Page 68 of Sighs By the Sea

Suze looks down at her belly, her eyes brimming with moisture. “Can I see more?”

I show her more pictures of George. The more she looks, the more emotional she becomes. It’s subtle—a tremble of her bottom lip here, a sniffle there—but it’s clear she still cares.

“Are they… okay?”

I nod. “But this contract on Grayson…”

“I don't know anything about that." Based on the narrowing of her eyes and straightening of her shoulders, I'd wager that's a lie.

“Chewy says you gave $25,000 to Axe to have Grayson killed. His apartment was involved in a drive-by a few weeks ago.”

“Chewy’s a jealous fucking rat,” she says, her chin raising defiantly.

“That might be, but where did you get the money?”

Suze shifts in her seat, then gives a small nod. “And you wanted it done?”

She shrugs, hugging her own arms. “I don’t want anything to do with Gray. But it would have helped, yeah.”

“Grayson dead would have helped? George without a dad or mom would have helped?”

Suze studies me carefully. “You’re sleeping with him.” I recoil, caught off guard by her accusation. “Must still be the beginning. That’s when it’s all fun with Gray. Then he gets controlling. It’s all ‘where were you, what were you doing, who were you with.’ You know he had a tracker put on my phone?” I stay silent, unsure how to respond. “But no, I don’t really want him dead. I just want my money.”

I clear my throat. “What money?”

“Fuck you. Go find your man and blow him for all I care.”

I swear under my breath. Pieces of Suze are still intact, but they’re buried deep beneath her bitterness. What Suze really needs is help—help that I can’t give her. She must recognize the pain in my gaze because she sighs. “It’s not like it was my idea, okay? Someone… well, he’s pissed, and it was going to happen no matter what I did. I just wanted to get my money.”

That’s something to go on. A man wants Grayson dead, and they’re using Suze as a middleman to make it happen.

“Suze, we can help.”

Her gaze hardens. “No.”

I slam my fist on the table. “Fuck.” As soon as the word is out, the door opens behind us. Harry steps back into the room.

“Margaret, you’re needed at your desk.”

“But—”

“Now.”

His tone leaves no room for argument. Roughly, I shove away from the table and stomp out of the room.

Gayson

After the impromptu barbecue yesterday, which turned into an all-out Nerf war once I discovered Henrietta’s stash, I went back to my apartment. Not hearing from Maggie has been driving me crazy. I spent the morning cleaning my already spotless place, yawning from the lack of sleep. With so much on my mind, falling asleep had been a challenge. Once I finished cleaning, I paced. And I paced. And I paced some more.

It did absolutely no good. So I left.

With nowhere specific to go and too much of a coward to call Maggie myself, I ended up across town at Miranda’s condo building. The hallway smells faintly of lemon cleaner, and my footsteps echo off the marble floor as I approach her door and knock, taking a step back as it unlocks.

Miranda stands there in a silk robe, her hair in a messy knot on top of her head. I have to fight the urge to laugh in her face—I’ve never seen her so disheveled. Before either of us can say a word, a man appears.

“Bye, babe. Call me,” he says, pecking her cheek, but Miranda’s eyes never leave mine.

She doesn’t bother replying to the guy as she steps aside to let me in. She can probably tell from the scowl on my face that I’m in a foul mood. I’m here because Miranda is the only one who will meet my moodiness without judgment.

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