One with You

Chris’s eyes darted from side to side, quickly reading. I knew the moment he understood what he was looking at. His spine stiffened.

“I don’t know how much of this is true,” I cautioned. “Hugh’s notes about his sessions with me are all lies. This reads like he was building a profile of me to use as a defense, in case we ever filed charges against him.”

“We should have.” The words were bitten out between clenched teeth. “How did you get these?”

“It doesn’t matter. What’s important is that he has notes from four different sessions with Christopher. One of them was supposedly a group session with me. Either that’s a fabrication or I’ve forgotten.”

“Which do you think it is?”

“I really can’t say. There are … chunks of my childhood I can’t remember.” I recalled more in dreams than I did when awake.

Chris swiveled in the chair to look at me. “Do you think he molested your brother?”

It took a beat for me to shove the memories away and respond. “I don’t know—you’ll have to ask Christopher—but I doubt it.”

“Why?”

“The dates and times on Hugh’s notes put Christopher’s sessions directly following mine. If those time stamps are correct—which would be wise if he was covering his tracks—then he wouldn’t have it in him.” My arms crossed. Trying to explain brought back all the bitterness. And loathing—for both Hugh and myself. “He was a sick piece of shit, but—listen, there’s no tidy way to say this. He never had anything left after he was done with me.”

“My God … Gideon.”

I turned my gaze away from the shock and simmering fury in his eyes. “Hugh told Christopher he was seeing me because you and Mom were afraid I would kill him.”

Thinking of the other people in the penthouse was the only thing that restrained me from punching a wall. God knew I’d lashed out with my fists more than once as a kid.

Remembering what I could of that time, I could see how easily Hugh’s brainwashing might have taken root in the mind of a small boy whose older brother frequently had fits of rage and destruction.

“Christopher wouldn’t believe that,” he asserted.

My shoulders lifted in a weary shrug. “Christopher told me once, recently, that I’d wanted him dead since the day he was born. I had no idea what he was talking about, but now …”

“Let me read,” he said grimly, turning back to the monitor. “Go take that shower. We’ll have some coffee when you get out. Or something stronger.”

I started to leave the room but paused before I opened the door. Looking back at Chris, I saw him focused tautly on the words in front of him. “You didn’t know Hugh like I did,” I told him. “How he could twist things around … make you believe things …”

Chris’s gaze came up and held mine. “You don’t have to convince me, Gideon. Your word is enough.”

I glanced away quickly. Did he have any clue what those four words meant to me? I couldn’t tell him; my throat was too raw.

With a nod, I left him.

It took longer than it should have to put some goddamned clothes on. I chose with Eva in mind. The gray slacks she loved. A black V-neck T-shirt. Done.

There was a knock at the door. “Come in.”

Angus filled the frame. “The detectives are on their way up.”

“All right.” I walked with him down the hall to the living room.

My wife sat on the couch, bundled in sweatpants and a baggy sweater with socks on her feet. Her head rested on Victor’s shoulder, his cheek against the crown of her head. Her fingers stroked through Cary’s hair as he sat on a pillow by her knee. Couldn’t get more connected than that. The television was on, tuned to a movie none of them were watching.

“Eva.”

Her gaze slid slowly over to me.

I held out my hand to her. “The police are here.”

Victor straightened, jarring my wife into sitting up. A brisk rap on the foyer door had everyone on alert.

Stepping closer to the couch, I kept my arm extended. Eva slowly disentangled herself and stood, her face still far too pale. She put her hand in mine and I exhaled a sigh of relief. I pulled her close, draping my arm over her shoulders and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I love you,” I said softly, walking her toward the door.

Her arms came around my waist and she leaned into me. “I know.”

I turned the knob. “Detectives. Please, come in.”

Graves entered first, her sharp blue eyes going immediately to Eva. Michna followed, his height advantage over his partner allowing him to lock eyes with me.

He gave me a brisk nod. “Mr. Cross.”

Eva stepped away from me as I closed the door.

“We’re very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Cross,” Graves said, in that way cops had that told you they said those words too often.

“You may remember Eva’s father, Victor Reyes,” I said. “And the tall Scotsman over there is Angus McLeod.”