Page 23 of This Could Be Us
“You mean us?” I snort a laugh of disbelief. “Friends? I don’t see how.”
“Allies, then. You help me, and I’ll help you.”
“How can I help you?”
“You may know something you don’t realize you know. Remember something strange. Anything. If that happens, let the FBI know as soon as possible.” He picks up the eight ball from the pool table, testing its weight before rolling it to knock noisily against the others. “Look, I can’t get your assets unfrozen. They’re pressuring Edward to show them where the money is. I’m not sure it’ll work.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because he’s a selfish asshole. I know he’s your husband, but don’t count on him, Soledad. Not when your future is at stake. You need to look out for you and your daughters. You think of something that could help this case, then it could helpyou. Go to the FBI with it immediately.”
“Why are you doing this?”
His eyes scan my face, tracing each feature carefully, but he says nothing. Finally he turns on his heel and heads for the door.
“Let the FBI know if you think of anything,” he says over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.
I draw in a shaky breath and replay our conversation, letting my gaze wander over Edward’s retreat stuffed with his toys and prized possessions. Offshore accounts? Summer house? I need answers. I go back into the house to check on the girls and then call Brunson.
“I was going to talk to you about the trustee today,” Brunson answers when I ask about assistance for basic expenses. “It’s in process. How’d you know about that?”
I open my mouth to recount the conversation with Judah, but something gives me pause.
I’m taking a risk just coming to talk to you about this.
I have no reason to protect Judah Cross, but if he did take a risk coming to warn me, people aren’t exactly lining up to help us right now. I know we can’t be friends. I’m not sure we can be allies, but I do believe he can be useful.
“Read it somewhere online,” I mumble. “I still haven’t heard from Edward. Why not?”
“They’ve been questioning him all day, but he’ll call as soon as he can and explain everything. Bail’s gonna be sky-high,” Brunson warns.
“This is a nightmare. He’s innocent so he’ll get out of this, right?”
I say it even though I’m not even sure I can quite believe it myself anymore. I have to keep saying it until I know it’s a lie. It’s a thinning thread of sanity, the only thing that’s connecting this hellish alternative universe to the life I occupied just twenty-four hours ago.
Brunson is quiet for a few moments. For too long if the answer is a simple yes. “I’ll let Edward explain,” he finally says.
The doorbell rings, and I pray it’s not a reporter or a “friendly” neighbor just checking on us.
“Someone’s at the door,” I tell him. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Through the glass panes, I see a young woman on the porch with several bags at her feet. I open the door and poke just my head out, peering behind her to check for any sign of the news trucks. Thankfully, they’ve all left.
“Can I help you?” I ask, taking in all the bags.
“You ordered groceries?” she asks.
“Uh, no.”
“You’re not Soledad Barnes?” She hands me a receipt. “This isn’t your stuff?”
I scan the receipt, my mouth dropping open in shock to read every item from my list.
“How… I didn’t…” I glance up to see her looking over her shoulder at the car idling on the curb. “Let me grab my purse.”
“Already tipped.” She jerks her thumb toward the waiting car. “I gotta go for my next delivery. Bye.”
There must be ten bags on the porch.