Dust and Obey (2 page)

CHAPTER 2

I
was more nervous than I should be the next day as I stuffed some clothes into my suitcase. I’d finished my training, checked out of my hotel, and driven home in record time. I’d had way too much time to think during those hours.

Mostly, I’d been thinking about Riley and what his reemergence into my life might mean. The bottom line: only bad things. I didn’t see any other way around it.

Finally, I pulled up to the little apartment building where I’d lived for the majority of my adult life. It was an old Victorian that had been cut up into five units. The building was located in an eclectic area of Norfolk, Virginia, where things were always interesting. It seemed to match my life well. A little too well at times.

My first problem at the moment went back to my task at hand: I was
stuffing
clothes that I
already
owned into a
ratty
suitcase.

Dress to impress? High six figures? I was going to have the most trouble pulling that that off. I wasn’t an upper-crust kind of girl. I never had been. And I didn’t care if I ever was. I was content with who I was, even if that meant my luggage frayed on the ends and might even be missing a wheel.

I stared at my clothes and sighed. The people at this retreat center would be looking for name brands, for neatly pressed blouses and pampered garments. I mostly owned well-worn threads that I didn’t mind getting dirty. I
had
been a crime-scene cleaner for most of my adult life. That didn’t afford many opportunities to dress up.

I glanced at the outfit I had on now. I was wearing designer jeans I’d found at a thrift store and a silky pale-blue blouse. I’d actually taken the time to straighten my unruly red locks. I always thought the effect was more elegant than my hair in its natural state—my natural state being Methuselah-like red curls that sprang from my head.

Just then I had a light-bulb moment. I walked to my dresser and found my mother’s old set of pearls in my jewelry box. I owned very few pieces that were the real thing. Most were imitation. There were even a couple pieces I’d gotten out of a bubble-gum machine, if that told you anything.

With a little bit of finagling, I clasped the strand around my neck. I glanced in the mirror, surprised with the final result. I looked halfway elegant. I hoped this was good enough for Riley, not because I wanted to impress him but because I wanted to pull off this investigation.

With one more nervous glance at the clock on my table, I realized it was time to go face my ex and have my “Circle of Life” moment. I grabbed my suitcase and walked toward the door.
Here goes nothing
.

As soon as I stepped out, I spotted Riley striding onto the landing between our apartments. My heart skipped a beat. I hadn’t seen him in a solid two months, but he looked just as handsome as ever with his dark hair and baby-blue eyes. His hair had grown back nice and full, and I couldn’t even tell he’d nearly died from a gunshot wound in the head almost nine months ago.

Something else seemed different about him also, but I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. The look in his eyes maybe? The way his muscles filled out his azure golf shirt?

“Gabby, you look great.” He offered an approving nod before reaching forward to give me a hug.

I forced my arms to move and offered an awkward embrace. I refused to get too close. But still, as my chin went over his shoulder, I got a whiff of his leathery aftershave. I loved that scent. And I’d missed it.

As soon as that realization hit me, I recognized I’d lingered in the hug way too long. Quickly, I pulled back and rubbed my hands against my jeans, trying to look composed and unaffected.

“You ready to go?” My voice trembled slightly.
Stupid voice.

“Yes. But first . . .” He reached behind him into his apartment. “I brought this for you.”

He held out a glossy, hard-sided suitcase with all wheels intact and no frayed edges. Something about it screamed, “Expensive. Upper crust. High six figures.”

“For me?” I questioned. He might as well have offered me a diamond necklace. This suitcase probably cost as much, and it was way more practical.

He nodded. “We are supposed to be married so having different kinds of luggage might set off some alarms. Besides, Brad Thorn paid us an advance in case we needed stuff like this. I hope you don’t mind that I picked it out for you. I knew you were kind of busy.”

“No, I like it. But, speaking of this retreat: Don’t most couples share suitcases? And rooms, for that matter?” That question had dawned on me as I’d been driving back from North Carolina this morning. It had made me feel panicky with dread. If I was going to make this ruse of a relationship work then I’d need some time away from Riley to decompress.

“Not here. We’re staying separately as a part of the plan of therapy.”

