Blayney was a snake and a liar, but there was no denying that the photo was real. And it was a killer.

It was a picture of Joe, my Joe, escorting a willowy brunette down a long flight of stone stairs. She was in a long, clingy black gown, her neck sparkling with diamonds, her arm threaded through the crook of Joe’s arm.

The photo seemed to have caught Joe saying something very charming to this woman. Her face was turned up toward his and a very private smile lit her features.

Joe looked just as adorable as could be.

The story read:

Joseph Molinari, former deputy to the director of Homeland Security, was seen with June Freundorfer Thursday evening at a benefit for cystic fibrosis at the Phillips Collection in Dupont Circle. FBI honcho June Freundorfer has long been a bright and glittering fixture at inner-circle Washington, DC, events, and last night’s fête was no exception.

I skipped down the page, found the sentence that brought it all back home.

Mr. Molinari is the husband of Sergeant Lindsay Boxer of the SFPD …

That was all I could take.

I slammed down the lid on my laptop, but the afterimage of the photograph remained sharp and clear in my mind. I knew that June Freundorfer had been Joe’s partner for a couple of years and thought that maybe Joe’s relationship with her had been at the center of his divorce.

I understood that Joe had once been tight with June; I just hadn’t known he was tight with her still.

Were they involved?

Did Joe see her when he was in Washington every month or so? Were my hormonal surges making me paranoid? I knew what I was supposed to do about the mood swings: take naps, go for walks, spend time with my spouse, not be so hard on myself.

But was I thinking clearly? Jason Blayney’s mention that Joe was my husband was a direct and very personal message.

I went into the bathroom, threw up, took another shower, then went back to the kitchen. Joe had left his BlackBerry on the counter and it was buzzing.

I could read the faceplate from where I stood: June Freundorfer.

My hand hovered over the phone, my mind flashing like heat lightning; I had very little time to make this decision.

The phone rang for the third time.

Chapter 64

Chapter 64

IT WAS RECKLESS, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I picked up Joe’s BlackBerry, clicked to answer, and put the phone to my ear. I heard the traffic sounds of a faraway city. It was painful to do it, nearly impossible, but I waited the caller out.

“Joe?”

“No, it’s Lindsay,” I said. “Joe’s wife.” I sat down on a bar stool at the counter.

There was a long silence as the woman’s mind fumbled for a moment. My head was spinning too.