CHAPTER 1- JADE
The older detective has kind eyes. That's the first thing I notice about him, standing there in Phoenix's doorway with his badge catching the light from the foyer. He looks like someone's grandfather, the type who coaches Little League and knows all his neighbors' names. The type who believes in justice and due process and the American way.
The younger one is different. His eyes are sharp, calculating, taking in every detail of the entryway behind us. He looks at the original artwork on the walls and the marble floors that probably cost more than my old apartment. Phoenix’s hand is on the small of my back.
"Mr. Crawford?" The older detective, who introduced himself as Warren Reeves, consults a small notebook. "I'm sorry to bother you at home. This shouldn't take long."
"Of course." Phoenix's voice is steady, controlled, revealing nothing. He's still wearing the charcoal suit he put on for his parents' dinner party, the one that makes his shoulders look impossibly broad and his waist narrow. His dark hair is slightly disheveled from running his fingers through it. "Please, come in."
He steps aside, and the detectives enter. I can smell the salt air drifting in from the ocean beyond the windows, mixing with the expensive cologne Phoenix wears and something else underneath, something metallic and sharp. Fear, maybe. My own or his? I can't tell anymore.
The younger detective introduces himself as Tomasz Nowak. He has short brown hair and a face that gives away nothing. I watch him study the living room as we all settle onto the furniture, his gaze lingering on the photographs on the mantle and then shift to the view of the Pacific Ocean through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Phoenix and I sit close together on the sofa without quite touching.
"We're investigating a missing persons case," Detective Reeves begins. He pulls out his notebook again, even though I suspect he already knows everything he's about to ask. "Marcus Webb. Do you know him?"
My heart stops. Actually stops, for one terrible moment, before it lurches back into a rhythm that feels too fast and too loud. I can hear the blood rushing in my ears as heat crawls up my neck toward my face.
Phoenix doesn't flinch. His expression remains politely concerned, nothing more. "Marcus is my business partner. Or was, I suppose. We recently dissolved our partnership."
"When did you last see Mr. Webb?"
"About two weeks ago. We had a business dinner at Nobu in Malibu. There was a professional disagreement about the direction of the company." Phoenix pauses, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. "It got heated. We decided to part ways."
Detective Nowak writes something in his own notebook. The scratch of his pen against paper sounds impossibly loud in the quiet room. "What was the nature of this disagreement?"
"Financial. Marcus wanted to take the company in a direction I wasn't comfortable with. Cutting corners,questionable contracts." Phoenix shrugs, the gesture elegant and dismissive. "I have a reputation to maintain. So does my family. I wasn't willing to compromise that."
"And you haven't seen or spoken to him since?"
"No."
The lie slides out so smoothly I almost believe it myself. I sit very still, my hands folded in my lap, trying to control my breathing. The last time we saw Marcus Webb, he was lying on the floor of a cabin in the mountains with his skull caved in and his blood pooling across the hardwood. Phoenix had just beaten him to death with a fire poker while I watched, while I felt nothing but relief that the man who tried to rape me would never touch anyone again.
Three days ago. It feels like three years. It feels like three seconds.
"Ms. Catalano." Detective Reeves turns to me, and I feel my whole body tense. "How do you know Mr. Webb?"
I force myself to meet his eyes. Kind eyes, I remind myself. Grandfather eyes. He's not a threat. He's just doing his job.
"We met once," I say. My voice sounds strange to my own ears, too high and too thin. I clear my throat and try again. "Briefly. At a dinner party."
"When was this?"
"A few weeks ago. It was a business function. Phoenix introduced us." I can feel Phoenix's attention on me like a physical weight, but I don't look at him. If I look at him, I'll fall apart. "We spoke for maybe five minutes. That was it."
"And you haven't had any contact with him since?"
"No."
Another lie. Another smooth denial that tastes like ash in my mouth.
Because the truth is that Marcus Webb showed up at our cabin unannounced. He watched us through the windows whilePhoenix was gone. He broke in while I was alone. He pushed me against the wall with his hand around my throat and told me all the things he was going to do to me before he killed me.
The truth is that Phoenix found us just in time. He beat Marcus until he was dead, buried the body somewhere, and we drove home pretending everything was fine.
The truth is something we can never, ever tell.
"Mr. Webb's family reported him missing yesterday," Detective Reeves continues. His tone is conversational, almost friendly. "His car was found abandoned on a remote mountain road about an hour outside of LA in Angeles National Forest."
