The doctor was more than capable of it.
Tessa, meanwhile, struggled in her marriage. Six months later, miserable and growing to despise Jack more and more for the sole crime that he wasn’t Lucas, she admitted to her husband that maybe they weren’t cut out for this marriage thing. He had to be thinking the same thing. She knew she was making his life miserable, but he adamantly told her no. Jack wouldn’t let her give up. There would be no divorce. She was in it for life, he reminded her.
Or just his, Lucas pointed out.
It was surprisingly easy to convince Tessa of his plan. Two months of dropping hints, sneaking phone calls, sending untraceable emails and he had her wavering. After another couple of weeks, she agreed that she didn’t see any other way out.
Lucas had always known he was twisted, that a part of him just wasn’t right. Everything was either black or white—he never saw shades of grey. He didn’t want to die alone, so he married Caitlin. Didn’t matter that he didn’t love her, or that he knew she was utterly devoted to him in a way he couldn’t reciprocate. He wanted a partner. He got one.
And when he found himself haunted and obsessed by a striking student in one of his lectures, he knew he would do anything to possess her.
It utterly amazed him that, in the end, his fragile beauty proved she would be willing to do the same for him.
So they planned Tessa’s second honeymoon knowing that a third would follow closely on its heels. Everything, from the nail in her husband’s tire to weaken it to the requested stay in a private room, plus the award-worthy performance she put on for Mason Walsh the night Sullivan died, was plotted to the last detail. Odds were good that one of the deputies would throw her in the holding cells if she was caught driving intoxicated. Everyone in Hamlet knew about the drunk tank—but an outsider wasn’t supposed to. When Walsh locked her up, he was doing exactly what he was supposed to without knowing it.
It was Tessa who went off script.
Lucas hadn’t expected her to insist on calling the Hamlet Inn. Luckily for them, he was able to do some acting of his own as he convinced both Caro and Walsh that he was Jack Sullivan. Though it caught him off guard at the time, he admitted to Tessa later that it had been a stroke of genius. It solidified her alibi, making it airtight since it was “proof” that she had left Jack alive in the hotel room.
He even went so far as to p
urposely pick the anniversary of his divorce to Caitlin to put his plan into motion because she would be distracted and off her game. The more he pushed, the more he flaunted a “budding” relationship with Tessa, the quicker he thought she'd give up and shunt Sullivan's case off to the side. It almost worked, too, and when it didn't, Lucas didn't hesitate to go to Plan B.
Really, he thought, Caitlin had no one to blame for her death but herself.
All in all, it was the perfect plot. The only evidence remaining that tied Tessa to any of this was the report he received with Sullivan’s tox results. And since he destroyed that, burning the letter and its envelope in a rest stop bathroom two hours away from Hamlet, there wasn’t even that.
Leaning down, nuzzling his cheek against the silky soft strands of her hair, Lucas told her how he got rid of the one thing that might make someone look closer at the crime. Without a doctor to question the results, the tox report would be buried under hundreds of others like it.
No longer frustrated and annoyed, he took great pleasure in assuring his accomplice that they were home free at last. Breathing her in, snuggling her close, he was at peace for the first time in years. At that moment, everything he planned, everything he pulled off, it was all worth it.
“So that’s it then. We did it.” She sounded amazed.
“Mm-hmm.”
Tessa held onto him for a few seconds more before she abruptly pulled away. He let out a throaty growl at the loss of her warmth pressed up against him. Now that she was in his arms where she belonged, he hated the idea of letting her go. It was even worse when she was distancing herself from him.
Then she went on and said, “Luc, there’s time now. We’ve got to talk.”
His stomach tightened. Nothing good ever followed we’ve got to talk. He ran his hands down her shoulder, trying to maneuver her back against his body. “No.”
“I’m serious.”
“You talk. I’ll keep myself occupied.”
She slapped his wandering hand as it made a bid to slip underneath her shirt. “Lucas!”
“Okay. Fine. I’ll behave.” And, to prove it, he wrapped his hands around her waist, moving her so that she was pressed against his middle again. When she relaxed into his hold and sighed as if there wasn’t anywhere she’d rather be, Lucas felt magnanimous. Even though he was pretty sure he knew what was coming next, he said, “You want to talk? Let’s talk. What’s on your mind?”
Tessa didn’t disappoint him. “I feel bad,” she confessed.
“It’s okay. I’d be worried if you didn’t.” Unlike him, Tessa was still young and naive enough to experience things like guilt. He loved that about her, her inability to accept that sometimes the ends justify the means. To Lucas, the fact that she would abandon her conscience and beliefs to follow him blindly into hell only reinforced how much she loved him too. He would never disregard her feelings. They were too precious to destroy. “I know we promised each other that we wouldn’t. Guess it was easier said than done.”
“Yeah.”
“But you know we had no choice.”
“I know. I know.” She fisted his shirt in her hands. “It’s just—”