The First Wife by Erica Spindler Page B

he had been doing down here. Searching. Studying. Why?
    She heard the slam of a car door. Her gaze flew to the clock. Logan. Home.
    She couldn’t talk to him. Not now. Couldn’t look at him. He would know. What should
     she—
    Think, Bailey. Think.
    Go to bed. Quickly, heart racing, she closed the windows and shut the laptop. She
     snapped off the desk lamp, leaped to her feet, darted into the foyer.
    And paused. She heard him in the kitchen. The sound of ice dropping into a glass,
     the water running.
    Bailey flew up the stairs to the bedroom. There, she stripped out of her clothes and
     slid into bed. She curled up on her side, pretending to be asleep.
    He entered the room. She heard the soft whoosh of his breath being expelled.
    “Bailey?”
    She lay quietly, breathing as deeply and evenly as she could with blood pounding and
     thoughts racing. She heard him cross to the bed, felt him standing over her. He bent;
     his breath stirred against her cheek.
    In the next moment, the bedroom door clicked softly shut and she was alone again.

 
    CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
    The next morning, Bailey threw up. She bent over the commode and heaved, though nothing
     came up but bile. She rinsed her face and brushed her teeth, then turned to find Logan
     in the doorway. Fully dressed, ready for the day.
    “Are you all right?” he asked.
    “Yes, I—” She laid a hand on her stomach. “I must have eaten something that didn’t
     agree.”
    But she hadn’t eaten. Food, anyway. What she’d ingested was suspicion. And doubt.
     She was sick with it.
    “Maybe you picked up a bug?” He crossed to her and laid a hand on her forehead. “You
     feel a little clammy. But cool.”
    She took a step back. “I’m fine, really.”
    He frowned slightly. “You didn’t wait up last night.”
    “I just … couldn’t.” Not a lie. None of it. Her heart was shattered. “I’m sorry.”
    He gazed at her a moment. “I bought you something.” He said it stiffly. Retreating
     from her. As if she had become a stranger to him.
    She had, Bailey thought. This woman sick with doubt, a stranger even to herself.
    “Thank you.”
    “You don’t even know what it is. Come see.”
    An iPad, she saw a moment later.
    “It’s all set up. E-mail, Internet, everything. I even loaded our wedding pictures.”
    She held it in her hands. Stared at it as if it were a snake. So she wouldn’t use his computer. So she wouldn’t have access to his secrets.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing,” she lied. “I love it.”
    “I thought you’d like to be able to connect anywhere. Especially with me gone so much.”
     He paused. “Would you rather have a laptop?”
    She shook her head. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
    They stood there in the bedroom, awkwardly silent. He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid
     it might be another late night.”
    Bailey wasn’t sure what to say. What to feel: despair or relief. “Okay. Just … let
     me know.”
    He hesitated, then bent and brushed his mouth against hers. “I’ll miss you.”
    “I miss you, too.”
    “I haven’t left yet.”
    “You know what I meant.”
    “I think I do.” He held her gaze until she looked away. “I’ll call you later then.”
    He left the bedroom. It felt as if the best part of her were going with him. A cry
     flew to her lips and she started after him.
    “Logan! Wait!”
    She ran down the stairs and into his arms. Bailey clung to him, face pressed against
     his chest. “I love you so much.”
    He shuddered; his arms curved around her. He held her silently.
    “I’m not myself today,” she said. “That’s all.”
    “Rest. You’ll feel better.”
    She walked him to the door, watched him drive off. When she turned back, her gaze
     landed on his office, door open to the hallway. His desktop.
    The laptop was gone.

 
    CHAPTER NINETEEN
    As the days passed, the awkwardness between Bailey and Logan grew. They approached
     each other cautiously, married strangers, she with her unspoken