Secrets and Sins:Raphael(10)

By: Naima Simone

“Good. Can you tell me who is the president of the United States?”

“Barack Obama.” This information even faster.

“Very good.” Dr. Davidson tucked her hands in the pockets of her coat. “Greer, you suffered a pretty significant head injury. You’ve been unconscious the last twenty-four hours. We’ve run several tests, including a CAT scan, but didn’t find brain trauma or bleeding. Now that you’re awake, we’ll run some more. You have a concussion, and we’ll want to keep you for observation just a little longer. How’s your head? Does it hurt? Do you feel nauseous?”

Greer started to nod, but when the throb threatened to upgrade to a hammering, she whispered. “Yes, my head hurts. Not as bad as before, though. And I’m just a little nauseous.”

“Both to be expected. Can you remember anything about the head injury?”

“Excuse me, doctor,” a low, male voice interrupted. “We’ll take it from here.”

For the first time, displeasure crossed the physician’s expression. Her mouth tightened as her eyes narrowed. “Fine. But she’s still my patient. Please keep that in mind.”

The woman stepped back, and an older, graying man in a slightly creased brown suit and white shirt entered her line of vision. Lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes. A shiver worked its way down her spine at that hard, dark gaze.

“Ms. Addison, I’m Detective Marshall. I’d like to ask you a few questions about your fiancé, Gavin Wells.”

“Gavin?” She frowned. What did Gavin have to do with her being in the hospital? She’d broken up with him. Hadn’t seen Gavin since she found him in bed with Aubrey. Had he put her here? “Where is he?” she rasped. “Is he here?”

“No,” Detective Marshall said, tone as flat as the stare fixed on her. “He’s dead. Gavin Wells is dead. Murdered. Found in your apartment. And we need to ask you a few questions.”

Chapter Four

“Let’s start from the beginning, Ms. Addison.” Detective Marshall leaned back in his chair, large hands folded over his slightly rounded stomach. The bare walls of the police station interrogation room seemed to close in on Greer as he studied her from across the scratched gray table. Studied her. As though she was an amoeba under a microscope. Scrutinizing her for any signs of weakness. After three days in the hospital and now hours of this intense interrogation, she was so…tired. And she longed to just surrender and give him what he sought: a confession. An admission of guilt. But she couldn’t. Even if she could remember what had happened that night in her apartment where the police said she killed Gavin, she wouldn’t confess to something she didn’t commit.

“I’ve told you, Detective,” she said wearily. “Earlier that evening I was at my parents’ home—”

“Where you told them your engagement with Gavin Wells was over because you’d discovered he’d cheated on you.”

“Yes,” she conceded. “Afterward—”

“No, let’s go back to that. You walked in on your fiancé screwing another woman. You mean to tell me that didn’t make you mad?”

She sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yes, of course I was mad. But that doesn’t mean I killed him. I broke off the engagement. He wanted to stay engaged, not me.”

“Hmm.” Which could mean anything, but the cynical twist of his lips telegraphed his disbelief. “That’s not what his parents believe. They said you wouldn’t let go.”

She shook her head, winced as the low-grade ache in her head protested the action. “That’s not true. I don’t know what he told them, but he called my father, asked him to convince me to change my mind about ending the relationship. You can ask my father. It’s why we argued.”

“You mean your father would want his little girl to marry a man who’d already cheated on her?”

She didn’t blame his sarcasm or doubt. How could she? Part of her could still barely comprehend that her father had been willing to sell her off to a weak, unfaithful man to solidify a business relationship. While the other half—the half that had witnessed her father operate for twenty-six years—could fully believe and accept that he was just that damn cold.

“Yes, Detective. He’d want it and expect it. He’s the head of one of the largest banking institutions in the state. His daughter married to the heir of New England’s wealthiest real estate mogul? The connections alone mean more than whether or not Gavin was, or could remain, faithful to me.”

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