Submerged

“According to Kingston, everyone loves his wife. She’s got no enemies, been in no altercations with anyone and no one else would gain from her death. She’s cleaner than a Catholic nun.”

Marcus moved to the door. “I need to see her.”

“What about Delaney?”

“Call me if he gives up a name?” He paused in the hallway. “And, John? I’ll bet you season tickets to the Oilers that he won’t name Wesley Kingston.”

John smiled. “Done. I could use some downtime.”

“You won’t be the one going.”

“Hold on a minute.” John rifled through the folder, then handed him a photo of an unshaven, unsmiling man.

“Rufus Delaney?”

“Yeah. Show it to Mrs. Kingston. See if she knows him from someplace.”

Marcus tucked the photo into his jacket pocket and strode away.

Something nagged at him. He was missing something too elusive to catch.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Hinton, AB – Sunday, June 16, 2013 – 9:49 PM

Rebecca checked her reflection in the handheld mirror one of the nurse’s had lent her. Her blue eyes were framed by hollow valleys, but other than that, she looked presentable. She’d washed her face and brushed her hair—simple tasks normally, but not tonight. Her ribs still ached.

At Rebecca’s insistence and after a three-hour visit, Kelly had headed back home to be with her kids. It had been hard to say good-bye, but Rebecca reassured her sister that she’d be home soon.

Marcus had called to let her know he was back in town with the clothing he’d promised to retrieve. He’d stopped off at the police station first, where Wesley was being questioned. She was relieved to hear her husband wasn’t being locked up in a cell. There was no way Wesley had tried to kill them.

“Hi,” Marcus said from the doorway.

Self-conscious, she slid the mirror beneath the covers. “Hi.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Then why was her stomach so twisted in knots?

“Good. And the kids?”

“They’re asleep. Supervised by a female officer.”

Marcus nodded, then approached the bed. He set a plastic bag on the side table. “I hope these are okay.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine. Thank you.”

Conversation seemed unusually stilted, and the air felt charged with electricity. It was as though they each wanted to say something but held back out of fear.

“Someone brought you a rose,” he said.

She looked at the vase in the window. It held the red rose Wesley had brought her. “A peace offering, I guess.”

“From your husband?”

“Soon to be ex.”

“I have something to show you,” he said after a long silence.

“Pull up a chair.”

He pulled something from his pocket. “Have you seen this man before?”

Rebecca took the photo. “Is this the man?”

Marcus nodded.

She stared at the photograph, thinking back to the times she’d gone shopping, driven to the school, gone to work. She traced a finger over the man’s face. He had cruelty in his eyes and meanness in very line of his face.

This man tried to kill me and my kids.

“Does he look familiar?” Marcus prodded.

“No. I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. What’s his name?”

“Rufus Delaney.”

She shook her head. “Never heard of him.”

Marcus deflated with a soft hiss. “Damn. I was really hoping…”

“Me too.”

She held out the photo. This time, their fingers made contact. They stared at each other, and Rebecca wondered what he was thinking. Had he felt the frisson of electricity in his fingertips like she had?

Marcus moved toward the window and stared at the starry sky. “Rebecca, someone hired Delaney to kill you. Someone who hates you that much has to be someone you know. Or someone you once knew. What about past relationships?”

“You mean boyfriends before I met Wesley?”

“Yeah. You hook up with anyone who was angry with you for some reason?”

“Hook up?” She smiled. “You know, in today’s day that term means more than go out with someone to dinner or a movie.”

“I, uh… well, I meant date.”

She laughed at his obvious discomfort. “I didn’t date much. And the guys I did date were decent ones. I wasn’t a rebel. I didn’t ‘hook up’ with the bad boys.”

“What about casual friendships? Any of them end on unfriendly terms?”

“None that I can think of.”

“You get any crank calls, any hang-ups recently?”

“Detective Zur already asked me that. No. No hang-ups, no strange e-mail or letters, no cars following me—that I noticed. Nothing out of the ordinary. I can’t even remember the last argument I had with anyone, aside from Wesley. Oh wait, I think my sister and I argued over timeouts for her children.”

She knew she sounded rather disdainful, but she was frustrated, dammit.

Marcus let out a groan. “None of this makes any sense.”

“I know. But I’m telling you, unless it’s a telemarketer ticked off because I set the phone on the table and walked away while they rambled on, I haven’t got a clue who would be angry enough with me to try to kill me.”

“I’ll have to remember that table trick.”

“It doesn’t really work. They keep calling back.”

As Marcus sat down again, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Rebecca called out.