Seven Detective Olivia Newhouse #2
Nashville is a large city, but it’s not impossible that two of Fanning’s victims just happened to end up together after that, whether they attended the same schools or not.
Interesting, I type back. Then I remember the neighbor we interviewed—what was her name? Scoggins. I frantically type this to Walt. The neighbor said the two women surveilling Fanning’s place were white, one blond, one brunette.
I watch the ellipsis flash as he responds. My heart is thumping. This could be nothing, but it feels like something.
Holy shit. Hyatt drives a Range Rover.
Here I am knocking around memory lane and Walt has been working.
I pull up the Facebook app and search for Reeves and Hyatt.
The two went to college together. Hyatt owns a horseback-riding academy in Franklin.
There are lots of photos. And, Walt’s right, there’s a Range Rover in one of them.
There are also several photos of them at a cabin.
Definitely not the dumpy south side apartment where Reeves lives.
Any ideas about the cabin? I send the question to Walt.
Got a friend looking through property records at this very moment.
That’s the thing about being part of Metro for as long as Walt has. He knows everyone. Has serious contacts all over. I hope he introduces me to even half of them before he retires.
Another text appears on my screen.
Bingo. Hyatt inherited a cabin and ten acres way out in the middle of nowhere in Hendersonville. Road trip tomorrow.
Images of Fanning being held by one or more of his victims flash in my head. I close my eyes against the pain that follows. Damn it. Not tonight. Tonight I need to sleep. Tonight I need to make up for my negligence toward David.
I send Walt a thumbs-up and force myself to finish off the glass of milk I’d poured. I give myself a mental pat on the back for eating a decent meal for a change and decide maybe I will tear into those boxes. I search the cabinet drawers for a knife since I have no idea where a box cutter would be.
Knife in hand, I wander to the entry hall and size up the stack. Maybe if I at least get started on one and actually take a few items upstairs, David won’t be mad that I forgot dinner.
Yeah, right.
He will be pissed. Once a month his entire family gets together for dinner.
The two brothers, the sister, their spouses and offspring descend upon the family home and catch up over the meal prepared by the family’s private chef.
David’s parents have a full-time chef, two housekeepers, and two gardeners.
Oh yeah, David has basically the same staff, only the cook is part-time and maybe not an actual chef.
These are things I should be grateful for, and somehow I can only see the waste and self-importance of living so large.
Why did I not notice this before? Giving myself grace, I spent more time with David at the farm than at his house until I moved in.
Still, I should have done a better job of sizing up the situation the first time I went to dinner at his parents’ palatial home.
Is this my way of finding a reason to break up? This sudden need to pick apart every aspect of David’s lifestyle? Am I subconsciously looking for a way out?
Pushing the worries aside, I reach for a box, prepared to slice through the tape holding the flaps. But the flaps are already loose on this one. When did I do that?
The security system chimes and announces: Garage door open.
David’s home.
I lay the knife aside and reach for the box. None of them are labeled, so I have no clue what’s inside. I’ve barely pulled one flap open when he appears in the dining room, jacket slung over his shoulder.
“You forgot.”
“Sorry. I don’t know how I did. It was on my calendar.
” I shake my head, infusing as much contrition as possible into my voice.
I really am sorry. I don’t want to embarrass him in front of his family, and I’m certain my inability to show up for their monthly dinners is very awkward for him.
“My only excuse is that it has been a crazy week.”
“I sent you several texts.”
He keeps his voice low and even, but I hear the anger simmering beneath all that control. He’s seriously pissed. Hurt, too. I guess I don’t blame him.
“I didn’t see them until I got home.” I reach for another of the flaps.
“What held you up?” He moves closer now. “You realize my niece really wanted to hear some of your competition stories. She’s starting her dressage training this summer.”
Guilt pings me again. I forgot that as well. “I’m really sorry, but we were interviewing Fanning’s victims. We have no choice but to work with their schedules. When I’m in an interview, I have my phone silenced. Sometimes I forget to change the setting after.”
“Oh yeah.” He glances upward in obvious frustration and then shakes his head. “Interviewing potential suspects is far more important than dinner with my family.”
I drop my hands from the box and take a breath.
