James Patterson - 11th hour

The photo seemed to have caught Joe saying something very charming to this woman. Her face was turned up toward his and a very private smile lit her features.

Joe looked just as adorable as could be.

The story read:

Joseph Molinari, former deputy to the director of Homeland Security, was seen with June Freundorfer Thursday evening at a benefit for cystic fibrosis at the Phillips Collection in Dupont Circle. FBI honcho June Freundorfer has long been a bright and glittering fixture at inner-circle Washington, DC, events, and last night’s fete was no exception.

I skipped down the page, found the sentence that brought it all back home.

Mr. Molinari is the husband of Sergeant Lindsay Boxer of the SFPD

…

That was all I could take.

I slammed down the lid on my laptop, but the afterimage of the photograph remained sharp and clear in my mind. I knew that June Freundorfer had been Joe’s partner for a couple of years and thought that maybe Joe’s relationship with her had been at the center of his divorce.

I understood that Joe had once been tight with June; I just hadn’t known he was tight with her still.

Were they involved?

Did Joe see her when he was in Washington every month or so? Were my hormonal surges making me paranoid? I knew what I was supposed to do about the mood swings: take naps, go for walks, spend time with my spouse, not be so hard on myself.

But was I thinking clearly? Jason Blayney’s mention that Joe was my husband was a direct and very personal message.

I went into the bathroom, threw up, took another shower, then went back to the kitchen. Joe had left his BlackBerry on the counter and it was buzzing.

I could read the faceplate from where I stood: June Freundorfer.

My hand hovered over the phone, my mind flashing like heat lightning; I had very little time to make this decision.

The phone rang for the third time.

It was reckless, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I picked up Joe’s BlackBerry, clicked to answer, and put the phone to my ear. I heard the traffic sounds of a faraway city. It was painful to do it, nearly impossible, but I waited the caller out.

“Joe?”

“No, it’s Lindsay,” I said. “Joe’s wife.” I sat down on a bar stool at the counter.

There was a long silence as the woman’s mind fumbled for a moment. My head was spinning too.

“Ohhh. Lindsay. Hi. I — is Joe there?”

Her voice was softer, sweeter than I had imagined.

“Joe’s sleeping off his jet lag,” I said. “June, I want to know the truth. Are you and Joe having an affair?”

I suppose I could have eased into it sideways, asked about the charity event the other night, said that I’d seen the photo and that it made me wonder why Joe hadn’t mentioned the black-tie dinner to me. A less direct approach would have given me room to retreat, but retreat was the last thing on my mind.

My pulse throbbed in my neck as the question hung on a virtual phone line three thousand miles long.

Are you and Joe having an affair?

Finally, the woman sighed.

She said, “Lindsay, maybe this isn’t the best time to discuss this.”

“So, when would be a good time, June? What works for you?”

“I didn’t want it to turn out like this. We didn’t want you to know, but I guess there’s no point in lying anymore.”

The ground seemed to open beneath me and I dropped into the void. I heard, as if from a long distance away, my voice saying to June, “You didn’t want me to know that you’re sleeping with my husband? You’re aware that I’m pregnant?”

“Yes.”

“I guess that’s all I need to know.”

“Wait, Lindsay. Joe loves you very much.”

Her girlish voice was like a frigid wind blowing through my hair. She said, “Joe and I are close, have always been close, but it’s not marriage, Lindsay. It’s just one of those things.”

I turned the phone off.

I remember steadying myself with both hands on the counter so that I didn’t fall off the bar stool.

Was I losing my mind? Had my husband’s mistress just told me that my husband loved me? I had had to hear that from her? That bitch!

And what did she mean by “just one of those things”? Something inevitable? Chemical? Ordained?

And Joe.

How could he have lied to me, cheated on me, made a fool of me and our marriage and everything I felt for him?

Who was he? Who was this man I had married?

Joe had said to me last night, Do we ever really know anyone?

What was I going to do?

What the hell was I going to do? I had a baby on the way. Our baby.

Joe’s phone rang in front of me again.

I stared at June’s name, picked up the phone, clicked to connect, then disconnected instantly. I didn’t want to talk to her and I didn’t want her to leave a message for Joe.

I grabbed the phone, went to the half bath off the kitchen, lifted the lid off the toilet tank, and dropped the phone into the water. I stared at it. It was ringing again.

And then it stopped.

What was I going to do?

As if a message had floated up from the inky depths of a Magic 8 Ball, I knew.

I turned the doorknob and, using my hip and shoulder as a battering ram, shoved the door open. The racket startled Joe out of his sound sleep.

I’d wanted to scare him, but I hadn’t thought he would go for his gun. His hand shot under the bed and he was bringing it up when he saw that the intruder was me, a version of me he’d rarely seen. I was so angry.

“Lindsay. What’s wrong?”

The shouting began.

“What’s wrong is you and June Freundorfer. How could you do this to me, Joe?”

He was sitting up in bed now, looking at me with stark bewilderment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t bother to lie. She told me everything.”

“Told you what? Lindsay, we went to a benefit. I didn’t get a chance to tell you about it, but I wasn’t keeping it from you.”

“A benefit. Isn’t that what it’s called these days? A friend with benefits?”

“I don’t understand why she called you.”

“She called you.”

“I see. So you intercepted the call.”

I said, “Joe, how could you do this to us?”

“Lindsay, I’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing.”

I went into the room, threw open the closet doors. Joe’s suitcase was right there, and as luck would have it, he hadn’t yet unpacked.

I hauled the bag out of the closet and chucked it onto the floor at Joe’s feet. He stood up and came toward me, his arms open. He was saying stuff, but I had closed myself off from him. I didn’t comprehend him anymore, not what he’d done, not what he was saying. I took pants and a jacket out of the closet, got underwear out of a drawer.

I wanted to get away from him before I cried.

“Lindsay. Stop. Just stop. I’m not having an affair with June or anyone else.”

I whipped around to face him. Adrenaline made me almost blind with rage. I could barely look at him.

“Why would June lie? She said, ‘It’s just one of those things.’”

“Our friendship, maybe.”

“I wish I could believe you, Joe, but you’re a terrific liar. I can’t stand the sound of your voice, so please, just leave. I’ll send your things — wherever you say. Just don’t be here when I get home.”

I dressed in the bathroom and left the house without saying another word to Joe.

I felt hollow and sick. I’d never been so betrayed in my life.

We were in the parking lot off Harriet Street, just behind the Hall. I told Conklin that I wanted to drive.

“What’s wrong?” he asked me. He was looking at me like I was wearing a live fish on my head.