Relief filled me.

But then it hit me what he said, and I gave him one of those “something doesn’t smell right” looks. “Isn’t that weird at a marriage retreat for couples not to stay together?”

“Some might say so, but that’s the rule.”

“Works for me.” I was so grateful that I didn’t have the time or energy to ponder what he said. I only knew I wouldn’t be trapped in a room with him for most of the weekend. “Let me go get my bags switched. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“By the way, I put your half of the check in the suitcase.”

As I slipped back inside my apartment, I noticed my hands were trembling. Maybe I wasn’t prepared to do this. It had seemed like a good challenge when Riley presented the idea, but being with Riley in just those five minutes had already left me reeling off balance. All those feelings of having my life back on track disappeared.

Consider it pure joy, I reminded myself. That would be my theme verse.

When I opened the luggage and spotted the check, my eyes widened. I didn’t know P.I. work could pay this well. I mean, the amount scribbled on that check was
really
nice. As in, “I could potentially get that new car I’d been eyeing” nice.

I switched my last shirt into the new suitcase and closed the lid. This aerodynamic masterpiece of travel leisure definitely put my ratty one to shame. Riley was right—no one would buy it that we were married if my luggage screamed Kmart Bluelight Special and his elegantly stated I-make-more-money-than-I-know-what-to-do-with-so-I-bought-a-Louis-Vuitton.

I set the suitcase on the floor and noted that my hands still trembled. I was even more nervous now than before. Seeing Riley had definitely shaken me up more than I’d anticipated. I mean, I was over him. There was nothing to feel awkward about.

But even I couldn’t convince myself that my mental pep talk was true.

I swiped my hair behind my ear, plastered on a smile, and stepped back into the hallway. As soon as I spotted Riley again, my nerves intensified.

Gabby St. Claire, you’ve confronted killers and haven’t been this nervous. You’re a professional—a professional investigator, not a professional escort.

Why in the world did I feel the need to clarify these things when I was the only one hearing the conversation play out in my head?
Obviously
, I knew what I meant.

Welcome to my world.

“Let’s go.”

Riley smiled, took my suitcase, and carried it down the stairs. “So, how was your training? I can’t wait to hear about this new job.”

“It went . . . great. I really learned a lot. There’s some new amazing technology out there to help police forensically. It’s changing all the time, and the advancements are groundbreaking.” I’d recited, nearly word for word, a bulleted talking point from my training. But what I’d said was true. Even I had been impressed as I’d learned about the improvements in forensic science.

He cast a grin over his shoulder. “That’s great.”

He wedged the door to the apartment building open with his hip and held it for me. I slipped outside into the searing April day. By the time I reached Riley’s sensible sedan, he’d already stowed the suitcases and closed the trunk. He hurried around to the passenger side and opened my door. Only after I was snug inside did he jog around to his side and climb in.

Had other women sat in this seat since we broke up? Had he opened their door? Made them feel like a million bucks?

I shook the thoughts from my head. I couldn’t go there. I’d been cheated on so many times that I felt programmed to expect it. Not that Riley would have been cheating because we’d broken up. But still.

He put the car in reverse, slipped his arm across the seats as he looked behind him, but paused before moving. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

As a quiver raked through me at his nearness, I realized that was an excellent question.

CHAPTER 3

After
swallowing hard, I finally nodded and slid on my sunglasses. “I’m always up for an investigation.”

Riley nodded. “Good.”

With that, we started down the street, a certain awkwardness setting in between us. There was so much I wanted to ask him, so much I wanted to know. But I didn’t want to jump into my questions. I needed to seem chill. Unaffected. Like anything
but
what I actually felt inside.

So I did the next best thing: I asked about the case. I figured I couldn’t go wrong talking about an investigation, and it seemed much safer than any other conversation.

“So where exactly are we going?” I forced my thoughts to remain focused. I had to refuse to think about the memories this spic-and-span car brought to mind. Not the good-night kisses. Not the wild goose chases. Not the near-death experiences.

And that pretty much summed up our past relationship.

“We are headed to a little retreat center in the Chesapeake Bay.”

“In the bay?”

