“You think it’s him,” Paul finished, trying to digest her words.

Deven lifted a shoulder in a helpless shrug. “It makes sense, right? Maybe . . .” She paused as she reflected on her thoughts. “Maybe she went into hiding. To get away from Deuce.” It was a reach, but not too far outside of the realm of possibility. And it made sense.

Paul’s forehead creased in consideration. “But she was here,” he said. “Remember the neighbor said she was out here arguing with him. Why would she be over here if she had a restraining order on him?”

“Who knows? Maybe they were trying to work it out and he got abusive again. Maybe he threatened her. That would explain how he knows me. But either way, it’s obvious he’s lying.”

“Yeah . . .” Paul’s face was twisted in a way where it was obvious something was still troubling him. Something else entirely.

“What is it?” Deven prompted.

“This just doesn’t make sense.”

“I know. That’s why I’ll tell the police to investigate Deuce—”

“No, no not that.” Paul started fiddling with his phone again; keying, swiping, and scrolling as he continued. “Yeah, I see what you’re saying about Kennedy and Deuce, but how the hell did I get into the picture?” He shoved his phone in Deven’s hands and she eyed the screen. A snapshot of Paul’s bank statement was captured, pinched to zoom into numerous withdrawals ranging in the thousands. “I was looking over some stuff to see if there was anything else I could share with you about Amber,” he went on. “I found three credit cards in my name that I’ve never applied for. Completely maxed out. So, I did some digging, called my bank, and found out there had been multiple transactions siphoning money out of my accounts for months. The withdrawals and purchases weren’t large enough for me to notice, nor frequent enough to raise red flags with the bank. But collectively, it’s a lot.”

Deven’s eyes remained glued to the screen. She didn’t want to believe what he was saying but she was looking at the evidence clear as day. ATM withdrawals, purchases at luxury stores, meals at elaborate restaurants . . . it was all there.

“Did you give her your bank card or something?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“No—I mean, yeah once,” he corrected. “To buy some baby stuff before I left for work. I saw she purchased a crib and some onesies an hour later and that was it. The card was waiting on my dresser when I got home with no issues, so I didn’t think anything of it.”