The Romance Revival(56)

“What?”

The doorbell rings. No no no no no.

“Annie, the police are here. I gotta go.”

“What?”

“I’ll call you back—”

“The fucking police?”

“Luca’s not home yet. I just—” Without finishing my sentence, I end the call and run to the front door.

Pulse hammering, I throw it open and am faced with two uniformed officers. “Hi,” I say and then immediately, “What happened?”

“Are you Emery Martín?” the one on the left asks. He’s got a baby face and a mustache that looks like a sticker.

I nod frantically. “Yes, yes.” Looking past them at the street, I search for signs of an accident. My thoughts vacillate wildly between thinking something has happened to Luca, and that someone has reported what we’ve done.

Annie is right: I’m not cut out for prison. I’m not cut out for any of this.

Even so, I’d do it all over again.

“I’m Officer Dowd and this is Officer Stone,” Mustache says. “We’re with the San Diego Sheriff’s Department.”

I notice that Stone—an older, stoic officer—has split his attention between my face and over my shoulder, trying to get a look inside the house. His left arm is at his side, the palm of his hand resting on the butt of his holstered gun.

I’ve been trained to mislead people, to stay cool and calm and—most importantly—appear confident in the face of suspicion, but right now they could probably ask me my birthday and I’m not sure I could give a convincing answer. “Has something happened?”

“We’re looking for Luca Martín,” Officer Dowd says. “Is he home?”

“Can you tell me what’s going on? I’m his wife.”

“Is Mr. Martín here, ma’am?” Stone asks, a flash of impatience in his expression.

“No,” I say, frowning. “He went for a walk.”

“How long ago was this?”

“About a half hour. I was expecting him back any minute.”

The two men share a quick look before Stone turns his head and says something unintelligible into the radio strapped to his shoulder.

Dowd’s attention is back on me. “But he was here today?”

“Yes. Now are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Ma’am,” Officer Dowd says, “would you mind if we came in and waited for your husband?”

It would look deeply suspicious, but I could say no. When I was first hired at BioNEX this was made very clear. Should a situation arise where a member of any police entity requests entry into our residence without a warrant, we should refuse and immediately call a secure BioNEX number. Given what I’ve done, contacting my employer is the last thing I should do.

But I don’t want them inside, either! My mind reels comically forward to the moment they come in and Mustache mysteriously finds the bloody dress I thought I’d thrown away. Suddenly there’s a whole hazmat team in my house, spraying luminol on every surface. They check my car and find even more. I’m led out in handcuffs while cameras flash. The judge bangs a gavel, the prison door slams. I eat unrecognizable slop on a tray for the rest of my life and read the same David Baldacci book over and over, it being the only thing I can find in the prison library.

“Ma’am?” Dowd prompts.

With a resigned sigh I step back and hold open the door for them, watching them walk in and take a look around. I try to see the house from their perspective; it’s tidy but there’s the expected detritus of people who have spent a lot of time inside lately. A half-full water glass on the coffee table, a crumpled paper towel from when Luca ate some toast and then fell asleep on the couch, one of my socks. Several coffee cups. A book splayed open over the arm of a chair. Dog toys scattered around the floor.

But there’s also the mess I hope they can’t see, and it takes monumental effort to not let my eyes drift down the hallway where tens of thousands of dollars of possibly stolen medical equipment is still set up in my bedroom.

“Is there anyone else in the home with you?” Stone asks, eyes searching every corner of the room.

“It’s just me here right now.” I feel dread sinking in my gut like a lead weight. “Sorry—am I in trouble or something?”

“Not at the moment,” Dowd says, admittedly not my favorite answer, and I watch as Stone leans in to examine our framed wedding photo on the mantel.

“This him?” he asks.

“Yes?” I stare at the back of his head, feeling irrationally irritated. The fact that it’s Luca should be obvious, no? Given that I’m standing next to him in a wedding dress? Who else would it be!

We all turn at the sound of the front door opening. Luca’s panicked gaze sweeps across the room, immediately softening in relief when it lands on me.

He moves straight to me, and my brain is on autopilot, my arms going around his waist in a way they haven’t done since before the accident. I hold him tight, my face pressed to his chest, closing my eyes as I can finally breathe. The words thank you thank you thank you on a loop in my head.

I feel him relax, his arms winding around me, too.

“Are you okay?” he asks into my hair, and I nod against him.