“I’m going for a drive.”
“Thomas . . . wait . . . The weather is awful. You’re upset.”
But he didn’t pause as he stormed toward the back door. He felt violated . . . like Sophie was some kind of freaking psychic who had pried into his brain against his will. All this time, she’d known about the fiery splinter in his spirit, the volatile lie that Rick had revealed to him less than two weeks before he’d died.
He slammed the door shut behind him, ignoring Sophie’s pleas for him to stop and stepped out into the heavy downpour.
He couldn’t believe Sophie had known about Bernard Cokey and his defamations the whole time. The whole fucking time . . . ever since the first moment he’d touched her, she’d known about the shocking, bitter lies that had plagued not just Rick in the last days of his life, but Thomas as well.
A wave of vertigo and nausea struck him a few seconds later as he sat in the driver’s seat and turned on the ignition.
He’d been wondering about Sophie’s motivations for the past few days. It’d been damn strange, the way she’d shown up at the Mannero warehouse just minutes before it exploded. And hadn’t he been suspicious of her as he sat in this very seat and drove behind her on the interstate on the way to the lake house? Hadn’t he become suspicious of why she’d insisted that he—a new lover, but still . . . a near stranger—come with her to the intimate surroundings of her vacation house on Haven Lake? But then he’d spent time with her . . . become overwhelmed by his consuming desire and her soft, soothing touches.
An image sliced through his spinning, chaotic thoughts, jarring him—the memory of Agent Fisk standing in his office and studying Thomas with his penetrating stare.
Our informant isn’t a criminal, Mr. Nicasio. Not in the slightest.
Jesus.
Sophie was an upstanding citizen, and she’d known all the murky, explosive details of Rick’s investigations. What if she’d gone to the authorities after Rick was killed and told them what she knew? He thought of how she’d been there along with the FBI at the warehouse parking lot before it exploded.
What if she was still collaborating with the authorities, even now?
The curtain over the back door fluttered and he saw her pale face glance out at him. His gut lurched.
He didn’t believe Sophie was capable of such cold-heartedness . . . capable of manipulation and betrayal.
He couldn’t believe that.
But given all available evidence, how could he not?
He saw the back door opening and tossed the BlackBerry he still clutched in his hand into the passenger seat. He shoved the car into reverse and stomped on the accelerator. His gaze was on the rearview window as he hurtled down the long, gravel path, but his focus was on the corner of his vision, where he saw Sophie rushing out the back door.
For a split second, his attention broke. He stared at Sophie’s anxious face, the sound of the gravel spitting as he nearly went off the road snapping him out of his trance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Hours later, Sophie picked up her cell phone for the tenth time, cursed under her breath, and tossed it back down on the kitchen counter.
Who was she going to call?
She didn’t know Thomas’s cell phone number, not that it would matter if she did. His battery was dead, and she doubted he’d answer her call even if she could get through to him.
She’d gotten into her car and followed on Thomas’s heels as soon as he’d shot like a disoriented bat out of hell down her driveway, nearly careening into the ditch that lined the path before he’d neatly corrected and resumed his escape. She hadn’t caught a glimpse of his car anywhere—not on any of the increasingly wet and flooding surrounding country roads, not at the gas stations or Wal-Mart in town, not in Sherm and Daisy’s driveway, not at the fish and tackle shop at the north end of the lake.
She stared out the kitchen window. The rain continued, relentless and steady. Through the thick mist, she made out that the ditches at the side of her driveway were flooded with several feet of water.
She thought of the pain on Thomas’s face when she’d told him she knew about what Rick’s investigations had uncovered. The betrayal.
She picked up her cell phone again. The police. That’s who she should call. She’d just tell them that Thomas had left here in a highly agitated state, and that she was worried about his safety.
But she received an incoming call after dialing two numbers.
“Hello?” Sophie answered.
“Sophie? It’s Sherm.”
“I know,” Sophie replied, slightly impatient. Sherm and Daisy didn’t use cell phones and never seemed to understand that Sophie could see who was calling on her screen.