Page 60 of Don't Hate Me
“Goodbye.”
Before I could tell her to stop or wait, she was weaving through the other tables and visitors in the room, and scrambling out the door. Out the door, out of the prison. Away. Where she knew I couldn’t follow her.
I sank heavily into the seat, and, for the first time, wondered if I was ever going to see Ashleigh again. It was unthinkable. She would come back. She wouldn’t be able to stay away. She said she would never stop loving me. Those were her words. No, I couldn’t return them. But it didn’t matter.
It had never mattered to her. She loved me. It was constant. It was steady. It was a damn nuisance, too, but it was always there. Which meant she wasn’t going anywhere. And that goodbye wasn’t the last one.
I refused to believe it.
I refused to believe it until the following week.
* * *
Fort Dix
Seven weeks after the wedding
Marc
I sat at the same table where I’d been with Ash last week. The sense of dread in my stomach was making me nauseous. It wasn’t her week to visit. I knew that, but still, part of me wanted so bad to see the visitor door open. To see the flash of blond hair. To know last week hadn’t been as final as she’d made it sound.
George would give me an update. Even though he was no longer working for Landen, he still kept tabs on Ash. They would have had lunch together at some point this week. He’d probably been just as furious over the bruise as I was.
Together we could plan. We could figure out a way to convince Ash she needed to leave that asshole before he did some serious damage to her.
That helped push the dread away. Having a plan of attack. Feeling like there was some control.
The door to the visitor room opened and I could see George enter. I lifted my hand to show him where I was. His shoulders were slumped, and it felt like each time I saw him he was getting grayer and more broken down. When had George become an old man?
He’d probably kick my ass for even suggesting he was old, and, as he sat, I thought about making a joke about Grecian Hair Formula for Men, when his expression stopped me.
“What?”
His head bowed and his shoulders shook. “I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just say it. Ashleigh…Ashleigh’s gone.”
“Gone? You mean she left Sanderson? That’s awesome news. Why are you so broken up about that?”
George shook his head. He pulled out a handkerchief from his back pocket and used it to blow his nose.
“No. She’s missing. The police suspect…the evidence indicates… God, Marc, she could be dead.”
Dead. It was almost like the word had no meaning. What was dead? Was it an adjective, a noun, a verb? What was this word and what power did it have?
“Her car…found…side of the road. Her purse…credit card…stolen. Some…struggle…blood. They’re…searching…body…Hamptons it’s all marsh and inlets...”
“Stop,” I barked. I couldn’t hear him. I couldn’t make out what he was saying. It wasn’t making sense. It was like only every other word was penetrating, and the picture wasn’t forming in my head.
George stopped talking and waited patiently. Then I played back what he said, and my heart started to pound in my chest.
“Sanderson did it. Sanderson killed her.”
That’s what she knew last week. She knew his threats were getting more serious, and she was afraid this would happen.
“I have to protect myself.”
George shook his head. “It wasn’t him. He was in the city at an event, surrounded by hundreds of people. They have a suspect on video. At a convenience store a couple miles from where they found her car. He used her credit card. They’re looking for him, but, so far, they haven’t found him.”
“Say it again. Say again what happened.” Because there was something wrong in this story. Something that I was missing. This hadn’t happened. Not to Ash.
