Page 9 of Thicker Than Water
“No problem. I saw a doctor I knew from an old case on the way up, so it took me a—”
His gaze snags on Sienna.
“Wait,” he says, looking at Wyatt. “Isn’t this…?”
Wyatt nods, lips pressed together.
“Sierra, right?” Beck asks.
Sienna crosses her arms by way of an answer.
“Sienna,” Wyatt supplies. “Sienna Larkin.”
Beck’s eyes go hazy as he mutters to himself, “Jason Larkin. Right.” He shakes his head at Wyatt. “Jesus, Miller, why didn’t you say anything?” When Wyatt only shrugs, Beck turns back to Sienna. “Always the bleeding heart, am I right?” He pitches his thumb at Wyatt. “Even when it could get him in trouble.”
He puts his hand on Wyatt’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “I won’t tell anyone,” he says quietly. “But you’re to steer clear of this case, all right? I don’t care if Sam’s kid explodes into a million pieces and he’s out for a month on bereavement. You’re off this one.”
“I know,” Wyatt agrees.
“Your case,” Sienna says to Beck, “doesn’t make any sense. I don’t care what you found in his car—my brother didn’t kill anyone.”
Beck shoots another disappointed glance at Wyatt, who steps away a little, hands behind his back as if waiting to be cuffed.
“I’m Detective Beck,” he says to me, reaching out a hand. On instinct I take it, my grip limp in his, easily crushed. “You’re Mrs. Larkin, I presume?”
I nod.
“Good to meet you,” he says. “Listen, I understand this is a difficult time, but I’ll need to ask your husband a few questions.”
“Well, good luck with that,” Sienna says. “He’s in a coma.”
Beck’s eyebrow lifts as he looks past us at Jason. There it is again: the bruises, the bandages, the tube, my husband’s mouth stuck open, as if in perpetual surprise.
“I, uh… didn’t know that,” Beck says.
“I didn’t either,” Wyatt murmurs. His eyes, soft and imploring, reach for Sienna’s, but she turns her cheek, shielding herself from his gaze.
Beck clears his throat. “Did the doctors say when he’ll regain consciousness?”
“If you think we’re sharing that information with you, you’re insane,” Sienna says.
Beck rocks on his heels, brow furrowed in thought. “We can speak with his doctors. In the meantime”—he pivots toward me—“Mrs. Larkin, could you please confirm: Your husband attended the HomeGrowth Conference at the Hillstead Marriott on Friday, correct?”
He reaches into his jacket to pull out a notepad, then yanks the pen from its spiral. Flipping to a clean page, he waits for my answer, but now my thoughts are stuck on that conference. According to the news, it was the last place Gavin was seen alive.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Sienna says, hooking her hand onto mine. Her palm is hot, her skin almost scalding, and it’s only at her touch that I realize how cold I am, how the room feels walled with ice.
“No, it’s—” My voice quivers with the first words I’ve spoken since Wyatt arrived. “It’s fine, I— Yes. He went to the conference.”
“And do you recall what time he got home?”
“Um. I went to bed early that night. But I— I think it was eleven thirty?”
Sienna squeezes my hand, bolstering me through my stammer, as Beck scribbles a note.
“Did your husband mention any stops he made between leaving the conference and arriving back home?”
“Stops? No. There was a dinner. At the Marriott. He came home right after.”
