They were out of sight, just over the threshold, when Remy heard Camille’s voice. She was asking what was going on and she sounded distraught and scared.
Remy had genuinely liked Camille. Now Camille’s life and the lives of her children would never be the same. Remy had endured a never-the-same event and she felt a wave of compassion for the woman.
All at once, Jeremiah was before her, offering a hand to pull her up. Without hesitation, she set her fingers in his. Holding hands, he led her toward the back of the house. “I’ll leave you here to explain things to Camille,” Jeremiah said to Jude as they passed by. “We’ll meet you at the car when we’re ready.”
“Absolutely.” Jude caught Remy’s eye and gave her an admiring nod that communicated his respect.
She reciprocated. Jude had risked his life for his brother. Out of all the things she logically could’ve been crying over at this point in time, she suddenly wanted to cry over that. Jeremiah’s brother’s loyalty. It was like her emotions were out of whack, unable to distinguish which stimulus merited tears.
Jeremiah grabbed a throw blanket as they skirted a sofa, then they were through the back doors. An expansive flagstone area gave way to lawn that gave way to woods. They continued, stopping when they were out of sight of the house beneath sheltering branches of pine.
He ripped off his jacket, helped her into it, then zipped it up the front. For good measure, he wrapped the throw blanket around her.
A breeze lifted strands of her hair while he studied her. Then he gathered her against him, hugging her as if determined to give his vitality to her. She locked her arms around his lean waist.
It was a hug more secure and comforting than any in the history of hugs.
Reassurance flowed between them. Him to her. Her to him.
They stayed that way, clinging to each other without words. Together again. The physical proof that he was here with her—his solid body, his warmth, his height, his scent—was almost too glorious to process.
“I missed you so much,” he finally said.
“I missed you so much, too. Does this . . . Does this hug mean that you’re not mad at me?”
“I’m not mad at you. Are you mad at me?”
“No.”
He pulled back so they could look at one another. His arms remained around her and hers around him. His eyes were like an exotic natural spring shot with sunlight.
“Are you really all right?” he asked. It wasn’t a rote question. She could tell he wanted to know.
“Yes. You?”
“If you’re all right, then so am I.”
“And Wendell?”
“We faked Wendell’s emergency to try to get you out. Wendell’s fine.”
“How did you find video from the night Alexis died?”
He explained. “Anton and Alexis were having an affair. They fought that night, and he pushed her.”
“I’m glad the truth came out.” With video on their side, Alexis had an excellent shot at receiving justice. Remy had played a small role in making that happen and, in doing so, earned a slice of justice for herself, too.
It felt good. It felt like vindication.
“As soon as Jude and I watched the video,” Jeremiah said, “we raced over here. I was sick inside because it's my fault that you're here.”
“How so?”
“I hired Kimley to find Marisol, in hopes you’d return to the mainland for their reunion.”
Understanding clicked. “And Kimley posed as someone from Marisol’s apartment complex and told Wendell her whereabouts.”
“Right.”
