“This is Detective Bradford Rosenthal from the Tampa Police Department.”
My heart went into my throat. My twins still weren’t talking to me and skipped out of the wedding. “Are my sons okay?”
“Uh, I don’t know about your sons,” Detective Rosenthal rustled some paper. “Were they with your husband?”
“Ex-husband,” I snapped. “And I don’t think so. Why?”
“Ma’am, I hate to tell you this over the phone, but your ex-husband is dead,” Detective Rosenthal intoned.
Blood roared in my ears. I could barely hear myself ask him to repeat what he just said. He called me a person of interest and said there were detectives outside the gates of Luke’s home to escort me to Tampa for questioning. I vaguely remembered agreeing, then hanging up.
My feet had a mind of their own. They walked me into Luke’s living room, where I found my brother facing off with Flint.
“What’s wrong, babe?” Flint was at my side in an instant, pulling me into a fierce hug. “Tell me what’s wrong, babe, so that I can fix it.”
“It’s - it’s my ex,” I stammered. My teeth chattered. I couldn’t get warm. It was so cold, all of a sudden. “The police just called, Flint. He’s dead. My ex is dead. And detectives think I killed him.”
