Chapter 12: Client Brief

The deleted-items folder was empty.

Camille had emptied it a minute ago, and she watched me open it with a patient, worried face.

"See?" she said gently. "It's gone, Rochelle. I wouldn't lie to you."

I closed the laptop and handed it back.

"I believe you," I said.

I didn't.

I told her I had a headache and needed to lie down, and she kissed my cheek and left the pastries.

I waited until her footsteps had faded down the path.

Then I opened the balcony door.

The rain had stopped.

The iron rail between the two balconies was wet and cold under my hand, and Rhett's door stood half open on his side.

I hadn't planned to go in.

I only wanted to tell him that Camille had a photograph of us, and that he should be careful, and that I was frightened.

"Rhett?" I called.

Nobody answered.

The room was empty and the bed was rumpled.

His laptop sat open on the desk by the window, with the screen awake.

I wasn't looking.

I want that understood.

I was only going to leave a note on the pillow.

But the folder in the middle of the screen had a name, and the name was my husband's.

DRAYCOTT.

I stood very still.

Then I touched the trackpad and opened it.

There were forty files.

The first was a PDF, three pages, and the header said:

CLIENT BRIEF. Subject: Rochelle Teller Draycott. Age 29. Wife of client.

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