"What we had is over, Dawn. You don't have to do this anymore. You're free to go."
I traced the glass separating us with my fingers, looking into his green eyes and whispered to the phone, "So you want to know why I'm still here?"
He just stare...
He was a man in flesh and blood. He had a face and a voice, both of them belonging to my husband. Obviously, pictures could be photoshopped, videos could be edited, and voices could be faked.
I looked out through the tiny window, hoping to see the small world beneath us. But all I could see was how dark and heavy the world above us was. Across from me, Hart remained mute, giving me the chance to calm down when I was brainstorming for one reason Hart could be telling me all these.
Megan couldn't have a string to pull Carl Hart around like a puppet. She couldn't be that influential.
She has connections, Silas had said once. Then again, the law could be bought with money.
According to Hart, Michael Clare was an alias Silas had been actively using to carry on with his illegal business throughout the world.
"The bureau had tried several times to keep tabs on him, but the man was just not there. It was like he vanished into thin air. Every six months, he would come out and run a deal," Hart continued, shutting the laptop down, keeping away the rare pictures of Michael Clare and several voice recordings.
"All of this just for some adrenaline rush?" It didn't make sense whatsoever. An alias could be faked as well. Most probably, like Osbourne, Hart was led to believe this string of lies. "He certainly has enough money to sit on, even with no job."
"The intentions behind a criminal's play can't be justified on whether he needs money or not, Mrs. Dale," Hart muttered, leaning forward, his voice gentle but clear as his words bore through my skin. "Some do it just because they can." A pause. "Without any proof, we can't hold Mr. Clare for long. But we can keep Mr. Dale."
"Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound?" I leaned back on the leather, my jaw hardening. "An alias can be created. My husband is a successful businessman, Agent Hart. He has enemies. Do you think he'd have the time to play Godfather in his off-time? Why don't you look for the clues that make sense?"
"Mrs. Dale, it was our job to tell you the truth. It's up to you now if you believe it or not," Hart said, his voice impassive. "When Agent Osbourne came forward with his theory of your husband being framed, we actually leaned on him for a month or two until there were words going around about Clare being back in town. We busted one of his deals and through that we got to your husband. Osbourne was ordered not to be involved in this case for misleading us and I was assigned to find both of you."
"And if I say my husband can prove that he was being framed?" I stuck my chin out.
"He still has to serve time for breaking out of a prison, Mrs. Dale. If he turns out clean, he'll probably have to face a few years."
I let out a heavy sigh, feeling something I couldn't fathom. Turning towards the window, I stared out, hoping to see at least something other than the pitch-black night."
"Are you okay, Mrs. Dale?" Hart's voice reached me.
Blinking at the glass facing a dark world, I whispered, "Far from it."
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