“Spencer, what the hell is going on?” Amelia demanded.
Standing in the doorway of their bedroom, the older blonde watched her husband ranting, the maid rushing to fill the suitcase, and her mind went to hell. She had never been the most stable of women, and right now he was testing her patience. For a split second, she contemplated placing her hands on her hips and stomping her feet. Being a trophy wife was hard work when your husband Spencer Kennedy.
That room, stark white, the walls seemed to close tighter around her the longer Gypsy sat there. Panic had a stranglehold on her and there was nothing she could do to help herself. Every sound from beyond that door forced her body to lurch forward against the table. If all of that wasn’t bad enough, that fucking window was making her paranoid every time she looked over and saw her reflection in the glass. She knew what it was and why they made her sit alone for what seemed like an eternity. Those dumb fucking cops were watching her from the other side of a two-way mirror. What the fuck did they think that would accomplish? She didn’t do this. There is no way in the world she would harm that couple, let alone her child. What kind of animal did they think she was? The kind that gave up her only child to save the child from the horrors she had endured as a child.
“I know that fucking bitch did something. Who else could have done this? Frank ranted, but truthfully, he knew this was not her style. She was passive when it came to violence. That was the exact reason he chose her to be the one at the hit. She would be ruined for life for witnessing what happened.