Catching Sam: Book 2 of 5: The MacDonald Brothers by Emily Matthews (best mystery novels of all time TXT) 📗

Sam over the years, he must have to be constantly vigilant over people’s actions and motives. While all that made sense on paper, it was still a discouraging thought that she and Sam hadn’t been as close as she thought.

Yes, she could have come clean once she found out she was still married. But while that was selfish on her part, that didn’t excuse why he’d taken Wayne’s word over hers. She had to believe he would come to his senses on that, once he calmed down enough to think it through. That it was just another impulsive decision he’d regret.

After arriving home, she went to the refrigerator for a water bottle. She took a long swig and held the cold bottle to her forehead.

Another of Brody’s gems came to mind. It was one of her favorites. So much so, that she’d printed it out in a fancy font and had it professionally framed: What you focus on determines how you feel.

She had used this simple yet powerful mantra so many times over the years. For a split second, she even thought she might be able to save her marriage with it, but no matter how many times she tried to focus on Wayne’s good qualities, she couldn’t escape the deal-breaking negative ones.

She shut the refrigerator door, let out a gasp, and nearly jumped out of her skin.

Speak of the devil. Wayne was sitting casually at her kitchen island with an ugly smirk on his face. Gaunt and unshaven, worn down by the consequences of his actions, he looked horrible. It didn’t look like prison had agreed with him.

“What’s the matter, Annie? Not happy to see your husband after all this time?”

She remained silent. Should she play his game for a while and see if he would leave peacefully? Trying to get him to leave if he didn’t want to seemed problematic since she couldn’t physically throw him out.

“Come on. I drove all the way up here to see you. The least you could do is offer me something to drink. Got anything stiffer than water?” He made a curt nod to the water bottle she was gripping tightly with both hands.

“How did you get in here without the alarm going off?” she asked. She’d turned off the notification alerts, but the alarm still should have sounded if someone was breaking in! All that money and trouble over the fucking alarm system and the very person she was trying to keep out was sitting at her kitchen counter. What the hell?

“Oh, yeah. That scared me for a second. Lucky for me, you’re very predictable. I tried Avery’s birthday a couple different ways, with and without the zeros, and on my third try the alarm countdown stopped. Shoulda picked a harder code, hon.”

Shit. That was a stupid mistake on her part. At the time, she’d just wanted to get it done fast and put very little thought in to the code.

“What do you want, Wayne?”

He ignored her question and looked her up and down slowly. The thought of him wanting that made her skin crawl, and she cringed. Seeing him again brought back a flood of emotions—none of them good.

His smug, condescending look threatened to launch her back to her mousy days of hanging on his every word and doing whatever he said. She knew this would happen and had prepared for it. Figuring out what she would say and how she would react to him was what kept her up at night. She took a deep breath.

“I thought we could reconnect. You know, catch up. It’s been a while.” The way he said it made her stomach turn. “You’ve changed.”

“You haven’t,” she said bluntly. “You need to go. Now.”

“See what I mean? You were never such a sassy little thing. You got hot too. What’s up with that?” He rose from the stool, and she stiffened. He noticed and laughed. “What’s the matter, wifey? You afraid of me?” He took a couple of slow steps toward her, and even though it repulsed her, she refused to retreat.

“Wayne, if you don’t leave now, I’m going to call the police.”

He froze, and a look of anger flashed over his face. “Okay. Then they will be the first people I tell about you and Sam MacDonald.”

“What about us? You have no proof of anything. And besides, what would the police care about any of that?”

“I have a picture of him coming to your house last weekend. The police wouldn’t care, but I’m sure the tabloids would. They’d take my grainy photo and story of Sam’s sordid affair in a heartbeat. They’d probably pay me a nice chunk of change too.”

“Is that what you want? Money?”

“Right now, yes. That is high on my priority list. The prison hardly gave us anything, and since my wife left me high and dry, I’m broke.”

Damn it. This is exactly why she didn’t want Sam involved in this. If she called the police and had him thrown out, she had no doubt that he would sell his story to anyone who would buy it. And she’d bet money the story would be embellished and exaggerated beyond all recognition. If anyone printed Wayne’s version, Sam would be an alien from another planet sent here to take everyone’s money, wives, and daughters.

The tabloids would print anything, and most reasonable people didn’t believe half the stuff they published, but if a real magazine or newspaper got wind of the story and started poking around, they could probably find evidence of an affair. Not foolproof, see-they-had-sex evidence, but anyone who’d seen them together might corroborate. Pika or any of the staff at the resort in Maui, Sam’s pilot, or secretary. Anyone at the office who overheard their earlier argument—even Beckie could be tricked again! If a reputable source reported it, Sam would have a real PR problem, and she couldn’t do that to him. No matter how mad she was.

Sam simply having a girlfriend would be big news, but when you add