Page 88 of A First Sight

Drake Mac Gilleain, I know what you did. I know how much you drank that day when your pregnant wife died. I know you were driving. It was all your fault, driving drunk. You killed them both. Your wife and your baby. If you don’t stay away from Maggie McCrae, she’s going to know it too. Everyone will know.

I couldn’t breathe. My hands were shaking badly, and the words blurred together. I set the paper on my desk and stared at it as if that could somehow change what it said.

It was full of lies. Yes, I drove that day, but no way in hell was I drinking. The last alcohol I consumed was a week earlier with my family before they left. Because Belle was pregnant, I abstained along with her when it was just us.

At the hospital, they tested my blood. Between the weather and the fact that the Scottish Red Deer stood in the middle of the road, they ruled the entire thing an accident.

No one blamed me for what happened. Not the authorities, not my family, or Belle’s. My guilt came from being the only survivor.

And now, this.

Fucking Dale.

He was threatening to telleveryonethat lie.

“Dammit.” I pounded my fist on the desk. My anger sizzled under my skin, bringing the hurt from those memories back.

How dare that fucker use my wife’s death to blackmail me into leaving Maggie? How fucking selfish could one person be?

I folded the paper and slid it back into the envelope. A part of me wanted to crumple it up and throw it away. Another part wanted to call the police and file a complaint against Dale.Again.

But if I reported it, the contents of the letter could get out. Rumors would swirl, and they wouldn’t only hurt me. They’d hurt Stellan and the rest of the Brockmire family.

I tossed the letter in my desk drawer and slammed it shut. I wouldn’t do anything rash like dispose of it, but I wasn’t ready to do anything else with it either. Maybe I could use it as leverage, or maybe it’d just sit there. Whatever happened, today wasn’t the day to decide.

SIXTY-FIVE

MAGGIE

The rain stoppedas Drake and I stepped out of the car, leaving the city with the unmistakable scent that only a good rain could bring. His hand reached for mine, and I laced my fingers between his, smiling at the familiar way our hands fit together as we walked toward the entrance of Scalini Fedeli.

“We have a private room,” Drake said to the host. “Mac Gilleain.”

“A private room?” I asked as we followed the maitre d’ through the dining room toward the back.

“I thought it’d be nice,” Drake said. “Would you prefer something else?”

I shook my head. “This is perfect.”

“It might surprise you, but my family doesn’t eat out much,” he said as he pulled out the chair for me. “The Mac Gilleains are more a ‘professional chef on staff’ kind of family. My mother was never much of a cook.”

I laughed. “The closest we ever came to having ‘staff’ were the landscapers we hired. Our parents believed in instilling a work ethic by assigning chores at a young age.”

“Well, now, you just went and made me feel like a spoiled brat,” he teased.

“If the shoe fits,” I shot back. He liked that I bantered with him.

His eyes had held a shadow from the moment he arrived at my door. At first, I thought he was simply tired, but now I suspected it was something else. I was curious, but didn’t want to push too hard.

I squeezed his hand. “You look…distraught.”

He sighed and released my hand. Rubbing his forehead, he looked more thoughtful than annoyed, and I reminded myself that if I wanted an honest, mature relationship, I couldn’t backpedal every time I thought he might not like what I said.

“I received an anonymous letter at work today,” he began. “The gist of it was that if I didn’t stay away from you, the person who wrote it would tell everyone that I was driving drunk the night Belle died.”

“What? That’s ridiculous.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “But you weren’t.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I’m glad you didn’t need to ask.”

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