Page 172 of Chasing Infinity

I frown at him but bite my tongue, allowing him to lead me out of the living room and into the kitchen. Catherine is standing at the stove and pouring hot water from a bright red kettle into two ceramic coffee mugs. She looks up as we walk in and gives us a smile.

“Have a seat. I’ll get you two a snack or something too. I know it was a bit of a drive.”

I fall into the seat Noah pulls out for me as I watch Catherine fly around the kitchen. I can’t wrap my head around what reality shows me and what I’ve been led to believe.

If Catherine McCoy is standing right here in front of me,alive, then that means that not only did Noah lie about it, butCharliedid too. And that fact is almost too much for me to contemplate. I shove whatever life-altering problem deep down inside me, deciding to get the full story before jumping to conclusions.

Catherine floats over to the table carrying two cups of steaming black tea, the strings from the bags hanging limply over the sides. She sets them down in front of us and then hurries into the pantry, producing a package of grocery store brand cookies.

Placing them on the table, too, she sits across from me. She folds her hands delicately on the table, watching me with a penetrating gaze.

That’s one thing I haven’t forgotten about Noah’s mother—how she looks at a situation and can see it for what it is. Her striking blue eyes hold depths behind them that hint at her cunningness. She's easily one of the most beautiful women I've seen. Her features are sharp and defined, though elegant. Her dark hair is pulled away from her face, a few strands loose and angling around her jawline.

“I’m sure you have lots of questions,” she starts, her voice like a gentle melody breaking through the ringing in my ears.

I laugh under my breath and shake my head. “I think that’s probably an understatement.”

She opens her palms toward me. “Well, ask away. Now that you’re here, there’s no point in hiding anything anymore.”

“Mom—” Noah interrupts, but she holds up a hand, effectively shushing her son. I look at him in amusement, and he scowls at his mother.

“Dear, based on how Addison here looks like she’s talking with a ghost, I figure you haven’t told her a damn thing. So instead of skirting around the elephant in the room, let’s just call it what it is and get the uncomfortable part over with.”

“You are a ghost,” I say to her.

She has the decency to laugh. “Perhaps that wasn’t the best phrasing. I assure you, I am very much a part of the realm of the living still.”

I run my hand over the side of my head, rubbing the ropey tension out of my muscles. My head has started to throb ever so slightly, the earliest sign of an oncoming headache.

“Charlie said you were dead. I guess I’m confused, I thought—” I shake my head again, still trying to come to grips with what I’m trying to say. “I didn’t think he was capable of lying like that.”

Catherine’s eyes narrow slightly, her lips pulling into a thin line as she contemplates how to answer my question or lack thereof. “Sheriff Sullivan was unfortunately roped into this mess long before we staged my death. I’m not sure he ever really wanted to be a part of it but realized that he would be doing the right thing in the long run.” She pauses and exhales. “Your friend is a very noble man, but sometimes wrong things are done for the right reasons, do you understand?”

I nod. “And all of this comes back to your husband?”

Catherine’s nose curls up on one side, but she is gracious not to correct me. “Unfortunately, yes. I’ll leave that to Noah to discuss the details surrounding his involvement, as I’m not fully clued in on every aspect. Need-to-know and all that nonsense.” Noah grunts from his seat, and Catherine shoots him a scathing look.

For whatever reason, that tidbit of information surprises me. When I saw Catherine standing in front of me in the flesh, I imagined her to be in on the joke. Maybe that’s why it was such a huge shock—it felt like everyone knew what was happeningexceptme.

“And I’m assuming Mr. McCoy has no idea that you’re—” I wave my hand around. “Here?”

Now a sly smile forms on her face. “Absolutely not. We made sure that there would be no surrounding suspicion from my cause of untimely death. Declan is incredible at not realizing what’s happening around him if it doesn’t directly involve him. To be honest, I was never that important.”

I lean back in my chair, hating how her statement twists at my heart. I can’t imagine living with a husband who wouldn’t care whether I lived or died.

“Did you get a model made or something that looked like you for the funeral?” I ask, trying to recall the details from her apparently fake funeral.

“It was a closed casket service,” Noah adds, and I dart my gaze over to him. “I made sure that the casket was to be shut for the visitation and the funeral service. And thankfully, my father couldn’t be bothered enough to try and go see her body before the funeral itself. That was the one wildcard we were betting on, but he held true to expectations. He’s selfish, and selfish men don’t usually stray from that persona.”

“So the casket that was buried is—”

Noah nods his head. “Empty. There is nothing inside of it except sandbags to compensate for the body weight.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fit together all the pieces of this scheme. “What about the coroner or the funeral director. Were they all in on it too?”

“FBI magic,” Noah says as if that’s a sufficient answer. “We were able to get some of our guys into those positions to take care of the loose ends.”

“The FBI agreed to fake her death?” I ask him incredulously.

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