“I don’t know that,” she said. “But I do know that I don’t want the complications of our relationship, my marriage, and a baby. I can’t handle it, Connor. I’ve made up my mind. We have to end this.”

By then I could feel my own tears coming.

“I don’t want to say good-bye.”

Sophie, however, was full of resolve. I knew in that moment that it didn’t matter what I wanted or what I thought. She was going to do what she believed was best for herself and for the baby.

She leaned in and gave me a kiss.

And then she got up and left.

CHAPTER SEVENTY

CHAPTER SEVENTY

LEE

As Connor spins his story of how he and Sophie met and became lovers, I see no guile whatsoever. He loved her. That’s undeniable. I believe his story that he doesn’t really know what happened to Sophie, that he has no memory of what, if anything, he did after arriving at the cabin. I’ve been lied to by the best—and worst—of them. My BS meter almost never fails me.

Even so, undercurrents of jealousy can be a hidden Niagara. Add some liquor to the mix, and it’s possible there was an explosion he can’t recall.

“You only saw Aubrey one time?” I ask.

“When she was a baby,” he says. “Yes, that one time.”

“Did you and Sophie communicate after that?”

“Not once. No calls. No emails. No texts.”

“Were you stalking her?” I ask.

He pushes back from the table. “Seriously? No. I wasn’t. When she said it was over, I accepted it. When she said she wanted me to see the baby, I said all right. I never initiated any contact.”

“Connor,” I say, “I don’t know how I can help you or even if I should. I do believe you don’t have any recollection of what happened.”

“Small consolation, but thanks, Detective. I appreciate someone believing me.”

“You aren’t alone,” I remind him. “You have Kristen.”

“I had Kristen,” he says. “We’re getting divorced. It’s for the best. She can’t wait, and there really are no appeals if you plead guilty, which I did.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. And I am. I really am.

He keeps his gaze cast downward. “Me too. I really fucked up my life. I dragged her down, and now maybe she’s got a shot at happiness. I hope she finds it. She’s a really good person.”

I think of how shell-shocked Kristen looked after her husband’s arrest, standing there in front of their house all dressed for work. She was both beautiful and strong. I felt sorry for her. I knew she was a lawyer—she reminded everyone of that fact—and the profession relies on keeping one’s emotions out of the worst of circumstances.