The Other Mrs. Carter Reported Him Missing Too

"Back off, lady," a gruff voice barked.

A heavy, grease-stained hand clamped onto my forearm, yanking me away from the counter.

"Let go of me!" I jerked my arm free.

The release sent me stumbling backward. A bright red welt flared across the back of my hand where his calloused fingers had dug in. I rubbed the stinging flesh, glaring at the towering man stepping in front of Nina. He wore a faded blue jumpsuit with a sewn-on patch reading Marcus.

"Keep your crazy to yourself," Marcus growled. He crossed his thick arms over his chest, a living wall between me and the other woman. "Nina is his wife. You're just some obsessed stalker trying to ruin her life."

"I'm his legal wife," I said. I pointed a shaking finger at the marriage certificate resting on the scratched wood between us. "Look at the seal. Look at the date. Seven years."

Marcus scoffed. He snatched the document from the counter. His greasy thumb dragged over the embossed state seal.

"Hey! Put that down!" I lunged forward.

He held it out of my reach, sweeping his dark eyes over the text. A cruel sneer curled his upper lip.

"Nice try," Marcus said. His thick fingers pinched the top corner of the paper. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he tore a jagged triangle from the document.

The rip cracked through the quiet lobby.

He dropped the pieces onto the floor. "You can buy high-grade fakes like this online for fifty bucks. My sister isn't falling for your scam."

"That's a government document," I said, my voice lowering an octave. "You just destroyed legal proof."

"I destroyed garbage," Marcus shot back.

Nina stepped out from behind her brother. She bounced the toddler on her hip. The little girl, Lily, giggled and buried her face in Nina's neck.

"Marcus, don't waste your breath on her," Nina said. She stroked the little girl's hair, fixing me with a triumphant glare. "Evan and I celebrated our two-year anniversary three years ago. We took a trip to Seattle. He bought me this diamond tennis bracelet to celebrate Lily being born."

She held up her wrist. The diamonds caught the harsh fluorescent lights of the police station.

Seattle. Three years ago.

A sharp, twisting pain punched through my stomach. My fingers curled into the fabric of my blouse. I twisted the material tight against my abdomen to keep myself upright.

Three years ago, a drunk driver had slammed into the passenger side of my sedan. I woke up in the ICU hooked to machines. The doctor stood at the foot of my bed and told me my baby had no heartbeat.

I called Evan from the hospital phone, sobbing into the receiver. He told me he was stuck in Seattle, pitching to crucial investors. He claimed he couldn't get a flight back for two days.

He wasn't pitching to investors. He was buying diamonds for another woman. He was celebrating the birth of her child while ours was sent to the hospital morgue.

"You were in Seattle," I whispered. The metallic taste of blood coated my tongue. I'd bitten the inside of my cheek hard enough to break the skin.

"It was a beautiful trip," Nina smirked. "He took me to a five-star restaurant by the water. We drank champagne all night."

"He told me he was working," I said.

"He tells you whatever you want to hear to keep you quiet," Nina replied.

"You're lying," Nina added, staring at the scattered papers on the floor. "Evan owns his company. He built it himself."

"He built it on my dime," I fired back. "Ask him about the fifty thousand dollar wire transfer from my personal savings account five years ago. Ask him about the lease for his office space. My name is on the guarantor line."

"Shut up," Marcus growled. "You're just throwing out crazy stories to confuse her."

"Call his accountant," I challenged. "Call David. See whose name is on the tax returns."

Nina bit her lower lip. A flicker of doubt crossed her eyes before she masked it with a scowl. "Evan told me he had an obsessive ex-girlfriend who couldn't let go. That has to be you."

"I'm not an ex anything," I said. "I'm his wife."

I reached into my leather tote bag. My fingers bypassed the tissues and keys, closing around the thick manila envelope I'd brought as backup. I pulled out the certified original copy of our marriage license, complete with the raised notary stamp and the attached county clerk verification.

I stepped right up to Marcus. I slammed the thick stack of papers directly against his chest.

"Read the clerk's signature, you idiot," I snarled, letting the papers fall from his chest to the floor. "Call the county records office. It's public information. I paid for his first server. I paid for his car. I lost his child while he was playing house with her."

Nina flinched. The smug smile vanished from her face. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the truth," I said, stepping closer to her. "He used my money to fund the life he is living with you."

Marcus opened his mouth to shout, his fists clenching at his sides. He took a threatening step forward.

"Enough!" the desk sergeant shouted.

He pushed himself out of his rolling chair and marched around the counter. "Both of you, quiet down before I lock you in holding cells for disturbing the peace."

The officer held a freshly printed sheet of paper in his hand. He stopped between us, his shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor.

"I ran the financials on Evan Carter," the officer said, his tone flat and professional. He looked at me, then at Nina. "Neither of you needs to file a missing-person report."

"What do you mean?" Nina asked. She lowered Lily to the floor. "He's been gone for three days. His phone is off."

"He's not missing," the officer replied.

He lifted the paper, pointing a thick finger at a line highlighted in bright red ink.

"An hour ago, Evan's credit card ending in eight-eight-zero-one was charged for a deposit," the officer stated. He tapped the red line twice. "At a motel on the south side of town."

I stared at the numbers. Eight-eight-zero-one. The joint emergency card we kept in the safe at home. He'd taken it.

"A motel?" Marcus asked, his brow furrowing. "Why would he be at a motel?"

The officer ignored the question. "He's alive and spending money locally. This is a civil matter now, ladies. Not a police issue."

Before the officer could pull the paper back, I reached out and snatched the printed statement right out of his hand.