No visible bruises. No visible guilt. I don’t have any scratches that might’ve come from a fight to the near-death. Still, he’s taking my number, trying to figure out what I’m doing here, when he says in a clipped voice, “Julian Fairchild?”
Here’s hoping he didn’t run that fucker’s license before he came down to the hospital. “Yeah.”
He holds out a hand with a small notepad tucked behind it. Unlike Adrian, I don’t shake hands. I wait for him to push it, nodding when he doesn’t.
“Your wife,” he says instead, testing the word like he wants to see if I flinch to hear it, “was admitted to this hospital six days ago after a four-story fall from a hotel balcony.”
My stomach turns over and I have to clench my jaw together to keep from hurling. Fall… that’s what they think happened.
I know better.
“Which hotel?” Adrian asks.
The detective glances at Adrian’s suit like it offends him. “I’m sorry, sir. And you are?”
Adrian ignores the attitude in a way that I can’t. “Adrian Collins,” he says. “I’m Mr. Fairchild’s employer. He works for my company, and it was my office that his wife called to try and reach him.”
That’s the story we’re going with, at least. Adrian figured that the patient advocate would convince herself that she misheard me when I called myself Dallas, so he’s using his first name and his mother’s maiden name to pretend he’s the one who first called the hospital back.
I guess it works because she doesn’t call BS on Adrian, and neither does the detective.
“The Stanton,” he says instead. “Like I said, it was the fourth floor. She was in a suite registered only as a cash-paying guest. No ID on file which is why they couldn’t identify her until now.” He pauses for a moment, lip curling slightly. “The hotel management is… discreet.”
“Convenient,” I mutter.
The detective’s dark eyes cut to me. “Security cameras are on-site. But not all of them were operational. The footage we do have shows your wife entering the building the night before. She wasn’t alone.”
Damn it. I knew this was coming. I’m convinced that Lucy would never jump so that means she had to be with someone?—
“Who was she with?” I ask.
“Male,” the detective says, glancing at his notepad. “Early forties, give or take, though it’s hard to tell because he was careful not to get much of his features on camera. We do know he had a slim build and dark hair peppered with gray. He was wearing a suit like your boss here. They entered together. She fell the next morning, and he left alone in the rush after she hit the ground.”
Obviously.
My jaw clenches hard enough to ache as I fist my hands at my side.
Adrian’s voice stays calm. “Do you have a name for the man?”
The detective’s eyes shift to the side, and that tells me everything before he even answers. Because it’s not me, it can’t be me based on the description, though I bet he really wanted it to be.
“Not yet, sir. We were hoping that her husband might be able to help us out with that.”
I’m prepared for this, too. “No,” I say. “I mean—my wife and I are estranged.”
There.
The lie slides out smooth as silk.
Adrian’s gaze darts to me, and for half a second, I see approval. The best liar I know, if he thinks I come off as believable, then I’m golden.
The detective scribbles something. “Estranged?”
“Yes.” I keep my tone steady. Controlled. “We’ve been separated for a while now. She wasn’t… she wasn’t staying with me. And if she was with someone else…” I swallow the lump in my throat. “Wewereseparated.”
“Yet she called your work. The number that Ms. Boulanger called earlier was the only outgoing call on Ms. Wright’s phone.”
I glance at Adrian. My ‘boss’. “That’s what they tell me. I had no idea that she was hurt, but if I did, I would’ve been by her side the moment she arrived at the hospital.” My voice rings with such honest truth, not even the suspicious detective can deny it. “That’s where I should be now, instead of dealing with this. Estranged or not, Lucy is my wife. I want to see her.”
