He slowly shook his head. After what happened today he had no credibility with Steele. If he went to him with only a photograph and his suspicions Steele would kiss him off for good. He needed hardcore proof.
He started to gather up the papers and photographs off the bed but then stopped. Someone was knocking on the door.
Jesse? God, he couldn’t look him in the eye, not now.
The knock came again. Louis went to the front door.
“Louis?”
It was Zoe.
“Louis? Are you there?”
He waited, hoping she would leave. He hadn’t seen her since the night Ollie was murdered. He had awakened sometime before dawn, alone on the sofa, and they hadn’t spoken since. Several times he had dialed Gibralter’s home only to hang up when he heard her answer.
“Louis?”
He flipped on the porch light and opened the door. She stood, looking up at him. There were things he wanted to say, questions he needed answered. Instead, he turned away, going into the living room.
“It’s freezing in here,” she said softly, pulling off her jacket and red wool hat.
Louis knelt to toss two logs in the grate. It wasn’t until the fire was burning that he finally turned to face her.
“Louis, what’s the matter?” she asked. When he said nothing, she came to him, her hand raised to touch his face. He jerked back.
“Don’t,” he said. He moved away, going into the bar.
“Louis, what is the matter?” she asked again.
“You lied to me,” he said.
She didn’t move. When she didn’t say anything, he turned and faced her. “You lied to me,” he repeated.
She stared at him then slowly her face crumpled. She went to the sofa, sitting on its edge.
“You’re married,” he said. “When were you going to tell me that?”
“Tonight. I…Louis, please – ”
“Right.”
She looked away, holding her arms.
“He’s my chief, for crissake!” Louis said.
She shut her eyes, as if trying not to cry, and he turned away in anger. “How could you lie to me?” he demanded.
“I didn’t lie.”
He came forward to stand in front of her. “You lied about him, Zoe. Shit, that isn’t even your name. You lied about who you are, for God’s sake.”
Her eyes glistened up at him. She didn’t say it but he saw it there in her eyes.
“Why?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice quavering.
“You know.”
She met his eyes. “I can give you all the clichés, Louis. I can say my marriage was over years ago. I can say he’s changed, I changed. Is that what you want to hear?”
“I don’t know what I want,” he said, shaking his head.
“This isn’t easy,” she said sharply.
Her anger was unexpected. It deflated his own somehow. He moved to the window, not wanting to look at her. “Do you love him?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I did. I don’t know anymore.”
He leaned his forehead against the cold glass.
“I’m not happy. I haven’t been for a long time. Part of it is this place but it’s more, it’s…” Her voice trailed off, breaking slightly.
He didn’t want to hear it. An affair, a neglected wife, it was a damn cliché and he didn’t want to be part of it.
“All right, so the marriage failed,” he said. “Lots of marriages fail. But I don’t get it. The fake name, the cabin. What the hell was that? Do you take other guys there too?
“No. You’re the only one.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He got me the cabin about two years ago. I wanted to have a place to go. He had work and I wanted something of my own. I started painting there, something I hadn’t done in ten years. I found two kittens living in the crawl space so I kept them there, because Brian hates cats.”
Louis thought of the sensual cabin, with its draperies, music, pillows, candles and incense. He couldn’t see Gibralter tolerating any of it.
“What about your name?”
“I read it in a novel once and I always wanted to go to France. I never used it before that night by the lake when I saw you. It just…came out.”
Her voice had trailed off to a whisper. “I always hated the name Jean. I never felt like a Jean.”
Louis came back to stand near the fireplace, looking down at her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were married?” he asked.
“Would it have made a difference?”
“Yes.”
She stared at him. “It must be comforting to have such a reliable moral compass.”
He couldn’t tell if she meant it to be sarcastic. “You could have left him,” he said.
“We’ve been together since I was nineteen. We had…” She paused. “He needed me.”
“I can’t see him needing anyone,” Louis said.
“He wasn’t always like this,” she said. “In the beginning, back in Chicago, it was different.”
Louis looked away. He didn’t want to hear about the joys of Brian Gibralter’s young married life. She saw Louis’s reaction but went on.
