“Don’t know. But there is a possibility that he stayed at the River View Motel, registered as Bryan Smith. He was either in touch with or observing Troy Ryder. According to the maid, he kept tabs on Ryder. We’ve got security tapes from the motel for all the dates that Ryder was a guest. Smith should be there too as he showed up the day after Ryder checked in and left soon after Ryder checked out. We’ve got his vehicle description and plates, this time from Texas. Plates and vehicle don’t match. Already issued BOLOs on both Ryder’s vehicle and Bryan Smith’s.”
“Good.” Blackwater was nodding, agreeing with his own thoughts as he tapped the eraser end of the pencil on his desk. “The trouble with this is that it’s getting more complicated as we get closer. Anne-Marie Calderone sighted,” he thought aloud, “now, possibly both husbands.” Dropping the pencil into its holder, he looked from Alvarez to Pescoli. “Looks like we’re searching for three people instead of just one. Let’s do it.”
Ryder stared at the stump where Anne-Marie’s finger had been. His stomach turned sour, bile rising up his throat as he stood in front of the dying fire. “He did that to you?” A new rage burned through him and he felt his back teeth grind together. Yes, Anne-Marie was a liar. A major liar. The best he’d ever come across and that was saying something, but for the first time, he wondered if she could possibly be telling the truth. He didn’t want to believe her, didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her, but who would make up such a grotesque story?
“Of course he did!” she said, her teeth drawing back in anger. “Look!” She held up her hand, fingers spread wide. “Do you want to know what he did after? Huh?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “He kicked me, Ryder. Like so much trash, he kicked my naked body into the river and hoped to hell that alligators would finish me off, eat me alive, to get rid of the evidence.”
Ryder’s insides curled in repulsion.
She inched her chin up defiantly. “I’d made the ultimate mistake. Of walking away from him.”
As they stood inches apart, she unburdened herself, letting go of her secret. She stood toe-to-toe with him and told him about going to the townhouse to get her things, and being discovered by Calderone. How he’d drugged her and jammed her rings on her finger before taking her somewhere deep into the Louisiana swampland. How, while she was starting to rouse, he’d sliced off her finger, rings and all, with the skill of the surgeon he was. As a final act, he’d kicked her, rolling her into the murky water.
Ryder listened, but didn’t say a word.
“So”—she stared up at him with her wide eyes—“just so you understand. I’ll never go back.” She blinked once, then whispered, “Never. I’d rather die first.”
He found his voice and dug deep for his resolve. “If what you’re saying is true—”
“If?” she repeated as a blast of wind slammed against the cabin, the walls shuddering. “If? Oh, my God, what do you think, Ryder, that I cut off my own damn finger?”
“No.” H
e knew a sane person wouldn’t mutilate themselves so. And he didn’t think Anne-Marie was insane, just . . . self-serving to the max.
“Then take off these frickin’ cuffs!” She glared at him as the fire sizzled, dying in the grate.
He almost reached for the key. He’d told himself that no matter what, he was going to haul her back to New Orleans, that no matter what kind of lies she spun, he was going to stand strong, never believe her. Yet there he was in the dilapidated cabin, his determination crumbling. His faith in her had been destroyed long ago. Her lies; her fault. But he found it impossible to believe that she would go to such incredible, grotesque lengths.
She’d do anything to save her own skin. You know it. You lived it. The woman has no scruples. None. Zero. Zilch. Don’t be tricked, Ryder. Yes, she’s beautiful and seductive and even charming, but she’s a twisting, diabolical snake and you know it. Once bitten, remember? Twice shy? Twice fucking shy!
Her hands bound together, she brushed her hair out of her eyes and frowned, a bit of pain registering in her green eyes. “You don’t believe me.”
“I don’t know what to believe,” he said honestly.
“I hurt you that badly?”
“You’re just so into your own lies that you believe them yourself,” he said. “You don’t seem to know the difference between real truth and your own skewed fantasy.”
Sighing, she glanced down at the floor, bit her lip, and shook her head as if finally understanding she couldn’t convince him of her twisted reality. “Fine,” she whispered under her breath. “As I said, I’d rather die first.”
“Not gonna happen,” he said as she thrust out her chin. Defiant to the end.
“Then let’s go,” she bit out, furious. “But give me a moment, okay? I need to use the bathroom.”
He wanted to argue, didn’t think it was a good idea to let her out of his sight. “Five minutes,” he said, feeling like an idiot, telling himself not to give her an inch.
But where could she go? Where could she run? The storm was still raging and it was even doubtful that the two of them in his truck would be able to make it out of the mountains, let alone through Montana and south.
But he didn’t chase her all the way up there to give up.
“Leave the door open,” he said and turned to the fireplace where he started searching for the niche near the firebox. He’d watched her on the screen he’d set up in his hotel room stash more of her valuables there. He wanted everything with him when he returned to the Crescent City.
“You really are a son of a bitch,” she threw at him as she walked to the bathroom and left the door cracked.
He felt a bit of satisfaction that she’d followed his order, but experienced a pang of regret and wondered how hard and callous he’d become.
Because of her, Ryder. This is all her fault. You don’t trust her. Of course you don’t. And the reason is directly because of her actions.