If Cam knew, she took that secret to her grave. Maybe that’s why she was nervous when I was at her home, demanding she tell me about the day in the hospital.
A pang of guilt resonates deeply. Maybe if she’d told me long before this point, I could’ve protected her. She might still be alive.
Now, I can’t ask her.
But the question remains: Does Rhys know?
Maybe my parents and the doctor and those being looked at during the investigation could keep this a secret from the Leesburg PD—but I find it impossible to believe they could hide it from an FBI agent.
With a resigned breath, I open my eyes and dig out my phone, stare at the dark display. I’d rather look into Rhys’s eyes when I ask my questions, but I’m scared I’ll falter—that he’ll use some rationality to try to defend himself…or he won’t defend himself at all. I’m not sure which would hurt worse.
I open my call log and tap his name just as a knock sounds on the window.
My heart rams my chest, and I drop the phone.
Rhys stands on the other side of the fogged glass. “Hale, Christ. Where have you been?”
I clutch the phone and, all fear replaced with the wrenching pain of betrayal, I shove the door open. He quickly backs out of the way.
The rain falls straight down in heavy pellets. His dress shirt is soaked, his wet hair matted and darkened by rain. He’s my partner. He’s my friend. He’s beautiful…the one person I let myself trust after the attack, and the doubt I see brimming in his slate eyes kills me.
Rhys is an expert at reading people. He’s reading me now. “You went to see Drew.”
I don’t answer. I want to ask the questions. “You knew I was pregnant.” Not a question. I just need to hear him admit the tru
th.
His lips thin, rivulets of rainwater drip down his face. “Yes.”
“All this time…” I trail off, the ache burning my throat. “You led me to believe that Drew had no motive. But you kept looking at him, didn’t you? He was always your number one suspect.”
He nods slowly. “Yes,” he says again. “I kept looking at him.”
His clipped, direct answers infuriate me further. “How could you keep this from me?”
He swallows hard, throat dipping with the force. “When I came down here the first time, I spoke with your therapist. She felt your memory loss was your mind’s way of protecting you.”
Not loss—false memory. I didn’t just forget I was pregnant; I built a whole other memory, trading places with Chelsea. That’s an even worse punishment.
“And I agreed that telling you wouldn’t further the investigation,” he continues. “It would only hurt you and might set you back psychologically. It wouldn’t change anything.”
Each breath is a sharp object scraping my chest. “It changes everything.”
He pushes a hand through his wet hair. “I tried to tell you, Lakin. I did. So many times. But I just…couldn’t.”
I blink against the rain, letting the memory resurface. Rhys took me to the Dock House to try to jog my memory of the attack, yes, but there was more to it. He wanted me to remember the pregnancy. That was the sadness I saw in his eyes that night. The reason he kissed me, comforted me.
His guilt.
“You tried to make me relive my murder so that you wouldn’t feel guilty over keeping such a vital secret from me,” I say, as the realization occurs. “Every day that we worked together, every day that you looked me in the eyes…and just knew. You kept a piece of me from myself, Rhys.”
His gaze flares as he steps forward. “Just like you hid the note from me?”
Insult wounds deep. “No. No—you do not get to flip this around on me. You let me believe a lie!”
He moves in closer. “I was wrong. Okay? I admit it. I should’ve told you that night on the lake. I’m wrong for being too weak, not strong enough to bear your pain. I was selfish. But, dammit, so were you. You kept the note hidden. Did it ever occur to you that that might be a vital piece of the investigation?”
I shake my head, then turn away. “I’m done, Rhys.”