Before we can move, however, another man emerges from the kitchen, also holding a glass of wine. Unlike Matthew, he’s dressed more casually in faded jeans, a hoodie sweater, and Nike running shoes.
I glimpse his face and my stomach plummets. Dizziness engulfs me.
The scene unfolding in front of me is surreal. Different parts of my life are colliding and merging, like the shards of a kaleidoscope, in a way that makes absolutely no sense.
The Bishops’ other guest greets Marissa first, bending down to kiss her cheek, giving me a desperately needed moment to try to collect myself.
Then he straightens up, and his eyes meet mine.
I know those eyes well.
I also know the feel of those lips on mine.
“Avery, this is one of our closest friends,” Matthew says. “Meet Skip.”
PART
THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
AVERY
THERE’S NO WAY MARISSA and Matthew just happen to know Skip; his presence can’t be a simple coincidence. A bigger, more ominous force has brought us together tonight.
I want to freeze this moment and study all the players. I want to pull out my yellow legal pad and scrutinize my notes. I want to take these people aside, one by one, and interrogate them.
But I can’t do any of that; I have a hunch it would not be in my best interests.
I smile and choose my words carefully. “Hi, Skip.”
As his big hand closes around mine, I notice his fingers feel cold, and before his eyes skitter away from mine, I glimpse concern. Or is he merely wary?
My simple, ambiguous greeting has supplied him with a choice. He can pretend it’s our first meeting, or he can acknowledge we already know each other.
“Nice to meet you, Avery.”
So this is how he wants to play it.
A dozen questions erupt in my mind. Before I can decide which one to ask, Marissa heads for the staircase, her coat on and purse still slung over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back. I want to check on Bennett.”
We all turn to look at her as she practically runs up the steps. There’s a moment of silence after her abrupt, awkward departure.
Matthew breaks it. “How about a glass of wine, Avery? Come on, we’ve got a bottle in the kitchen.”
One thing I know for sure: Matthew is the only one of us who seems at ease.
Matthew didn’t explain to Skip how I’m connected to him and Marissa, even though he was forthcoming with the information to Polly. Perhaps Skip already knows that the Bishops have hired me—either of the Bishops could have ignored my advice and mentioned it to him. The metropolitan D.C. area can be a small town in some ways, and it isn’t inconceivable that I would know someone in the Bishops’ circle.
But if Skip doesn’t have something to hide, why would he keep it a secret that we’d been on a few dates, and why does he look so deeply uneasy?
Skip stands aside to let me follow Matthew, then falls into step behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck rise; I don’t like not being able to see Skip.
I’m not walking into a trap, I remind myself. I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here—I didn’t even know it myself until a little while ago—so there’s no way Skip could have engineered this meeting. Matthew and Marissa couldn’t have, either.
I exhale and enter the kitchen. It’s as gorgeous as I remembered, with its built-in appliances and glass-fronted cabinets. A bowl of mixed nuts is on the island, next to a half-full bottle of Malbec and a red, white, and blue plastic rocket. Matthew pours a generous amount of the ruby-colored wine into a balloon glass and hands it to me.
“Had some quality father-son time with Bennett this afternoon.” Matthew gestures to the toy. “That thing is a lot better than the bottle rockets I had growing up.”
“Nice.” I take a sip of wine, feeling its warmth ease down my throat, then turn to Skip. I decide to take control of the conversation. “Do you live in the neighborhood, Skip?”
I already know he lives in the Palisades—at least, that’s what he told me when we met at Matisse. I want to see if that information fits what the Bishops know about him.
“Not too far away. I’ve got a place in D.C.,” Skip replies, avoiding my eyes. I’m trying to read his energy, but I can’t decipher it. He seemed so straightforward and solid when I first met him. Then, when I caught him coming out of my home office, he seemed a little jittery and off. Now he’s acting guarded and cagey. But I detect nothing in his affect that feels threatening.
“Skip’s house is fantastic,” Matthew adds helpfully. “He just finished renovating it.” Matthew seems oblivious of the prickly undercurrent linking Skip and me.
So far Skip’s biographical data aligns. Yet I feel as if the more time I spend in Skip’s presence, the less I know about him.
He is the missing link in a chain I never knew existed, an invisible stitch affixing me to the Bishops.
I swiftly review the timeline in my mind as Matthew tops off Skip’s drink, then his own.
I called in my supposedly anonymous tip to the FDA, then I met Skip. Several weeks later, Marissa reached out to me. In between my encounters with Skip and the Bishops, Acelia began unleashing their intimidation tactics. All of these events seemed independent at first. Now I wonder if hidden connections exist, like the sticky threads of a nearly invisible spiderweb.
“Do you live nearby?” Skip turns my question around on me.
“Cleveland Park,” I tell him, as if he weren’t eating Thai food at my kitchen table just last week. I look back and forth between him and Matthew. “So, how do you guys know each other?”
As Matthew opens his mouth to answer, Marissa enters the room. The smudge of mascara is gone from beneath her eye, and she has smoothed her hair. But one pant leg is still tucked inside her boot, and she looks wrung out, even worse than when she exited her car a few minutes ago.
“How was your massage?” Matthew leans over to give her another quick kiss.
“Amazing.” But Marissa doesn’t seem like a woman who has just spent a blissful hour getting her body kneaded with lavender oil.
“A massage?” I wonder if this is why I couldn’t reach her.
“Marissa’s been under so much stress lately, I thought she deserved a break.” Matthew lifts up the bottle of wine. “Pour you a glass, babe?”
Marissa stares at the bottle for a beat, then shakes her head. “I’m going to stick with water and rehydrate.”
“That makes sense,” Matthew says as Marissa takes a glass out of the cabinet and fills it with water.
It’s only because I’m watching Skip so intently that I realize he is staring at Marissa with an equal intensity.
She tilts back her head, exposing her long, graceful neck, as she takes a long sip of water. She must feel Skip’s eyes on her because she turns to him.
“How are the new town houses coming along?” She glances at me. “Skip is a real estate developer.”
I nod, pretending it’s new information. This, too, fits with what Skip has told me.
“Really well,” Skip says.
“You still thinking about letting Natalie handle some of the sales?” Matthew asks.