Page 41 of Stranger in the Lake

“You can’t tell anyone. I mean it, Chet—not a soul. If Sam or Micah or anybody else asks, you have to play dumb.”

“We’ve already established I can do that.” Another slow grin, more deadpan tone.

I roll my eyes. “This is serious. I’m being serious. You have to promise and swear you won’t say a thing.”

He draws an X on his chest. “Not one word, swear to God.”

I tell him everything. About finding Paul talking to Sienna the day she was murdered. About his lie to the police, and me following his lead. About him taking off with a backpack stuffed with food and a nylon hammock to find Jax, all the ways I’ve covered for him since. About Jax pressing his face to the window just last night.

Chet swings his feet to the floor and sits up, frowning. “Jax was here? What for?”

“I’m not entirely sure. At first, I thought it was to tell me something happened to Paul, which is why I opened the door. He knew about the woman drowning—even knew her name—and then he told me to watch my back.”

“Dude. That’s...that’s crazy. Weren’t you scared?”

“The weird thing is, it didn’t feel like a threat. He wasn’t aggressive, like, atall. I think he was trying to warn me.” I think back to his words about Paul and the body count, his expression when he looked through the woods to Micah’s, the way he shifted from foot to foot. “He seemed more spooked by me than I was of him.”

“He’s at the receiving end of a manhunt. Of course he’s spooked.” Chet leans back into the recliner, watching me from across the room. Particles of dust dance in the air between us, glittering in a beam of sunlight. “But I guess the bigger question is, are you?”

“Am I what, spooked?”

Chet nods, and I don’t have to think on my answer for long. Micah and Sam might say Jax is dangerous, but I’m less sure. If he’d wanted to hurt me last night, he could have, and in a thousand different ways. He didn’t seem like a killer, just a lost and tortured soul.

“I’m not afraid of Jax.”

Chet gives me a meaningful look. “I’m not talking about Jax.”

My gaze falls on our wedding picture at the edge of Paul’s desk, happy faces in a shiny silver frame. My head is tilted up to his, leaning in for the kiss that sealed the deal. “Hello, wifey,” he whispered against my lips, and I thought my heart would burst with joy.

Unlike Sam and the rest of my friends, Chet never asked me if I was sure. He never tried to talk me out of it or told me I was insane for marrying a man who everybody says got away with murder. He never accused me of choosing money over sense.

But that doesn’t mean he never thought it.

“I love Paul,” I say, and my voice goes squeaky on his name. “I wouldn’t have fallen in love with him if I thought he was capable of hurting me. Of hurting another person that way. And I know it makes me sound ignorant and gullible, but even after what Wade told you, Istilldon’t think it. There are a lot of things I don’t know about Paul, but he’s not a killer. No way.”

Chet picks at a thread on the hem of his shirt. “So I guess that means you’re staying.”

“Of course I’m staying. Leaving now would be doing the very thing I got so pissed at Sam for—making assumptions about a man’s guilt instead of assuming his innocence. People drown all the time, even strong swimmers. Look it up. The only reason they suspected Paul at all is because of the money, which he doesn’t need. He’d be doing just fine without it.”

“What if he wanted it, though?”

“Is that what you think, that Paul killed her for the money?”

Chet shrugs, rolling his head on the lounger to face me. “I heard all those things people said about him after his first wife died, and maybe I believed some of it at first, but it doesn’t match up with the Paul I know. He’s a nice guy. It’s complicated.”

See? I’m not crazy.

But there’s another reason I can’t just up and leave, one I haven’t told Chet yet. I hold his gaze, count to three. Three heartbeats, three breaths. I’m suddenly as nervous as when I peed on the stick.

“I’m pregnant.”

“Shut up.” He pops onto both elbows, a grin tugging on his lips. “Are you kidding me? You better not be kidding me. You’re really pregnant?”

“I’m not kidding you. I really am.”

I remember the thrill I felt on the boat, the way Paul picked me up and swung me around the tiny space between the seats, and I try to hold on to that flash of happiness. Without him here, it’s fading fast.

“Aw, hell.” Chet swings his feet to the floor. I’m two seconds away from waterworks, and Chet hates it when I cry. He says it makes him twitchy. His gaze stays steady on mine. “You’re gonna be a great mom. Look at how you did with me. You took care of me, and I’m not even your kid. A baby is a good thing.”

---