The First Wife (11 page)

“That’s a relief.”

Raine smiled at Bailey’s sarcasm. “She was a nail tech. Another under-achiever. Like
you, no family. Or almost none. A crazy, drug-addled mother. True was a Mississippi
girl. The Jackson area. They met when Logan was there on business. Dated several months,
married in Vegas, then voilà! Raine had a sister.”

“You didn’t like her.”

Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked against them and whirled away. “Everyone loved
True. Me included.”

“Why’d she leave him? What went wrong?”

She stopped, her back to Bailey. “Do you really want to do this?”

“This?”

She looked over her shoulder. “Peek under that rock? See what’s hiding there in the
dark?”

“Yes.”

Raine’s shoulders drooped, as if all the fight had left her. She sank onto the stool
in front of a large, dark painting. The one she had been working on, Bailey thought.

For long moments, she simply gazed at it. Then she spoke. “I don’t know. Though it
nearly beat him.”

“I won’t hurt him, Raine. I promise you.”

“But what about you?” She looked over her shoulder at Bailey. “Death follows him.
That’s what they say, you know. That death follows us, this family.”

Chill bumps raced up her arms. Bailey steeled herself against them. “I know. I think
people are being cruel, saying that.”

“You heard it in town.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not surprised.” Raine turned back to the painting. “All dead. Mama and Roane.
Daddy. True,” she added, voice barely a whisper.

The blood began to thunder in Bailey’s head. “What did you say?”

When Raine didn’t respond, Bailey took a step toward her. “You said True’s name. But
True’s not dead.”

For a moment, Raine simply gazed at her painting as she sipped her wine. Then, without
looking at her, she said, “Or so you’ve been told.”

“Stop it.”

“Who will be next? You?”

“Enough!”

“I’m just being honest. Isn’t that why you came here today?”

“That’s not what you’re doing and we both know it.”

A smile touched her lips. “Shaken, I see. Poor little Bailey. You should run now.
While you still have the chance.”

This had been a mistake, Bailey acknowledged. Coming here. Thinking anyone both as
brilliant and unstable as Raine would do anything but toy with her.

“I thought you might care enough for your brother to help me. But I did learn something
and I thank you for that.”

Bailey set her cup on a workbench and crossed to the door. When she reached it, she
stopped. “Just so you know, you can’t chase me away. I’m here to stay.”

“Bailey?” She met the other woman’s eyes. “Roane hung himself. On our sixteenth birthday.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The night had gobbled up the last of the sun. The cold, damp air chilled Bailey clear
to her bones. She climbed out of her SUV and hurried to her front door.

“Roane hung himself. On our sixteenth birthday.”

She stepped inside. Darkness greeted her. And cold. She shivered and flipped on the
foyer light. Light washed over her, but not warmth.

What must that feel like? Every new birthday, being reminded of the twin you’d had.
And lost. Even the thought of it grabbed tightly ahold of her diaphragm.

Bailey struggled to breathe past it and crossed to the thermostat, nudged the temperature
up.

And what of Logan? How had the loss affected him?

Tears stung her eyes and she glanced at her watch. Just after six. Logan had said
the council meeting was at seven, maybe she could catch him before he went in?

She dug her phone out of her purse and dialed. He answered immediately.

“Logan, it’s me.”

She sounded shaky, even to her own ears.

“Are you okay?” Immediate concern, an edge of panic in his voice.

She shouldn’t have called until she’d pulled herself together.

“Bailey?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I’m fine. I just … needed to hear your voice.”

“I miss you, too. How’s Henry?”

“Stable. They’re keeping him overnight. Stephanie’s with him.”

“Good. You’re home?”

“Yes.” She paused. “But it’s cold.”

“Light a fire in the keeping room. It’s gas. The key’s on the mantel.”

“I wish you were home.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You sound very strange.”

“I went to see … Raine. She told me about your brother. About Roane.”