He nodded. “It’s on an island.”

“Even better.” Islands were good, right? I mean, there was
Fantasy Island
.
Gilligan’s
Island
. That island from the TV show
Lost
. Or the island where Tom Hanks was stranded in
Castaway
.

Just because you were surrounded on all sides by water with no means of escape didn’t mean anything . . . right?

Besides, Riley seemed so relaxed about it. In fact, he seemed laid-back in general. That realization made me happy because, deep down inside, I wanted the best for him. But it also bothered me because it meant he’d moved on without me. I wished I could honestly say the same.

“It’s called Love Birds Marriage Retreats. A therapist named Dr. Richard Turner started the program. He takes four couples at a time, and they meet every weekend for six weeks. He says going for a week straight would disrupt life too much and that missing work could also add to marital stress, especially if there’s already tension because of finances.”

“Are we starting at the beginning?”

“No, three weeks of the program have already been completed, so we’re coming in right at the middle. Dr. Turner let us in as a favor to the man who owns the island. Brad Thorn has a connection to him and convinced him to pull a few strings.”

“You said this is a pretty expensive place?” Virginia Beach blurred by on the interstate, a mix of contemporary, vinyl-sided houses and strip malls mixed in with some golf courses and churches.

“It costs twenty thousand dollars for the entire six weeks.”

My mouth nearly dropped open. “Wow. That’s major cash. I don’t suppose insurance covers anything.”

“Not a program like this. That’s why most of the people who attend have quite a bit of money. Dr. Turner also believes that if you pay out the cash to be there, you’re more likely to take the program seriously.”

I settled back in my seat. “Okay, so you told me all that, and it sounds credible enough. Why is it at the center of a murder investigation?”

“Brad Thorn and his wife, Anna, were attending. Brad is convinced there’s a connection between her death and those therapy sessions.”

“Is there any compelling evidence to support that?”

“We’re meeting with Brad before we go, so hopefully he can tell us. Either way, I think her death is worth looking into.”

I chewed on what he’d told me so far. “Why the retreat center? Couldn’t Anna have been murdered because of some other aspect of her life? Did she work? Could her death be random? I’m just trying to get a feel for all this.”

“The police are in agreement with you. They questioned everyone, but also cleared everyone.”

“Well, I’m intrigued. What’s our cover?” I fully didn’t expect Riley, a good boy through and through, to have thought of that. Deceit didn’t come easily to him. That was why I’d given him the nickname Church Boy when we’d first met.

Since then, I’d become a bit of a church girl. If not a church girl, then definitely a Jesus follower.

Despite the harm Riley had done to my heart, he was also the reason my heart had mended in other ways not related to him. He’d shown me Jesus, answered my endless questions about the Bible, and even endured my badgering at times.

So there was that.

“I figured we should still go by our first names. Otherwise, it just gets confusing, you know? Last name St. Thomas? Both of our names together, St. Claire and Thomas?”

“We’re practically a celebrity couple when you put it like that. Watch out Brangelina. It’s Ribby. Or does Giley have a better ring to it?”

He chuckled. “You still have that sense of humor.”

Did he think I’d abandoned it when I lost him? I didn’t ask but instead shrugged. “What can I say? Anyway, so when did we get married?”

“I figured it could be the day we met. September 9 two years ago.”

He remembered that. Interesting.

“We can say we met while trying to save a lost parrot, just like we really did. The closer we can stay to the truth, the better. Don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely.” I crossed my arms. “So, are you going to stick with being a lawyer as part of your cover story?”

“I think that would be best.”

“And I should be a . . .”

His lips turned downward. “I think it would be better if you don’t mention a career in forensics. It might put some people on edge, and we want to get them to trust us.”

It was the reason I often made more progress than the cops. People were more likely to open up to a crime-scene cleaner than someone with a badge. I wasn’t sure about the psychology behind it, but I’d seen it happen time and time again.

“I can see that viewpoint. So what should I say?”

He shifted in his seat as we started across the Bay Bridge Tunnel, a twenty-mile span over the Chesapeake Bay. “It would probably be most believable if you said you stayed at home.”

My eyebrows shot up. “What?”

