We were pushed close together on the threshold of the back door. Jack reached up, running his thumb over my cheek bone a few times. “Got some dirt.” After a moment, his eyes left his task and freely roamed my face. The pressure of his hand against my cheek caused a thrill to run through my core. If only he didn’t look so sad, so heavy.
We stood, staring at each other in the gentle light from the window panes. This is why I couldn’t be near him. Looking into his eyes, all my grounds for resisting us faded. I was pulled into the deep blue by an angry riptide. I couldn’t find ground if my life depended on it.
When he pulled me into a hug, I melted into him. His arms and firm chest immediate comforts. He murmured into the top of my hair. “If I can’t convince you to stay, you won’t ever go back to him, right?” The edge of worry I rarely heard in his tone sent shivers down my spine.
“No, we won’t ever go back.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
He nodded, his breathing out of rhythm. Jack was anxious and it hurt my heart. I pushed back and looked in his face. “Do you need a distraction, a wind-down from your day?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Kettle corn and a movie this time?” I scrunched my nose, worried my offering wasn’t good enough.
He whispered, “Will my wife be there?”
The question made my bones feel like jelly. “I—I’ll be there, Jack.”
“Sounds perfect then.”
FORTY-SEVEN
Jack
Ihad a connection—a buddy who frequently dug up info as favors for fellow officers. He owed me a few, so I cashed in. Wasn’t legal, but no one needed to know.
My friend dug up everything there was to know of Christopher Bernstein as easily as browsing a Sunday paper. Where he lived, his number, his many home addresses, his business degree, and hiswhoppingcriminal record. Miranda probably had no idea he was a thief. There was an active warrant for his arrest for a couple years, which is why he moved frequently. Hemanagedrental properties for a company for a while. Got fired and his boss filed a report about Chris’ money mishandlings. The only property Chris owned was his car. His charges were white collar—all fraud related.
He was a full-fledged con, which would explain how he had so easily ensnared Miranda. He was likely smart and charming. And she was so sweet, so generous.
As soon as my buddy filled me in onall the details, I contacted Chris and arranged a meet to pick up their things. Told him to meet me in a grocery store parking lot in Cincinnati, Ohio withallof it or I’d be knocking on his front door.
He didn’t agree for free.
He whined over text that he would have to borrow a friend’s truck. I tossed more cash into his pile to make him comply. Whatever. I wanted my family’s things at any cost. And a chance to give him second thoughts about ever paying Nashville a visit. I was sick of looking over my shoulder and worrying he might find them while I was on duty.
The last thing I wanted to do today was take time away from Miranda and go to Ohio on my day off, but they left everything they ever had there. Her pictures, her beloved scrapbooks and craft supplies, her bookshelf and novels, clothes, special things I knew meant something to her. Not to mention, Kacey’s toys and the scrapbook she made just for him.
Pat had volunteered to accompany me which I was thankful for. We talked a little on the drive, but my brain was preoccupied. Time with Miranda was slipping through my fingers. The days flew like they never had before. I worked, slept a little here and there, played with my son, and tried to warm up my wife.
My long shifts stole from the moments we had left. I felt myself growing desperate—frantic almost—to convince Miranda to stay after we sold the lake house. Funny, here we were, seven weeks into this agreement and the stupid lake house was the least of my concerns. Don’t get me wrong. The money was going to be great, but it felt like the pathway back to Miranda. Not the real prize.
We had been in touch with Mr. Haskins and were set to sign papers and receive the house on the sixtieth day of marriage. June fifth. Two days after Miranda’s birthday.An all-cash buyer was lined up, meaning the sale would be swift. We could close remotely by signing digital documents and money would be wired within forty-eight hours.
Divorces, on the other hand, take a while. We would be married longer than two months, even if Miranda didn’t agree to stay. But once she got the money…I wouldn’t be able to keep her under my roof. She would have the means to leave. To go anywhere, buy a house, and start a new life.
The possibility followed me like a looming storm cloud. Threatening to ruin the best do-over I ever had. And it pressed in by the day. Miranda was stand-off-ish. She loved me. I saw the evidence in her eyes every time I looked at her. The love between us had never waned.
But she didn’t trust me. She didn’t want to give me another chance. She wanted to get out of this situation as quickly and as unscathed as she could.
A lot of my advances were met with a brick wall. And I had moves. Good ones. I knew Miranda like the back of my hand. The post-it notes, small gestures, and physical advances were things she would’ve responded to in the past.
But she wasn’t responding. Not at all.
She was ignoring them.
