Page 102 of Every Step She Takes
Marco still doesn’t answer. I lean against him and lift my phone higher so he can see the ridiculously somber picture of Colt acting the role of “mourning widower.”
When Marco says nothing, I twist to look at him. He’s staring into space.
“Marco?” I say.
“Hmm?”
“You missed everything I just said, didn’t you?”
A faint smile as he kisses my temple. “I just got…” He lifts his phone. “I received information from the coroner’s report. Isabella did fall and crack her skull. Enough that she probably lost consciousness, might have even suffered a concussion. But that wasn’t what killed her.”
He looks at me. “While she was unconscious, someone put a pillow over her face and suffocated her.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Isabella was murdered.
Yeah… that’s the reason you’re on the run, Lucy. Did you forget that?
No one is chasing me to ask whether I witnessed a fatal slip and fall. No one is even raising the possibility that it was an accidental shove. Yet that is what I’ve presumed.
When I suspect Tiana or Justice or even Colt, I envision a fight, probably about me. Accidental death or manslaughter, followed by a panicked cover-up that implicates me.
That is not what happened.
Isabella hit her head and likely lost consciousness. Did she take a tumble? Was it an accidental fall during an argument? Or did someone bash her head onto that tile step? I don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter. She fell. She lost consciousness. And then someone killed her.
Someone gazed down at Isabella, vulnerable and defenseless, and they saw an opportunity. Picked up a pillow, and put it over her face and smothered her.
We rent a car and drive to the rehab center. As one might expect, it’s a country club of a hospital. This isn’t where people go to serve court-mandated sentences; it’s a facility that accepts voluntary – and well-paying – clients only.
From my research on the train, I know what to expect. There’s a main building, which had once been a sprawling manor. That’s where clients stay when they’re in withdrawal. Once past that stage, they can move into a private cottage on the fifty-acre property while attending treatment sessions in the main house.
I was in touch with Justice last night, and according to him, Jamison’s cottage is in a cluster far from the house. We pull off along a side road and walk through the forest. That’s probably what Colt had done Sunday night, too.
We aren’t even at the cottage yet when I spot Jamison in the forest, walking a toddling puff of black-and-white fur. I remember something Justice said last night.
Izzy got him a puppy. A border-collie cross. It needs a lot of exercise, and that’s what he wanted. Something to be responsible for, and something to get him out of his cabin… and out of his head. That’s really what Jamie needs most. To get out of his own head, get out of his own way.
As I approach, I clear my throat, so I don’t startle Jamison. He looks up, and not a flicker of surprise crosses those dark eyes.
“Lucy,” he says with the faintest of smiles. “I wondered when you’d get to me.”
“You heard I’ve been making the rounds?” I ask as I walk over.
“Nah. But I knew you would. Tiana first, right? Then Justice?”
Those dark eyes twinkle, but it’s muted, shadowed amusement and affection. He picks up the whining puppy and glances over my shoulder as Marco comes up behind me. His gaze slides over Marco, sharp and appraising. Then a small nod, as if satisfied.
He steps toward Marco and extends a hand. “Jamie.”
“Marco.”
“Boyfriend or bodyguard?”
Marco’s lips twitch. “Both.” He eases back. “Are you okay with me being here? I can give you some privacy, but I’d prefer to stay close to Gen.”
“Gen.” Jamison pronounces it the way Marco does –Zhunrather thanJen. He looks at me. “Is that what you prefer?”
