Page 7 of The Perfect Divorce

“You called Sarah?” I ask, incredulous.

Ryan stares back at me but doesn’t say a word. The tears have stopped, and his self-pity is quickly morphing into desperation.

It’s been a while since I’ve occupied the same room as Sarah Morgan. I’ve seen her in passing, but we haven’t really spoken. I know she founded a charity because I’ve read the puff pieces in the newspaper. I just don’t trust her. I never have, and that’s why I’ve kept my distance. Ryan would be wise to do the same.

“Deputy Hudson,” Sarah’s voice calls over my shoulder. I turn to find her standing in the doorway, her verdant eyes skimming over me in assessment.

“It’sSheriffnow,” I correct.

I’m sure she already knew that, and this is just one of her power plays. She observes the badge pinned to my chest before meeting my gaze. “So it would seem. Congratulations.”

I simply nod in return because talking to Sarah is like talking to the police during an interrogation—the less you say, the better.

“But as sheriff,” she adds, “you must know that speaking to my client without his attorney present is a violation of his constitutional rights.” Her scarlet-painted lips form a hard line.

My chest tightens and the skin beneath my collar starts to perspire. A droplet of sweat trickles down the length of my back, sending a shiver through my spine. “Right. I was just leaving,” I say as I step aside and head for the door.

FIVE

BOB MILLER

“What are my chances of getting full custody of Summer?” I already know the answer, but sometimes you just have to hear it from someone else, like my lawyer, Brad.

We’ve known each other since we were in law school—where we both did whatever we could to get ahead. It’s probably why we’re still friends, tethered together by the terrible things we’ve done.

Brad sits across from me in a café situated in downtown Manassas. He bites into a piece of dry toast, revealing veneers that are a shade too white. Crumbs tumble into his lap, and he quickly brushes them to the floor. My food has gone mostly untouched; I’m still too angry to eat. I can’t believe Sarah has the gall to demand full custody, especially given our history. It’s an emotional move on her part, completely out of the norm for someone like her.

Brad finishes chewing before he speaks. “Virtually zero,” he says, patting his lips with a napkin. “Unless you can prove Sarah is a danger to Summer.” He pauses and arches a brow. “Has Sarah ever been violent with Summer?”

The question swirls around my brain, kicking up old memories—well, one, to be exact. It plays out in front of me, as vivid as the day it happened, and I think that’s because this was an event that changed the course of my entire life.

Brad and the café fade away, and there I am, standing in front of Sarah Morgan’s office, late at night, over a decade ago. Everyone was gone for the evening—even Anne, which was rare because those two were attached at the hip. My knuckles rapped lightly against the door, as I didn’t want to appear too eager. I had a plan in mind, and the manila envelope clutched in my hand would set the whole thing in motion.

“Come in,” Sarah called from the other side of her office door.

I didn’t hesitate to enter, and my presence immediately garnered a look of disappointment. Not surprising, though, because we weren’t fond of each other in the slightest.

Her gaze fell to the papers strewn about her desk, signaling she wasn’t going to give me her full attention. “What, Bob?”

“I have something for you,” I said, crossing the room and placing the envelope right on top of Sarah’s case files, my way of showing her that I did, in fact, deserve her full attention.

She paused, eyeing it suspiciously. We were sworn enemies at that point because we were both trying to climb the same corporate ladder. She was ahead of me, having made named partner earlier that year. That promotion wasn’t supposed to go to either of us since there were two associates with more seniority—but mysteriously, one was fired for misconduct and the other quit without notice. I always thought she had something to do with them losing their jobs. Partner at thirty-three? Ha! It’s only possible if you eliminate the competition, and she was my competition, so I needed to get rid of her.

“What’s this?” she asked, trying to act disinterested.

“Just open it.”

She hesitated, but then curiosity got the best of Sarah, and her long red nails slipped under the metal clasp, gently bending the prongs back. Opening the flap, she slid her hand into the envelope and pulled out the stack of photographs. I watched her face, studying it, waiting for it to change as she flipped through each one. A trembling lip. A tear forming in the corner of her eye. A furrowed brow. But nothing changed. She was stoic, and it was as though she were reviewing a case rather than intimate photos of her husband with another woman.

“Where did you get these?” she asked, still flipping through them.

“Let’s just say...I keep close tabs on the woman your husband is having an affair with.”

That got her attention, and she met my gaze, slightly narrowing her eyes. “Why?”

“Because she killed my brother.”

Sarah lifted a brow and returned the photos to me. “If that’s true, why isn’t she in prison?”

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