“Sarah!”
Daniel burst out of the elevator, moving at a frantic sprint. He looked the part perfectly. His face was flushed, his eyes wide and panicked. The knot of his silk tie was pulled down, his collar slightly askew, as if he had run all the way from his important, non-existent client meeting.
He closed the distance between us and threw his arms around me, pulling me into a crushing, desperate hug.
“Sarah, oh my god, I’m so sorry I didn’t answer!” Daniel cried, his voice thick with what sounded exactly like genuine, heartbreaking tears. He buried his face in my neck.
I went completely, rigidly stiff.
I was pressed against the chest of the man I had loved for ten years, but he suddenly felt like an alien creature. Beneath the familiar scent of his aftershave, there was a faint, sharp undertone of stale sweat and something else—a cheap, unfamiliar perfume. It was absolutely not the sterile, coffee-and-paper smell of an accounting firm.
If Detective Miller hadn’t told me the truth two minutes ago, I would have collapsed into Daniel’s arms, sobbing, seeking the comfort of a husband. But now, every alarm bell in my brain was shrieking. I was hugging a phantom. A liar.
I looked over Daniel’s shoulder at Detective Miller. The detective gave me a slow, almost imperceptible nod. The silent instruction was clear: Play along. Do not spook him. We needed to know what he was doing here.
I forced myself to relax my muscles. I slowly brought my arms up and wrapped them around his back, performing the role of the traumatized, relieved wife.
“Daniel,” I sobbed into his shoulder, forcing tears to my eyes. “It was awful. A hit-and-run.”
