“She wanted him to suffer without the benefit of privacy,” I say, recoiling at so much hatred being directed at someone that I care about so deeply. He nods, and I continue to think out loud. “I still don’t get why she picked Delaney, though. She seemed to like her well enough.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, noncommittal.
“You know more,” I surmise.
“I do, but you’ve definitely heard enough for today.”
“Cartwright, I can handle it. Please.”
He deflates. “Fine. Who is the older lady who was moved to the back house on the property?”
“Judith.”
“Yeah, her,” he says. “Again, this is all hearsay, but I guess Judith became her target early on. She couldn’t follow through, though, since she was sent to the back of the property and the door was locked. Madeline had no choice but to choose someone else that she had access to.”
“Which was me, Val, and Delaney,” I say, then remember the strange conversation the three of us had in the movie theater, where Val stated she carried weapons on her and Leah asked if she was carrying one at the retreat. “I get why she didn’t go after Val. Too risky. I guess I was just lucky that she chose to frame me instead of kill me.”
He jerks his head to the side as if physically pained by hearing the words come out of my mouth, even though we both know they are true. “Yeah, so either you did something to slightly edge out Delaney for being the target, or we need to be thankingyourguardian angel too,” he says. “A one-in-three chance was bad enough, but a fifty-fifty chance is even worse. As a cop, I don’t like any of those odds.”
We smile weakly at each other at that statement, and then he asks, “You heard enough and ready to go in now?”
“Yes,” I say, but then I frown when I remember that he is technically still on administrative leave. “Are you even allowed to come inside with me? Or do I have to go in alone?”
“Admin leave or not, Cameron gave me an order to take care of you, and that includes not letting you go into the lion’s den alone. So, come on. Let’s get this over with.”
The entire process of being fingerprinted takes less than twenty minutes, and Detective Harvey walks us out afterwardwith a courteous nod but is otherwise uncharacteristically quiet, giving me a small glimpse into the man that he really is, and not the persona he puts on to get confessions out of unwitting people. It is past midnight when we get back on the road to Cameron’s apartment, and a tiredness settles into every part of me that makes it impossible to keep my eyes open. I rest my head against the cool glass window to settle in for what I assume will be a longer drive, but is roughly the same distance away as the Ritz-Carlton, if not shorter.
“This is it,” Cartwright says, pulling into the guest parking lot.
I look out the window and blink up at one of the tallest buildings in the Charlotte skyline. “I’m confused. Why did Cameron stay in the hotel with me when his apartment was right here?”
Cartwright is quiet for a moment, but when I turn to look at him, he’s smiling. “I think that answer should be pretty obvious, Drew.”
I smile to myself because it is obvious, in hindsight, and my heart pangs as I realize that I miss Cameron already. I follow Cartwright silently through the apartment building, up the elevator, and to Cameron’s front door, realizing when he hands me the key that the only other thing I have on me is my phone, because I ditched my purse and duffle bag back in the hotel stairwell.
I don’t mention that fact to Cartwright, though, because he would insist on going back to get them for me, and I can easily handle that myself with a phone call. So instead, I pull him into a hug to thank him for treating all of us as if we were his own flesh and blood and tell him to go home and get some much-needed rest. He says that he will call both of us tomorrow and takes his leave.
I close and lock the door behind him.
Chapter fifty-four
THE IN-BETWEEN
Cameron’sapartmentissimultaneouslycompletely foreign and comfortingly familiar, thanks to the delicious scent of him that lingers in the air, and I waste no time inhaling it deeply into my lungs. Past the modest foyer is the kitchen, a living room, and a spiral staircase that leads upstairs.
I send a text to Cameron that I am done at the station and made it to his apartment, then start to head towards the stairs to see if I can find a shower but stop short at a small alcove at the end of the kitchen that is crowded with books and bottles of wine. Upon closer inspection, I identify three books that I’d reviewed on the Book & Barrel website and their accompanying wine pairings, with Evelyn Graves’s book right on top.
I smile at the evidence of his trust in me before ever having met me, just as he texts me back to say that he will be calling in thirty minutes. I hustle upstairs so that I can get myself cleaned up and have enough time to make my bed on the couch. I want to go straight from saying goodnight to him to falling asleep.
As I reach the top of the stairwell and enter his bedroom, it strikes me how intimate it is to be given unsupervised access to his space, especially since he clearly wasn’t expecting any overnight guests. The tidy room is just an extension of what I already know about him, though, and doesn’t offer any new pieces of Cameron lore for me to explore. He has a contemporary record player with a small cubby of albums, a bookshelf full of law manuals and memoirs of entrepreneurs that even I recognize the names of, and an enormous bed more fit for a man his size than the ones we had back at the hotel.
The sheets and blankets are slightly mussed, but otherwise the room is clean and orderly. I toss my phone down on his comforter before continuing into his bathroom.
I purposefully avoid the mirror as I strip out of my blood-stained clothes and get straight into the shower to wash off the day, shamelessly using an oversized dollop of Cameron’s body wash to scrub myself clean. I peek at the label, and plan to buy myself a bottle from Amazon to keep with me at my apartment back in L.A., so that I can have access to his scent anytime that I want to. I smile when I read the notes; I was close to guessing what makes up his signature scent: balsamic amber, herbs, and woodland moss.
After scrubbing my body and hair clean, I close my eyes to let the hot water strip me of anything else that remains and turn off the faucet, wrapping myself in one of his fluffy towels.
Without my luggage, I have no choice but to go through his drawers to find something clean to sleep in. I end up with a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and one of his Howard University T-shirts, both of which are comically oversized on me. I do my best to untangle my hair with his boar bristle brush but promptly give up when my phone dings. I retrieve it and sit down on the edge of Cameron’s bed to read the message.
