Free Discovering Normal by Cynthia Henry Page B

his arms over his expanse of stomach. “How are you holding up?”
    Beth blew into another napkin. “I don’t know.”
    “That’s understandable. Now to tackle the next uncomfortable subject matter; I want to call George in on this.”
    Beth raised her head.
    “I know how he feels about you, Beth. Chris told me a few months ago that he suspected something was up with the two of you.”
    “He did?”
”Yeah, he did. I called to ask his advice about a case, but you’re all he seemed to
    be able to talk about.” Deej leaned up and snatched Beth’s hand. “Do you see why, though I trust your instinct and training implicitly, I don’t think you’re going to find any more here than a broken - hearted guy?”
                  “Call George if you have to. Call anyone you want because I’m not wrong about this.”
                  “I hope you’re right, Bethie. I goddamn hope you’re right.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 9
     
     
    It was an effort, but Chris bumped the back of his head against the wall and realized before he even attempted the movement that rising from the floor would be impossible. He shifted, flinched.
    Not much worse than broken ribs.
    He bit his lip and clenched his side as he adjusted, using the wall behind him for leverage. He felt the steady whir of an engine beneath him. Train maybe? But there was no bump of track. A shift, a purr and then elevation. He was on a plane heading God only knew where.
    What the fuck was going on?
    He could hear muffled voices, but no one seemed to be in the same area he was confined to. He tried desperately to piece together what had transpired to bring him here. Amidst the pounding of his head and gut he remembered the bar, the drive home, the glaring light, the limo in the dark, the punch that knocked the wind from his sails.
    He remembered two thick bodies stretching and pinning his so only his right hand was mobile. A forced pen into his hand and a paper shoved into his face. He wrote what they told him because even groggy and pummeled he was well aware that until you knew for certain who your foe was, it was useless to try and defeat them.
    Chris clenched his eye, drew in a breath that hurt like hell and tried to remember the dictation he’d taken like a scared secretary in a burning high-rise. The words spun in his mind until he could piece them together.
    He’d drafted a suicide note.
    But why the hell would someone want to make it look like he was suicidal? George flashed into his mind--a swirling image of his neatly combed hair, Pepsodent smile and tailored suit. George had made the mistake of telling Chris the very first night Beth had joined the Bureau that he knew that she was the girl he was going to marry. Trouble was, Chris had known the very same thing. He’d won her of course, but only temporarily as it turned out. Beth was still young, still beautiful, still able to give George the children he hadn’t yet had and be his wonderful wife. From where Chris stood it sure as shit looked like George was winning this game, so why the hell would he want him eliminated now when it would’ve been so much more effective for Chris to be around and suffer the reality of watching George squirm into the lives of his family?
    But George was a smart guy; and a guy that Chris was never able to completely trust. The combination was less than comforting.
    Now here he was, on a plane bound for anywhere. Beth had probably already been informed that he was dead and she was most likely seeking comfort against the smooth texture of George’s all-season black Armani.
    And Noah and Audrey. Did they know? Had Beth told them that Daddy didn’t love them enough to play it through no matter how much he was hurting inside? He’d walk through flames laced with broken glass for those kids--for Beth too, but she was an adult and she’d made her choice. It couldn’t matter anymore what she