My heart sinks at the mention of my husband’s name, and I shake my head. “Not yet.”
Before we left Culture Code, I uploaded a digital monitoring software to all our devices, knowing it wasn’t safe to bring them with us in case Marsh has the help we think he does and could track them, but also needing to be aware of what was happening on them in case of emergencies. The plan was to have the app up and running constantly, keeping us plugged into the world from the safety of our little bubble, but I’d been avoiding setting it up because I didn’t want Aubrey present in this space in any way.
Beck frowns, capturing me in pools of glittering onyx. “After we eat?”
His offer for compromise in the face of clear disappointment sends warmth skittering down my spine. I hold his gaze, fighting the urge to bite my lip as I nod.
“After we eat.”
The preparation and consumption of our first meal of the day goes by far too quickly, and not even thirty minutes after accepting the delay to check the app, I’m left with no choice but to follow through on my promise. I sit cross legged on the couch with a fresh laptop from Culture Code’s inventory on my lap while Monique, Cal and Beck collaborate on the board. It’s nothing like the one I kept in my office despite me giving Monique reference photos for the rebuild, but I don’t have the authority to question her right now, not when my task for the day is yet to be completed.
With a few clicks of my fingers, I’m looking at the phone calls that have come to my phone in the last twelve hours. Most of the calls are from my sisters, Robin and Jessica, who I assume heard the news from Mama. One is from my hairdresser, Ms. Diane, and the other two came from Imani’s phone, but I know she and Isis were on the line together. Their missed calls and the accompanying texts send guilt slicing through me, making it almost impossible for me to appreciate the fact that Aubrey hasn’t reached out to me at all.
I slam the laptop shut and leave it on the couch while I join the others at the board.
“He hasn’t called or texted.”
Cal wraps an arm around me, kissing my forehead. “So, he doesn’t care where you are or who you’re with.”
“Because now that Marsh is out, he thinks I’ll be dead soon.”
“Possibly.”
I shift out of his hold, needing to face him head on. “Possibly? Are you walking back your theory that Aubrey helped Marsh escape, so he can kill me?”
Secretly, I’d been hoping he and Beck would walk back another theory, but I haven’t been brave enough to bring AJ up in conversation with them since the day they planted the awful seed of suggestion in my mind.
Cal catches my fingers in his grip, tugging me back into him. “Of course not. I just want us to consider all the possibilities before we lay this at Aubrey’s feet.”
I’m fairly certain it belongs there, but I decide to follow Cal’s lead, deferring to his investigative experience. “Okay, so the question would be who else does Leland know that would have the motive and means to break him out of a federal institution?”
It wouldn’t have been a small feat, not by any stretch of the imagination, and I doubt there are any people in the world who would risk their lives and freedom to spring a waste of space such as Leland.
“The Brothers?” Beck suggests, handing Monique a sticky note with the words ‘military base’ written on it. She places it above Sutton’s name, and I squint, trying to see the connection.
“Doubtful,” Cal says. “They’re weaker now than ever. If they were going to break Leland out, they would’ve done it when Jacob was leading and Charlie was there to lend insight and support.”
Silence pools between us while Mo keeps muttering to herself.
“Anyone else?” I ask, anxious to turn my full attention to what she’s doing.
Beck shakes his head. “Not that I can think of.”
“Then it must be Aubrey,” I conclude. “He definitely has the means, and his motive is to silence me just like he silenced Sutton. Only this time he’s using someone I have history withto make the story more salacious, which will ensure that he’ll be able to profit off of it for years to come.”
Monique spins on her heels, hands on her hips. “Why didn’t he do the same thing with Sutton?”
My brows dip together, forming a line of confusion. “What?”
“Why didn’t he spin Sutton’s death into something he could make money or gain power from?”
“Because it’s kind of hard to do when he wasn’t even supposed to be speaking to the girl anymore, let alone fucking her. Besides, why would he want to draw attention to her death when he’s responsible for it?”
She gives me a quizzical look. “You believe he had President Sanders killed and then attended his funeral, holding the man’s grandbabies and crying and shit.”
“He didn’t cry.”
But I’m pretty sure there’s a photo or two out there of him holding the most recent addition to the Sanders clan. Monique dismisses my comment with a wave of her hand.