He was silent. She heard the murmur of voices coming from around him. Finally, he
cleared his throat. Even so, when he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. “I’m
sorry, I … hate that you found out that way. I should have—”

“It’s okay. I get it.” She realized her lips were trembling and she pressed them together
a moment. “It’s me who’s … I’m so sorry, Logan. I can only imagine how much that hurt.
How much it still must hurt.”

Someone said his name, called him into the meeting. “You have to go.”

“I do, baby. I’m sorry. About this and now. It’s going to be a few more hours.”

“I’ll wait up.”

Then he was gone. And she was bereft. Left with nothing to hold on to but Raine’s
ugly words. The image they cast in her head. The terrible things she had learned earlier.
The feeling of betrayal.

She needed Logan. His reassuring arms. The warmth of his body, driving away the cold.

Their wedding pictures.

Bailey dropped her purse on the entryway table and headed into the office. She switched
on the desk lamp, then sank into the chair. The computer was still on, and when she
lifted the cover the photos of her and Logan filled the screen. Visual confirmation
of their love. That she hadn’t made a mistake. She scrolled through them, marking
her favorites, losing time. Raine’s words becoming further away.

Her stomach growled and she realized the time. That she hadn’t eaten since early in
the day. That Logan would be home soon. She moused up to close the computer window
and accidentally clicked on the edge of one behind it.

The face of Amanda LaPier stared back at her. The young woman who had recently gone
missing.

She scrolled down, hand trembling. The photo was connected to the same news story
she had read in the
Wholesome Village Voice.

Deep breath, Bailey. It doesn’t mean anything. Considering their argument, it even
made sense.

Another open window, she saw. Behind this one.

Even as she told herself to close the laptop and walk away, she tapped it open.

A Web site. NecroSearch International—an outfit dedicated to helping law enforcement
locate clandestine graves.

Clandestine graves.

She stared at the image, confused, light-headed. The moment felt surreal. Like something
out of a novel. In the blink of an eye, everything changed. The world stopped. And
shrank. Zeroed in until it consisted of her, the laptop, a digital image of a woman
she didn’t know.

And a Web site she could think of only one reason her husband would be interested
in.

She moved the cursor up to recent history. More stories. About LaPier. And Trista
Hook, the woman who had previously gone missing. And not just one, many. As if he
had been scouring the media for any news of the investigation.

Bailey swallowed against the bile that rose in her throat. Last night, this entire
search. This was what he had been doing down here. Searching. Studying. Why?

She heard the slam of a car door. Her gaze flew to the clock.
Logan. Home.

She couldn’t talk to him. Not now. Couldn’t look at him. He would know. What should
she—

Think, Bailey. Think.

Go to bed. Quickly, heart racing, she closed the windows and shut the laptop. She
snapped off the desk lamp, leaped to her feet, darted into the foyer.

And paused. She heard him in the kitchen. The sound of ice dropping into a glass,
the water running.

Bailey flew up the stairs to the bedroom. There, she stripped out of her clothes and
slid into bed. She curled up on her side, pretending to be asleep.

He entered the room. She heard the soft whoosh of his breath being expelled.

“Bailey?”

She lay quietly, breathing as deeply and evenly as she could with blood pounding and
thoughts racing. She heard him cross to the bed, felt him standing over her. He bent;
his breath stirred against her cheek.

In the next moment, the bedroom door clicked softly shut and she was alone again.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The next morning, Bailey threw up. She bent over the commode and heaved, though nothing
came up but bile. She rinsed her face and brushed her teeth, then turned to find Logan
in the doorway. Fully dressed, ready for the day.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes, I—” She laid a hand on her stomach. “I must have eaten something that didn’t
agree.”

But she hadn’t eaten. Food, anyway. What she’d ingested was suspicion. And doubt.
She was sick with it.

“Maybe you picked up a bug?” He crossed to her and laid a hand on her forehead. “You
feel a little clammy. But cool.”

