64. SARA

It’s early afternoon and Chance still isn’t back at the room, so I boot up my laptop and scroll through my news feed while I wait.

I don’t have a lot of friends on social media, so there are only a handful of people demanding, like Grace, to know what I thought I was doing, getting married without letting them know. “PM ME!” they all say.

That’s not going to happen anytime soon.

I can’t get Grace’s words out of my head: for now.

He told me he loved me. That should be enough. He’s the same boy I fell in love with all those years ago.

But he’s also a hardened combat veteran with the skills of a criminal and ties to the CIA. And he’s desperate to save his company and keep his secret buried. What lengths would a man go to in order to make that happen?

Would he steal? Check. Would he co-opt a potential witness? Check. Would he hide from the authorities? Check.

What else is he willing to do?

I call up Google News to distract myself with what’s happening to other people in Chicago. The Cubs are on a streak, the Bears. Three shootings overnight near Lincoln Park, which makes me shudder. A lady celebrated her 107^th birthday and told reporters the secret to longevity is a daily tumbler of gin.

Then I see a something that freezes my blood.

The headline – Chicago Businessman Found Strangled – isn’t what hits me. It’s the tag line below that leads into the story itself.

Nova Chemicals Owner Sebastian Dacosta, 35, Dead; Police Investigating.

My heart is hammering. It’s listed under breaking news; the story, bare bones as it is, was posted just twenty minutes ago.

Where is Chance? Why didn’t he tell me where he was going?

My stomach is in knots. A single online news story is enough to wash away the dizzying trance I’ve been in since we exchanged rings last week. The wedding night, the fantasy honeymoon, all the many, many times we made love.

Now all I see is the name Sebastian Dacosta in bold letters in front of my eyes. Even when I shut them tight and ball my fists into them, it’s still there.

Could Tre be right? Even if he isn’t, I’ll only ever have Chance’s version of what’s happening as long as I’m on the run with him. Do I have that much faith in him?

Could anyone in my situation? I’m so new to love, I can’t even answer the question. Do lovers – husbands and wives – follow each other without reservation, no matter what?

God help me, I don’t know what to do.

The old brass key slides into the lock behind me and my heart jumps into my throat. I slam the lid of my laptop down almost hard enough to crack it before the door handle turns and Chance steps inside. He’s in a pair of cotton shorts and a gray t-shirt with damp armpits.

The heat of the day wafts in with him, prompting the clunky air conditioner to wheeze to life. If only I could cool myself down so easily.

“Hey,” he says. “How’d things go with Grace?”

“Fine,” I say. “Where have you been?”

Way to play it cool, Sara. Just jump on him as he walks in.

“I went for a run,” he says, mopping his face with one of the room’s scratchy hand towels.

“For two and a half hours?”

“I had some errands to do, too,” he says. “I emailed my neighbor a money transfer for the Rav along with an apology. He can buy a brand new one with the fifty grand, plus a tropical vacation on top of it.”

I try to keep my emotions off my face, but I can’t tell if it’s working.

“Are you going to shower?” I ask. “You’re a little ripe.”

He actually smells of rose oil. That didn’t happen on a run, unless his body produces it instead of sweat. He’s lying to me.

He grins. “You bet. And then maybe we can play another bedspring symphony?”

I force myself to smile as he pulls me to him. His lips are hot against mine, prompting the familiar flutter in my belly and the ache between my legs. But when I close my eyes, all I see is the name: Sebastian Dacosta.

He lets me go and looks at me curiously.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Perfect,” I lie. “Or as perfect as they can be, given the circumstances.”

He gives me a curious look before kissing me one last time and heading into the bathroom.

As soon as I hear the shower blast, I gather up my things in a store bag and bolt for the door, praying that’s not the last time his lips will touch mine.

I’m in such a hurry that I’ve run three blocks before I realize I forgot my laptop.