Chapter 3

Nadia's POV

A patrolman grabbed my shoulder to keep me from face-planting into the mud.

What lay in that bag couldn't even be called a face anymore. The facial bones were completely crushed and caved in. Massive flaps of trampled skin hung loose, leaving behind a horrifying, bloody crater.

"Deep breaths, Nadia." Detective Briggs crouched down, forcing a bottle of water into my hands. "The scene is a mess. Even after the ME cleaned him up, a visual ID is impossible."

I chugged the water, my hands trembling violently, and stared at her with bloodshot eyes. "So what now? DNA?"

"Yes. We need to go to your home and collect a biological sample from Reid," Briggs said, her tone leaving no room for debate. "Can you hold up?"

"Let's go," I muttered, burying my face in my hands. "Just... give me the results as fast as you can."

An hour later, back at my downtown apartment.

Two techs in latex gloves quickly bagged Reid’s toothbrush and plucked a few loose hairs from his hair wax container in the master bathroom.

"Results will take roughly forty-eight hours. Keep your phone on," Briggs said from the doorway. "Nadia, lock your doors. Don't go anywhere."

The door clicked shut. Dead silence swallowed the apartment. I slid down the wall and sat on the floor, staring blankly at the cramped living room, tears pouring down my face.

This was all my fault.

I pushed him too hard! For months, I had been giving him the cold shoulder over wanting a bigger house. He begged me, saying the company was doing layoffs and money was tight, and I stubbornly believed he was just dodging responsibility.

No wonder he snuck off to a barn in the middle of nowhere! No wonder he drank himself to death!

Guilt choked me like a noose. I staggered to my feet, heading to the kitchen to pour a glass of water.

That’s when my eyes fell on a bottle of Pinot Noir sitting on the wine rack.

I froze.

During our first year of dating, Reid once took a shot of tequila for me at a party. Within ten minutes, he broke out in terrifying hives, his throat swelled shut, and he went into anaphylactic shock. The paramedics had to intubate him to save his life.

Reid was lethally allergic to alcohol! A single sip could kill him. There is no way in hell he drank multiple bottles of hard liquor!

And just now, outside the morgue van, even though the corpse's face was destroyed, I distinctly remembered that the remaining skin on the deceased's neck and arms was completely clear. No hives. No severe allergic rash.

A wild, manic sense of hope exploded in my chest.

That body wasn't Reid. It absolutely wasn't!

My heart hammered against my ribs. I grabbed my phone and furiously dialed Reid’s number over and over.

"The number you have dialed is currently unavailable..."

The robotic voice echoed through the empty living room.

If he isn't dead, where is he?! If that corpse isn't my husband, why was my custom-made, GPS-tracked belt strapped to a drunken John Doe?!

I called twenty times. Nothing.

Blind panic seized me by the throat. Cold sweat drenched my clothes.

If the guy whose head got caved in by a horse wasn't my husband, then the GPS belt was purposefully taken off and planted on that corpse!

Where the hell was my husband? And who was the dead man?!

The police were chasing a ghost!

At the crack of dawn, I floored it straight to police headquarters.

I rushed up to the Major Crimes division on the second floor. Just as I turned down the hallway toward the detective bullpens, a shrill, arrogant woman’s voice echoed from a half-open door.

"Detective Briggs, you'd better get your facts straight!"

The voice was aggressive and dripping with entitlement. "Yes, that farm is my property! And some drunk idiot trespassed on my land in the dead of night, spooked my purebred horses, and bled all over my barn! I’m the victim here!"

My feet rooted to the hardwood floor.

"I don't know that drunk, and not only will I not answer your questions, I’m pressing charges for property damage!"

That haughty, aggressive tone, perfectly playing the victim...

I bit down hard on my hand to stifle a gasp.

Vivienne!