He inhaled deeply. “Well, like I said, most of the couples are wealthy. Most of them have husbands who work a lot and make a lot of money. The wives generally stay home and see to the affairs of the house, not to mention shopping, spa dates, and staying current on the social scene. That’s the life most of these people are living. It’s a subculture within itself.”

Something about how he said it didn’t settle well in my gut. The image that formed in my mind wasn’t pleasant: women who lived lives of luxury, who cared more about the kind of purse they carried than the kinds of kids they raised, and who viewed life as one materialistic pursuit after another. These weren’t my kind of people.

Maybe I was off base. But I’d worked with my share of wealthy people. I’d seen how many of them operated. Maybe my assumption wasn’t fair, but it was honest.

“I see.”

“What kind of ‘I see’ was that?” he asked.

The sun hit Riley’s side of the car, illuminating his face. I’d practically memorized his features at one time, and now I wanted desperately to unremember all of them. Like how silky his hair felt beneath my fingers. Or what his cheeks felt like when he hadn’t shaved for a day. Or how his hands felt amazingly strong and calloused for someone who sat behind a desk for the majority of his days.

I shrugged, remembering his question. He could still read me a little too well. I needed to keep that in mind this weekend. “I’m just soaking everything in. Absorbing it. Taking on this new persona that’s so unlike me.”

“Can’t see yourself as a housewife?”

“Only as a desperate one.” I flashed a smile, not wanting to go there. “So anyway . . . when someone asks why we’re there, what should we say? What issue has brought us to this point in our marriage?”

It could have been my imagination, but Riley looked uncomfortable for a moment. He shifted, and his grip tightened around the steering wheel. Was it the long drive on a narrow bridge surrounded by water? Or was it this conversation?

“I thought we could say that we rushed into our marriage without truly knowing each other and that’s led to problems.”

I wondered if he was still trying to keep his answers as close to reality as possible. Did he think we’d hurried things before? Did he think we didn’t really know each other when we’d been engaged?

I didn’t ask the questions. Maybe I didn’t want to know the answers.

Instead, I looked out over the water. I’d always loved the bay. It was peaceful and significantly calmer than the raging waves in the Atlantic. I stared across the glimmering expanse now, trying to collect my thoughts.

Several boats cruised the area, some with fishermen clutching long poles and wearing floppy hats. Other boaters were simply enjoying the exceptionally warm spring day. Seagulls soared. Cirrus clouds streaked high overhead.

For a moment, I felt serenity.

Then Riley spoke again.

“So tell me more about this new job you have.”

I drew in a breath, wondering what exactly I’d gotten myself into by agreeing to his proposal. This was all a bad idea. That simply became clearer and clearer as the car ride continued. But I was such a sucker for both mysteries and for Riley. You might as well slap a wrapper on me and label me a “Cherry Firecracker” lollipop.

“I’ll be teaching police departments in the region how to use various crime-scene investigation equipment and technology.”

He stole a glance at me. “Really? Now that sounds perfect for you. How’d you get the job?”

Garrett Mercer had helped me to get it. I didn’t want to tell Riley that, though. Garrett was the guy I’d kinda sorta started seeing after Riley ditched me. At the moment, Garrett was in Africa helping to dig wells to provide people there with clean water.

Garrett was a great guy. So why did I feel guilty right now? Garrett and I weren’t really together, and working with Riley for this investigation wasn’t cheating on Garrett.

Emotions were so confusing at times. Especially when it came to men. Argh.

“I got the job through various connections,” I finally said, skirting around the exact details. “I can set my own hours based on the workload for the week.”

“I’m really happy for you, Gabby.”

Silence fell for a moment. There was a time when it would feel like the most natural thing in the world to reach over and grab Riley’s hand. To stay quiet while we rode because we were comfortable enough with each other that we didn’t always have to fill the silence.

But right now I was keenly aware of every second that ticked by without conversation. I was unsure what to do with my arms. Crossing them seemed so closed. Keeping them open I felt exposed. When I left my hands in my lap, I fiddled with my fingers.

This was going to be a long weekend. And maybe one of the biggest tests of my faith yet.