“And how did that make you feel?”
Rachel and Noah look at each other, both of them seemingly unable to put it into words.
“I understand,” says Da Silva. “Perhaps you can tell me how you came to find this out.”
“I don’t see why it makes a difference,” says Rachel. “Because it has nothing to do with what’s happened.”
“It might,” says Da Silva.
Rachel shakes her head. “Paige would never have done this intentionally,” she says, willing herself to believe it.
“I’m not suggesting she did, but we have to look at all the possibilities.”
“There are no other possibilities,” cries Rachel.
“You have escaped very lightly,” the policeman says to Noah. “Did you see the car coming?”
Noah nods. “I heard it before I saw it,” he says. “I suppose I just instinctively jumped out of the way.”
“So, you didn’t see who was in the car?” asks Da Silva.
“Well, no,” says Noah, looking confused. “But it was obviously my wife.” He chokes on the last word.
“And you, Mrs. Hunter? You weren’t able to see who was in the car?”
She shakes her head. “I just remember the lights blinding me, so I couldn’t see who was driving, but I think it’s pretty conclusive, don’t you?”
“That it was Paige Collins?” offers Da Silva.
Rachel nods.
“Not necessarily,” he says.
Noah and Rachel look at him quizzically as he sighs heavily.
“Because it appears that someone else may have been in the car with her.”
28
The last thing Rachel remembers before falling asleep is that she didn’t think she’d ever be able to sleep again. Now, as her eyes flicker open, she’s met by darkness, but she can make out an unfamiliar dim light filtering in from somewhere beyond her bed. It occurs to her that she might be in a hotel—she’s definitely not at home, she can tell by the acrid smell and strange beeping noises. Her throat is parched and she reaches to the right, where she’d normally keep her water, but there’s a spiky tug in her hand that immediately makes her recoil.
There’s a hum of voices, barely audible at first, but as soon as she concentrates, she can separate two accents. It feels as if she’s playing a lead role in someone else’s dream and, desperate to get herself out of it, she blinks really hard. It’s always worked before, when she’s trapped in a nightmare with no other way out. But as much as she squeezes her eyelids together, she still doesn’t wake up in her own bed.
Jack’s here, though—she can hear him, talking quietly, so as not to disturb her. Then she remembers the villa they were staying in and she realizes he must be downstairs.
She swings her legs off the bed, but a searing pain shoots from her hip, making her fall back against the pillow. What the hell’s going on? Jack’s voice seeps into her consciousness, his words becoming clearer, as if he’s getting nearer. She goes to call out but she stops herself when she hears him say, “She’s my soul mate.”
“So, you would do anything to protect her?” asks another voice, heavily accented.
“Of course,” says Jack. “She’s the love of my life. We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together.”
“So, you’re planning to leave your wife?” asks the other male voice.
There’s a loaded silence as Rachel’s befuddled brain momentarily plays catch-up.
“Yes,” says Jack. “But it’s complicated because Paige is my wife’s best friend.”
The name pierces Rachel’s heart like a knife, as reality hits her. The wedding, the arguments, the blood, the thrashing waves as the car disappeared into the murky depths. Her lungs struggle to inflate as she gasps for air, making her feel as if she was the one in the water. Tears sting her eyes and she bites down on her clenched fist, for fear of crying out.
“Do you remember what happened to you, Mr. Hunter?” asks the man, who Rachel now recognizes as Da Silva.
Jack sighs. “I know that I was hit by a car that just came out of nowhere.”
“Do you remember where you were just before the accident?”
“I was on the terrace,” says Jack, sounding as if he’s in pain.
“And Paige Collins? Do you remember where she was the last time you saw her?”
“I … I don’t know,” says Jack. “Look, what’s this about?”