And that’s more than love.
That’s everything.
“Cam, are you about ready?” I call up the stairs at his house. Our flight leaves in four hours, and with a ferry ride ahead of us, we need to get a move on. But there’s no answer. “Cam?”
I could have sworn I just heard him up there.
I climb the stairs and check his bedroom, but it’s empty. I swing around to his office, but he’s not in there, either. He was just here, though, because his computer is on, and his email lights the screen.
“Cam?”
I turn to leave, but then a single word on the computer screen catches my eye.
Lemon.
I know, deep in my heart, that I have no business looking at this email, but before I can talk myself out of it, I take a step closer.
I need you back on the Lemon case. New information has come to light that I know you can dig deeper on. Similar to five years ago in the Caymans. Call me.
-R
“Sorry, I had to go grab a bag—” Cam’s voice trails off when he sees me looking at the computer screen. His eyes narrow. “Maggie.”
“Don’t you dare Maggie me.” I prop my hands on my hips. “Tell me this isn’t about my late husband.”
“It must not have gone to sleep when I told it to.”
“I don’t care about that,” I reply and feel my heart stop. “Tell me this isn’t about Joey.”
“I can’t tell you that.” His voice is as flat as his blue eyes, which are now emotionless.
“Tell me what this is about.”
“I can’t do that, either. You know I can’t.”
“Cameron.” My heart is pounding in double-time now. “Damn it, say something. You’re the one who reminded me just this morning that we don’t keep secrets, damn it. That you’d never keep something from me that would hurt me.”
“I can’t talk about this. I’m sorry, Mags, but I can’t.”
“You’re sorry.” I nod slowly. “You had information about my husband five fucking years ago, and you didn’t tell me about it. You know what you are, Cam? You’re a hypocrite.”
“Maggie, just stop it.” His voice is hard. Angry. “We just talked about this hours ago. You know I can’t tell you what I know, even if every fiber in me screams to talk about it. I can’t. I’m no hypocrite. I’m doing my fucking job.”
I shake my head in denial. Of course, I can accept his job when it involves strangers. But when it’s about my husband? About me?
And then it hits me.
“Wait. If you were investigating Joey, you were investigating me.”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t say anything at all.
“Cameron!”
“I. Can’t. Talk. About. It.”
“Fine, I’m out of here.” I hurry past him and jog down the steps. “I have a plane to catch, and I don’t want you to go.”
“Good,” he says stiffly. Tears threaten, but I’ll be damned if I shed a single one with him watching. “I think, given the circumstances, it’s time for a break. Maybe this isn’t what I thought it was, Mary Margaret.”
“Right. Great.” I grab my purse and walk out the door to my car with my bag already in the back. Then, I drive away from Cam’s house. I have a plane to Ireland to catch.
“Damn it.” I slap the steering wheel as I drive toward the ferry. “He’s been lying to me for years. He knew about the Caymans all along. How could he do this to me?”
With tears on my cheeks, I drive my SUV onto the ferry and take a long, deep breath.
I’m going without him.
Chapter 18
~Cameron~
Keegan turns to me with a smile, and then that smile disappears when recognition dawns. “I thought you were going to Ireland with Maggie three days ago.”
I shake my head. “No. I didn’t go. I’m gonna need a beer, please.”
The other man’s eyes narrow on me, but he reaches for a clean glass and builds me a Guinness, just as Tom walks over and claps me on the shoulder.
“What are you doing here, lad? You’re supposed to be with my Maggie.”
Just keep cutting my heart out, why don’t you? I knew better than to come into the pub.
“I didn’t go,” I reply shortly and sip the beer.
The two men are quiet, and then Keegan gets pulled away to help another customer.
“Shall we talk about it, then?” Tom asks simply and climbs onto the stool next to mine.
God, I’ve been dreading this. I’m an idiot. I never should have started something with her. I knew if it fell apart, it’d change everything between the entire fucking family and me. And that hurts almost as much as losing Maggie.
“Are you just going to drink?” Tom asks.
“I don’t honestly know what to say,” I reply at last.
“I’ve always found the best place to start is the beginning.”
After another sip, I tap my fingers on the glass, lift it, and gesture for Tom to join me at one of the booths in the corner, where it’s a bit more private.