Page 28 of The Villains We Make

I take her left hand, and she doesn’t stir as I slip the ring onto her finger before tucking her back in. Brushing the hair off her forehead, I kiss her there.

“Love, sweetheart. I marry for love,” I whisper against her ear.

She makes a sound but remains asleep.

“Sweet dreams,” I tell her.

I get up, collecting my clothes and going into one of the other bedrooms to shower and get dressed. Once I’m ready, I pick up the envelope containing a copy of everything I’d found in Horatio Hart’s locked box and find Hamish waiting for me outside. He flicks the cigarette he was smoking onto the driveway and crushes it underfoot.

“Those things will kill you.”

“If they don’t, something else will.”

“True enough. Give her this in the morning,” I say, handing him my phone. “Tell her to call Nigella.”

“I will. You sure you want to do this, boss?”

“Yeah. Keep her safe. She’s your priority. She’s your only priority.”

He nods and hands me the keys to one of the SUVs. I glance up at the window of the bedroom where my wife—my wife—is sleeping and force myself to climb into the driver’s seat and take care of what I need to take care of.

I will be arrested tonight. I have no doubt. But I need to find out exactly what I’m dealing with when it comes to the Carlisle-Bents. So, I drive to the hospital and walk in through the front door. I take the elevator to the fourth floor, where two uniformed officers nod when they see me. I glance at the nurse’s station. It’s empty. I make my way down to room 414, where another officer stands guard. When he sees me, he glances at his colleagues down the hall before stepping aside.

Money buys access. It will be an expensive ten minutes.

Horatio Hart is clearly expecting me. The light is on, and he’s sitting up in his bed looking like he’s lost a few pounds since last I saw him.

“Silas.”

“Horatio.”

I pull up a chair and sit.

“Where’s Ophelia?” he asks.

“Safe.”

“You married her.” His lawyer would have told him.

I nod.

He smiles. “I’m glad it was you and not him.”

I don’t mention I had to blackmail her into it. “Are you doing okay?”

His expression darkens. “I’ll be fine. The intention wasn’t to kill me.”

“No, I didn’t think it was. I don’t think you’ve had enough time to make an enemy in prison.”

He shakes his head. “It was a message.”

I nod, knowing this already. This is Sly’s doing. “If you don’t mind, we don’t have much time.” I set the folder on the table between us and open it. I watch him drag his gaze from my face down to that folder, and I see the blood drain from his skin.

It takes him a minute, and when he reaches out, it’s with a tentative hand as if touching the contents I set before him might burn him. They’re copies. The originals are safe. I watch what he does, as he moves the papers around, and, as I suspected, he stops when he reaches the handwritten letter from Claire. Her suicide note.

“Where did you get this?” he asks, looking up at me.

“Your house.”

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