Page 109 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

“I won’t be very helpful next Wednesday if I don’t sleep Tuesday night. Anyway, you’ll see today since I got about an hour’s worth last night.”

“Oh, Jesus.” I sigh. This shit is exhausting. “Should I have texted?”

“I’ll let you think about that,” he says, turning back to his screen. Four people leave the building as I stand there staring at him, and he doesn’t look up once.

“Why are you on the desk if you’re not going to do your job,andyou’re supposed to be working for me today?”

“Julio has a dentist appointment, and I’m tired. If you’ll stop talking to me, I might be able to focus on what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“You know what? Make it noon. I need a nap.”

“Fine. Same.”

“Great.”

I stalk toward the elevator and jab the up button, waiting for it to arrive with my hands folded and my head down. I happen to see the time. Just after seven. Breakfast may not even be out yet.

Good. I drank half a bottle of vodka over eight hours. I’m nauseated, have a terrible headache, and I’m exhausted.

I have no doubt Marianne will want to know how Fischer is, or whether I have any new information, but I don’t feel like talking anymore. On top of that, Fischer’s pain feels private, and I’m too unguarded this morning to speak cautiously.

The Gramercy elevator is like a rocket compared to the ancient one at The Eastmoor, and I’m at my door in no time. I’m already over what happened with Christian—I’ll deal with him later. All I need is a shower and my bed.

A jolt of adrenaline hits me, however, when Avery slips out my door with her blonde hair in a haphazard bun and face free of makeup. It surprises me, yes—a person exiting my home at this hour. But my already upset stomach lurches when my mind gets to work on what I’m seeing.

“Oh my God, you scared me,” she says, putting her hand over her heart. She’s wearing a low-cut cocktail dress and heels. No wedding ring.

“Avery,” I say cooly, swallowing bile.

“Marianne and I were out late. I hope you don’t mind that I slept over.”

“Why would I?” I ask.

Her smile flickers and then is gone. “Everything okay?”

“Perfect.” I nod toward my door. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course. And thank you. Marianne told me how you helped.”

I can’t. I refuse to do this. I walk around her, enter my apartment, and shut the door behind me. When the door closes, Marianne, who is walking back to her bedroom in her white silk robe, glances over her shoulder and startles. “You’re just now getting back?”

I stare blankly at her, not saying a word. The question roaring through my head isWhy are you even here?

And her answer, which rings just as loudly—Why areyou?

“How’s Fischer?” she asks after I’ve been silent for several seconds.

“We’ll speak later.”

“Gibson,” she starts as I cross the living room toward my hallway. “Gibson!”

I stop, allowing her to catch up to me.

“What the hell is going on with you?” she asks.

“I’ve been up all night. I’m exhausted.”

“Is he okay?”

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