical mix. Tara mixes her drink right behind me.
“Greg says this is too froo-froo for men, so he drinks beer,” she says as she opens the massive fridge. “Which would Aiden prefer?”
So, he’s one of those. Got it.
“He’d love a beer.”
Just then, a woman joins us in the kitchen, cheeks flushed and a big smile; she’s definitely had a few strong drinks already. “Tara, where’s the bathroom?” she asks, her voice slurring slightly.
Tara laughs, a little too high-pitched. “Oh! Go down the hall, you’re going to turn left, then it’ll be the first door on your right.”
“Turn right, then go down the hall…” the woman tries to echo the directions back.
“Go ahead, I can take the drinks out to the men, then I can find you out there,” I gesture to the massive sunken living room filled with people.
She hesitates, clearly torn between helping her guest and what her husband will think if I bring the drinks out alone, but she agrees when the other woman starts to stumble.
Aiden and Greg are surrounded by a group of men when I step outside, but Aiden still spots me immediately and excuses himself. “Thank you, Sweetheart,” he says as he takes the beers from my hand and leans down to give me a soft kiss.
“Time to go to work,” I whisper against his lips. “She’s distracted for the next few minutes.”
He kisses me again, this time a little longer than a peck, “Be careful.”
“Now, where’s the fun in that?” I say with a wink, before turning to walk back into the house.
I can hear Tara talking with the drunk woman through the door and find my way to her.
“Hey, sorry, do you happen to have another restroom I can use?”
“Yeah, you can use mine. Go back toward the front door, and then it’s the door on the far right.”
I give her my thanks, then find my way into her bedroom, locking the door behind me.
The room is gorgeous, with the same wall of windows overlooking the ocean as our rental has. Everything is clean, like not even a speck of dust on any of the surfaces, and there are intricate framed photos of Greg and Tara spread all around the room.
I know I only have a few minutes to look before Tara will question what’s taking me so long, so I don’t hesitate to start searching.
Careful not to move anything out of place, I feel around the dresser drawers, closets, and look under the bed.
I look through the nightstands and bathroom drawers, but there isn’t a hard drive to be found.
The only things I find of interest are two guns—one in Greg’s nightstand, and the other on a shelf under his folded pants in the closet—both of which were obviously obtained illegally since only military and law enforcement are authorized to own them.
I dump part of my drink down the sink as I pretend to wash my hands, before walking back out into the party.
Tara is just walking into the packed living room when I enter from the other side.
As I start to move in her direction, I listen to the pieces of conversation I can hear around me.
It’s all your standard small-town gossip—who is speculated to be having affairs, what some woman named Jeanney wore to the last social event, and which families are new to town.
I am listening to three women gush about how good-looking Greg is when I spot two familiar faces standing near the far wall.
Bianca and her partner are here, but since they aren’t interacting with anyone, I have no way of guessing what their mission is.
I catch Bianca’s eye for a split second, and she gives me the briefest of nods before her partner nudges her and narrows her eyes in a silent scolding.
Even the slightest indication that we know each other could blow both of our covers.
I continue the rest of the way to Tara without stopping.
“There you are! Sorry about that. That girl never knows when to quit, but her husband graduated with Greg, so they are always invited to events. Let’s get you a refill, and I’ll give you the grand tour.”
Tara moves with grace, pointing out various features of the house with pride. She leads me upstairs to a wide, airy hallway lined with art.
“Greg had this piece commissioned for me for our first Anniversary,” she says, pointing to a large abstract painting framed in gold.
It’s all sweeping lines of crimson and creams, the kind of art that’s meant to look effortless but screams expensive.
“He said it reminded him of me—chaotic but beautiful.”
She laughs lightly, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I force a polite smile, tilting my head as if admiring the piece. “It’s lovely,” I say. “Bold. Brave.” Tara beams, taking the subtle compliment, before giving me the rest of the tour.
“No home office?” I ask in a tone I hope comes across as casually curious. “I love that! Aiden is always bringing his work home with him.”
“Oh, no. Greg refuses to bring it home. Everything important stays at his office in the city.” Tara’s eyes dart around, like she’s worried someone might be listening.
“Don’t get me wrong, he’s very dedicated to his work, but he says it’s a way to keep things separate, you know? Focus on home life when he’s home.”
“Maybe we should have him share that tip with Aiden, too,” I joke, trying to ease her discomfort.
Now we know the ‘secured location’ we need to get into before tomorrow afternoon.
Aiden finds me in the living room a little while later, wrapping his big arms around me from behind and kissing my neck. Goosebumps race down my spine, and there is no doubt in my mind that Aiden noticed.
“Still so sensitive, Mrs. Carter.”