I am not going to fight with him. Clearly, that’s what he wants.
“Not ‘suspects,’ ‘persons of interest,’ and, for the record, I’m a cop,” I remind him.
“It’s my job. We have possibly two missing persons.
One or both may be gravely injured or dead. Time is our enemy.”
“At least one of them is a pedophile.” The words come out a low roar. “Who gives a damn if someone dragged him off somewhere to torture and murder him? He deserves it.”
I wish I could say that I don’t feel the same way, but I can’t allow my personal feelings to interfere with my work. “It’s my job. Whatever one or both are, the law protects them as much as it does anyone else.”
He stares at me. I’m not sure whether it’s disbelief or defeat on his face. Whatever it is, he is far from finished.
“Why did you sleep in the guest room last night?”
I frown, then realize he has no way of knowing the answer. “I had the worst migraine of my life yesterday. When I got home I had to close myself up in a dark room. It was awful.”
Sympathy flashes across his face. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He shrugs. “Of course, I wouldn’t know because we never talk anymore.”
“I’m sorry. I told you the other day that I suffered horrible migraines as a teenager.
” I open my eyes and look directly into his.
“I haven’t had one for a long time. The reason I didn’t hear your first text was because I was at the doctor’s office trying to figure out why the hell they’re back.
” My voice rises despite my best efforts to keep it steady.
I hesitate, calm myself. “The appointment put us behind, so we had no choice but to work late.”
“We?” He raises his eyebrows at me. “You and Walt, right?”
I take a deep breath, hoping it will slow the pounding in my chest. “He is my partner.”
“I don’t see why you don’t marry him. After all, the two of you are always together. He knows all your secrets. Takes you to the doctor. I saw the way he took care of you at your father’s funeral. You are more than partners, Olivia. I’d have to be blind not to have seen it.”
That part is true. Walt and I are more than partners. We are friends. Good friends. From the day we became partners, he has been a friend and mentor to me. “Walt didn’t ask me to marry him,” I say. “You did and I said yes.”
My words take the fire out of him, at least for a moment.
“Then why doesn’t it feel like you want to be with me?”
I hold my breath. Now would be a good time to tell him about the baby. And it is a baby. Not just a pregnancy. There’s another human growing inside me. One David and I created together.
I can’t. Not yet. He’s already crowding me to the point I feel as if I can’t breathe.
“I’m sorry about missing dinner with your family. I truly am,” I say carefully. “I’m even sorrier that you’re having doubts about our relationship. Relationships go through stages, David. It’s normal for one or both of us to have the occasional doubt or misgiving.”
He scoffs. “Do not try psychoanalyzing me or our relationship, Olivia.”
“My father was the shrink, not me.” Not just any shrink. The top shrink in the city.
He exhales a big breath. “It feels like you are pulling away from me. I just don’t understand.”
I mentally grasp for how to reassure him when I can’t even reassure myself. “I’m not pulling away. I’m just a little overwhelmed.”
Control is everything.
My father’s voice echoes in my ears.
The only person who can take it from you is you, Olivia. Do not look back, only forward. What happened in the past is irrelevant. All that matters is what happens now.
David pulls me into his arms. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m not trying to make you more stressed.”
“I’m really, really sorry, too.” I hug him back, feeling the warmth and promise of his arms. He does love me.
And I love him. I don’t know what is happening to me.
I feel so out of control. “I will call your mother in the morning and apologize. I will make sure I check my phone more frequently in the future so I don’t miss your texts.
I let you down, and I will do all in my power not to let it happen again. ”
He draws back and touches my cheek, tracing a tear I didn’t realize had fallen.
In that instant, staring into his beautiful eyes, I see the man who stole my heart.
He is kind and considerate. He will be a good father and a good husband.
I want very much to find a way to work this out.
To take us back to the way things were before .
. . whatever changed. Before, I acknowledge, these self-doubts began.
“Thank you.” His hands slide down my arms and take mine. “Forget about the boxes for tonight. Let’s go upstairs.” He searches my face, worry seizing his once more. “As long as you’re feeling up to it.”
Rather than answer, I kiss him. I kiss him until we both lose our breath.
He takes me in his arms and carries me upstairs.
He needs this right now. We both do.