The Husband’s Investigation
MARL’S POV:
Her expression shifted. The openness I had seen when she walked through the door, the guarded hope, the fragile trust, hardened into something colder. More distant and more careful.
“This is a professional meeting,” she said, and her voice was polite but firm. “It doesn’t require anyone else’s approval. It doesn’t need to take place under someone else’s supervision.”
I felt the words land like a slap.
She thought I was checking on her for Alistair. She thought I was reporting back to him, feeding him information, betraying her trust.
I opened my mouth to correct her, to explain, to tell her that I was on her side, but the words wouldn’t come.
What could I say? That I had pulled her out of a cell because I couldn’t stand to see her suffering? That I had driven her home and wrapped her in my coat because something about her made me want to protect her? That I had been thinking about her ever since, even though I knew I shouldn’t be?
She wouldn’t believe me. She had no reason to. I was Alistair’s friend. I had known him for years. I had been at his parties, watched him with Vesper, done nothing to stop it.
Why would she trust me?
Sensing her wariness, I decided to leave.
I stood up from the table, my chair scraping against the floor. Hotch looked up at me, confusion flickering across his face.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Something came up,” I said. “I’ll catch up with you later.”


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