Page 17 of Final Vendetta

“Nothing else?”

“I’m sorry,” I offered, then furrowed my brow, feigning confusion. “What’s all of this about?”

He pushed out a long sigh. “I’m sure you’re already aware, but over a week ago, a recording was leaked to the media. This recording was of a conversation between James Turner and a funeral director in Atlanta, Brian McGuire, where they discussed their roles in the botched coverup of the murder of Samuel Tate. In that same recording, they referred to a third person who actually pulled the trigger but was never named. I believe that person was William Pierce, considering he had the most to gain from Mr. Tate’s death.”

I swallowed hard, my heart heavy at the reminder of how wrong I’d been about Liam. It still made my stomach churn to know I allowed him to comfort me, all while he was the one who’d wanted Samuel dead.

“Turner was already a person of interest in McGuire’s disappearance, thanks to an anonymous tip Atlanta PD received. It’s our theory that Mr. Pierce saw the temperature rising and decided to make a run for it. So far, we haven’t been able to track him down. Phone records have come up empty. Same for bank records. I was hoping you might have spoken to him recently. Or at least know somewhere he might go if he wanted to lie low for a bit. You two have been pretty close for quite some time.”

“I assume you’ve already checked his various homes here in California, as well as in Atlanta, Chicago, New York, and London.”

“We have.”

“I don’t know where else he might go. We’ve sort of grown apart over the past few years. Since Samuel Tate’s death, I suppose.”

He nodded, his penetrating gaze studying me for several anxiety-inducing moments. “You don’t seem surprised at the idea that William Pierce could be responsible for what happened to Mr. Tate. In fact, you barely reacted, as if you already knew of the role he played in all of this.”

My face heated, my mouth growing dry. “I guess I saw how money and success affected him. He’s not the same person he was when we first met, which is why we’re not as close as we once were.”

He didn’t immediately say anything, simply studying me with even more scrutiny. Every other sound in the room seemed amplified — my unsteady breathing, the tapping of my nails against the bed railing, even the rustling of my hospital gown. I feared the longer he stayed, the more he’d realize the truth.

“I wish I could be more helpful,” I said with a smile, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. “But I just don’t know where Liam could be.”

Time seemed to stand still as he continued studying me with an intense, unwavering gaze. His piercing dark eyes bore into mine, making me feel like he could see right through me. I understood why he made such a good cop. Hell, after mere minutes in his presence, I was ready to confess every bad thing I’d ever done.

Finally, he gave a subtle nod, as if in approval of my response. He stood and reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

“If you think of anything else or if he contacts you in any way, give me a call.” He handed me a business card.

I took it, relieved he hadn’t pressed too much about Gideon Saint or Samuel Tate.

But just as he was about to open the door, he unexpectedly turned around again.

“Do you mind if I ask one more question?”

My stomach twisted with unease over what that might be.

“Of course.” I gritted out.

“When was the last time you saw Samuel Tate?”

“S-Samuel Tate?” I repeated, my heart rate kicking up, the tiny hairs all over my body standing on end.

“It’s my understanding you two were good friends before what happened to him.”

I nodded slightly. “We were.”

“So when was the last time you saw him?”

I shook my head, desperately trying to buy myself some time and hoping he wouldn’t sense any deceit in my words.

“The day he died. Or that I was made to believe he died.” I furrowed my brow. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just a theory I’ve been working on.”

“A theory?”

“My gut tells me this entire scenario isn’t as clear cut as some of the evidence suggests.”

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