She took a step back. “I’m fine, really.”

He frowned slightly. “You didn’t wait up last night.”

“I just … couldn’t.”
Not a lie. None of it. Her heart was shattered.
“I’m sorry.”

He gazed at her a moment. “I bought you something.” He said it stiffly. Retreating
from her. As if she had become a stranger to him.

She had, Bailey thought. This woman sick with doubt, a stranger even to herself.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t even know what it is. Come see.”

An iPad, she saw a moment later.

“It’s all set up. E-mail, Internet, everything. I even loaded our wedding pictures.”

She held it in her hands. Stared at it as if it were a snake.
So she wouldn’t use his computer. So she wouldn’t have access to his secrets.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied. “I love it.”

“I thought you’d like to be able to connect anywhere. Especially with me gone so much.”
He paused. “Would you rather have a laptop?”

She shook her head. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

They stood there in the bedroom, awkwardly silent. He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid
it might be another late night.”

Bailey wasn’t sure what to say. What to feel: despair or relief. “Okay. Just … let
me know.”

He hesitated, then bent and brushed his mouth against hers. “I’ll miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“I haven’t left yet.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I think I do.” He held her gaze until she looked away. “I’ll call you later then.”

He left the bedroom. It felt as if the best part of her were going with him. A cry
flew to her lips and she started after him.

“Logan! Wait!”

She ran down the stairs and into his arms. Bailey clung to him, face pressed against
his chest. “I love you so much.”

He shuddered; his arms curved around her. He held her silently.

“I’m not myself today,” she said. “That’s all.”

“Rest. You’ll feel better.”

She walked him to the door, watched him drive off. When she turned back, her gaze
landed on his office, door open to the hallway. His desktop.

The laptop was gone.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

As the days passed, the awkwardness between Bailey and Logan grew. They approached
each other cautiously, married strangers, she with her unspoken fears and he with
his secrets.

He had to know she’d viewed his Internet search history. It’s why he’d bought her
the tablet, why he now took his laptop to and from the city with him each day.

But he hadn’t mentioned it.

And she hadn’t brought it up.

The proverbial elephant in the room, which they danced around, the distance between
them growing.

“Pay attention!” August ordered, sounding frustrated. “Elbows back. She’s leading
you. When a horse figures out they’re in charge, you’re in trouble.”

Bailey had taken August up on his promise to get her back in the saddle and comfortably
riding by Logan’s birthday. After her initial terror, she had begun to relax and trust,
then actually enjoy being on a horse again.

Now, she made the adjustment, working to concentrate. Elbows slightly bent. Hold the
reins lightly but with control. Sit bones firmly planted. Eyes fixed straight ahead.
The horse followed her, not the other way around.

August made a sound of disgust. “This isn’t like riding a bike, Bailey. If you forget
to pedal, the bike doesn’t take over. It’s how people get hurt.”

How people get hurt.

A broken heart. A clandestine grave.

“Death follows him.”

She shook her head, trying to focus. Failing miserably.

“Bailey, for God’s sake! Pay attention!”

She drew back on the reins and Tea Biscuit stopped.

August strode over. “You look like a rag doll up there.”

“I’m sorry,” she said automatically, forcing a wan smile. “At least I’m not afraid
anymore.”

“Maybe you should be.”

He held her gaze. She suddenly felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

“Do you really want to peek under that rock? See what’s lurking there?”

“I need to get off.”

“Don’t overreact. Just put your mind—”

“Now. I need to get off now!”

Without waiting for his reply, she swung out of the saddle. As her feet landed on
the ground, she realized her legs were shaking. She tried to hide it from August.

But August Perez missed nothing. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” She led Tea Biscuit back to the barn. He fell in step beside her.

“Are you and Logan fighting?”

“No.”

“I could always tell when he and True had fought. She radiated it, poor darling.”

“I don’t want to talk about True. And I’m not in the mood for your nonsense.”