Never Let You Go(102)

He holds out the mug. “Here you go.”

I take the warm drink, grip it tight in my hand. “Thanks.”

“It will help. I know you’re upset about Sophie’s accident, but she’s handling it fine.” His mouth is curved into an understanding smile. I used to love that smile. It made me want to share my heart and soul with him. It made me tell him everything.

I give him a grateful smile back, then take a small sip, and make a satisfied sound. “Yum.” It doesn’t taste strange, and I don’t think he’d drug me—not when the kids are still in the living room—but just in case, I’ll find a way to dump it out when he’s not looking.

“I better start on that soup.” I head for the door.

“Lindsey? You forgot something.”

I turn around, fear thick in my throat. This is it.

He’s holding out my white wool cardigan. I come closer and he stands, wraps it around my shoulders, and brushes his lips against mine. When I step back, he holds my hip in place and whispers into my ear. “This morning was fun. Maybe later?”

My face is burning hot with anger and shame, remembering how I’d straddled him, how I’d felt so powerful. The entire time he must have been laughing at me, but now I’m the one laughing in a low, husky voice. “Maybe. If you’re good.”

I walk out, give him a wink over my shoulder, then turn away so he can’t see the hatred in my face. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him for what he’s done.



I’m in the kitchen, stirring the soup while keeping an eye on the living room. They’re playing cards and seem to be having fun. Marcus is joking with the kids, his teeth flashing white each time he wins a hand. Sophie is also in good spirits, obviously happy that Jared is with us now. She offered to help me, but I declined. She’s too sensitive. She’ll pick up on my fear.

I was going to pass her a note, but now it feels too risky. There’s too much chance of error or interception by Marcus. Better to wait until he goes to the bathroom, then I’ll tell them my plan. I’ll suggest we watch an action movie later. The noise will cover our voices.

I glance at Angus, who is begging at my feet for scraps. I stroke his head. I’ll keep him with me, but he might alert Marcus to Sophie and Jared sneaking out. I have to find a way to drug Marcus. I’m not going to make the same mistake I did with Andrew. I’ll give Marcus a few pills.

I open the cutlery drawer for spoons and notice the paring knife in a sheath. It might not do much damage, but anything bigger would be noticeable on my body. I pretend to drop a spoon, then lean down and tuck the knife inside the top band of my sock under my jeans.

I stand back up. “Lunch is ready!”



We’ve been playing card games for hours. I make mistakes, count the cards wrong, and fumble with my chips. My laugh is too high-pitched, my face warm from the fire and nerves. Sophie is giving me strange looks, almost exasperated. I’m hoping she just thinks I’m tipsy. Marcus is affectionate, his arm around my lower back. He hasn’t noticed that I switched my drink for a plain coffee. Since lunch, I’ve made sure I’m the one mixing our drinks, while waiting for a chance to go back to the bathroom. Finally, Marcus decides to make popcorn.

“Good timing,” I say. “I have to go to the ladies’ room.”

This time I’m able to open his shaving kit and remove a few of the pills, which I quickly pocket. I’m careful to put the container back in the same spot. When I come out the air smells of butter and popcorn. Marcus has set out a couple of bowls and the kids are digging in.

I walk into the kitchen. “Another drink, Marcus?”

“I know what you’re up to, Lindsey. Getting me drunk,” he says. I look at him, startled, then realize he’s joking when he says, “I’m switching to water before your daughter robs me blind.” Sophie tries to steal his stack of poker chips and he laughingly blocks her.

“Darn. You figured us out,” I say, with a tinny laugh. I’m so frustrated, my anxiety through the roof. Now I’ll have to wait until dinner, when he usually drinks wine.

But through dinner—he grills salmon and vegetables, all of which taste like ashes in my mouth—he keeps pouring his own glass. I never get a chance. The pills sit heavy as stones in my pocket. He hasn’t gone to the bathroom for hours. I used to tease him about his iron bladder.

He helps me clean up. Each time he touches me, his shoulder brushing against mine as he reaches for a plate, his fingers tangling with my hand in the dishwater, I feel my shell crack. I’m not going to be able to hide my fear much longer. When he leans down to kiss me, I almost sob into his mouth. I’d loved him. I’d truly fallen in love with him, and the hurt and betrayal is so raw in my throat I can’t breathe. I pull away, hide my face in his chest, and he holds me tight.

I think about him out on the lake fishing. He’d come back in happy. Is there a chance he’s forgiven me? Maybe he really meant all those reassuring words. Or maybe he’d been out there planning his revenge. Would he shoot us while we slept? Did he just want to kill me?

Please. Let it just be me. If I can’t stop him, just take me.

We sit back down in the living room. The kids are on the couch, so thankfully I’m given a little space from Marcus when we take different armchairs. He has to go to the bathroom soon.