Black Out by Lisa Unger Page A

lie, but I do it anyway. Force of habit. “I’m a stay-at-home mom, and Gray is an insurance investigator.”
    He turns up the corners of his mouth. “But that’s not really the truth, is it, Annie? Can I call you Annie?”
    I don’t answer, just keep my eyes on him.
    “Your husband and his father own a company, Powers and Powers, Inc. Isn’t that right?”
    I give him a shrug. “It’s in the interest of our safety that no one around here is aware of that.”
    “I understand. Can’t be too careful in his business.”
    “Detective, what does this have to do with anything?” I ask. I have stayed standing by the archway that leads into our living room. I lean against the wall and keep my arms wrapped around my middle.
    “It could be relevant. Your intruder last night might have something to do with your husband’s work.” He takes out a small notebook, flips through its pages. “They call themselves security consultants, but it’s a little more than that, right?”
    “It’s a privatized military company,” says Gray, entering the room. He has been sleeping, but he doesn’t look it. He’s alert and on guard. The detective is clearly startled, like he expected me to be alone here. He rises quickly and offers Gray his hand.
    “Detective Ray Harrison,” he says. “I answered the 911 call last night.”
    Gray leans in and gives his hand a brief, powerful shake. “Thanks for taking care of things,” says Gray, his voice flat and cool.
    My husband pins the detective with a hard, unyielding gaze, and Harrison seems to shrink back a bit. I notice that he looks past Gray, as if interested in something on the wall. We all stand in an awkward silence for a second, in which Gray crosses his arms and offers neither question nor statement, just a scowl of assessment directed at Harrison.
    Finally the detective clears his throat and says, “When I learned the nature of your business, I wondered if it had something to do with the man who followed your wife.”
    The detective is looking toward the door now. He hasn’t seated himself again, stands with his hands in his pockets. He does a little rocking thing, heel to toe, toe to heel. That Cheshire-cat look he had is long gone.
He’s a coward,
I think. The kind of bully who would corner the skinny kid on a playground, then lift his palms and widen his eyes in mock innocence when the teacher comes.
    “I really doubt that has anything to do with it,” says Gray with a patient smile. “Most of the work I do is overseas. And in the unlikely event that someone developed a personal vendetta against me, I promise you we’d have more to worry about than someone lurking on the edge of our property.”
    The two men engage in a brief staring contest until the detective averts his eyes and brings them to rest on me.
    “Well, it was just a thought,” he says. He has a lot more to say, but he won’t say it now. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
    Harrison walks toward the door, and Gray follows.
    “There was just one other thing,” he says as Gray opens the door for him. “I noticed that Mrs. Powers was born in Kentucky. But I swear I hear New York in your accent, ma’am.”
    Noticed where?
I wonder. Did he check me out after he left here last night, look at my driving record or something?
    “I was born in Kentucky but moved to New York with my family when I was a child.”
    Kentucky, land of lenient birth-records release policies. Just a little easily obtained information—birth date, mother’s maiden name—and you’re on your way to a brand-new life. If he keeps asking questions and checks on my answers, these lies won’t hold. But he just gives me a half smile and a long look.
    “We’ll keep you posted on the area break-ins and if we learn anything more about who might have followed you on the beach last night,” he says as he moves down the stairs. “Have a good one.”
    We wave as he drives off. Gray has taken my hand and is holding it tight. I look at him,