“Did you see her face when you were attacking her?”
I sit back, lift my chin and keep my mouth shut. Because yes, I saw her face. In fact, I can’t get it the fuck out of my head. That or the way my hand wrapped around her throat. The panic in her eyes when I squeezed.
How close I came to killing her.
“She’s safest down there,” I tell my brother, swiveling on the chair to get up and pour myself a whiskey from the sideboard.
“Safe from you?”
I drink it, push my hand into my hair, consider another.
“Haven’t you had enough?” he asks.
I snort, pour another and look at him as I swallow it down.
He shakes his head. “At least get me one.”
“That’s the spirit,” I say, pouring him one then resuming my seat behind the desk.
“At least talk to her. Hear her side then decide what you believe.”
“She betrayed me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, I do. Pretty sure she got the pills from her cousin. Which is in and of itself a betrayal. I’d guess that happened the night they met at the concert. Hell, what do I know? Maybe it was planned all along.”
“You know Isabelle, don’t you? At least a little?”
I grin, drink a sip of whiskey. “She fooled me. Like any Bishop, she’s a good liar.”
“You don’t believe that. I see it on your face.”
“Then you need to get some glasses.”
Zeke sighs. “Look, either you talk to her or I’m going to go down there and get her out myself.”
“You will not go near my wife.”
“Talk to her. You’ve let her sweat long enough.”
“Will it get you off my back?”
He considers, nods.
“Fine.” She betrayed me. After all that we talked about, all she asked, she betrayed me. Played me for a fucking fool. And the thought of it tightens something inside my gut. Inside my chest. Makes it fucking hard to breathe.
“I spoke with a couple people from The Cat House,” Zeke says.
“And?”
“Carlton Bishop was fine. A little under the weather the few days prior but he’d said he was feeling better. They drank a lot. And when the activity began, he dropped dead.”
“He’d been at lunch with Joseph Sawyer yesterday. Sawyer said he looked gray. Thought he was working through a bad cold.”
“Did you instruct your man doing the autopsy what to look for? Unless he knows the signs, he won’t find anything.”
“Told him what I learned. Told him about the penchant Society folks have with poisons. He’s good. Came highly recommended by the doctor who saved Santiago De La Rosa’s life after he was poisoned.”
Zeke nods.
“Should have preliminary results tomorrow.”
“Angelique was pretty upset she couldn’t say goodbye to Isabelle.”
Shit. I push a hand into my hair again. What a mess this is. What a fucking disaster. “She’ll have to get over it.”
“She loves her, you know. Angelique loves Isabelle. She’s the closest thing to a mother she’s ever had.”
I close my eyes. The thought hurts because some part of me thought Isabelle would be something like that to her. I never wanted her to replace Kimberly, but she was fast becoming someone I could trust with Angelique. Someone who loved her as much as I do. As much as Kimberly would have. Was that a lie too? Was she acting then too?
Zeke finishes his drink and gets to his feet. “Go downstairs. Talk to her. Get her out of the cellar, brother. I’m telling you, you’re wrong about her. And you don’t want to find that out too late.”
I nod, set an elbow on the desk and put my forehead in my hand. What a shit show.
A few minutes after he’s gone, someone knocks on my door.
“Yes?”
“It’s Catherine sir,” Catherine says and opens the door a crack. “The room’s ready.”
I get to my feet.
She hesitates.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Are you sure you want things this way? She’s your wife. She’s going to be the mother of your child.”
I close my eyes.
“I’m sorry, sir. Just… Wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t speak out on this. I hate to see something terrible happen. Isabelle’s a good girl.”
“I don’t pay you to speak out, do I?”
“No, sir.” Her cheeks flush red and she hangs her head, walks out of the office.
Fuck.
I get up, go to the door. “Catherine. Wait.”
She wipes her face with her apron before turning but I see how red her eyes are. God. I’m an asshole.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
She nods. Tries to smile. What must my own staff think I am? I know the answer to that. Isabelle has said it often enough. I’m a devil. Satan incarnate.
“Can you bring up some food for her please.”
“Of course. I’ll warm up some soup for her. She likes those dumplings. Keeps asking for them.”
Why didn’t I know this? “Thank you.”
Catherine disappears toward the kitchen, and I walk down the corridor toward the cellar. I push the key into the lock, open the heavy door and begin my descent, unsure what I’m going to do just yet.
38
Jericho
She’s been down here for the whole of the afternoon. I unlock the bedroom door and open it to find her lying on the bed, asleep. I take a moment to watch her. She’s small, curled into herself under the oversized sweater she had on. Her hair is matted to her face. She must have cried herself to sleep.
It takes all I have to steel myself against her. She looks so innocent. So incapable of doing what she’s done.
She makes a sound as I watch. Her forehead wrinkles. I push the hair that’s sticking to her face away. She’s sweating.
I say her name quietly, but she doesn’t wake up. She just makes that sound again. Like she’s fighting something. Someone.
Danny Gibson comes to mind. Danny Gibson on top of her. And I remember what she told me. How her nightmare isn’t Christian being murdered but Gibson’s near rape of her. Remember how she described what she felt in her nightmare years later.
“Isabelle,” I say louder, and she rolls onto her back. She’s moaning now, it’s like an unbroken wailing sound.
“Wake up Isabelle.” I put my hands on her shoulders, squeeze. “Wake up.”
She blinks rapidly but then her hands come to my arms and she’s trying to push me away. Does she think I’m him? Is she seeing his face?
“Isabelle, wake up. You’re having a nightmare. Isabelle!” I give her one hard shake and release her when she bolts upright, sucking in a gasping breath, hands out in front of her as if to ward something or someone off.
I catch her arms, stop the momentum. It takes her a long minute to process where she is. To remember what happened. When she looks at me that same expression from earlier darkens her features. I remember her face when I had my hands around her neck. When I was choking her. But I shove the guilt away. She had those pills. She may have taken some of them. As far as I know, she has already miscarried.