Scared To Death (Live to Tell #2)(7)

Who can blame her? Their first child was kidnapped and murdered.

But that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again.

It doesn’t mean there really was someone in Renny’s room in the dead of night.

So you do think she imagined it, is that it?

“I think we should call the police,” Elsa announces.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“The press is finally off our backs. Do you really want to stir it all up again?”

“The press doesn’t have to be involved. I’m just talking about calling the police and—”

“You don’t think it’s going to get out somehow that the mother of Jeremy Cavalon thinks someone is prowling around her new kid’s bedroom?”

Now she’s irritated, setting down her coffee cup. “New kid?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”

New kid. As in replacement for old kid.

God. Brett rakes a hand through his hair. That’s not what he meant at all. What’s wrong with him? He knows how fragile she is when it comes to this—when it comes to everything. For years now.

“If you honestly think there’s a reason to call the police,” he tells his wife, “go ahead. You know I would never take a chance with Renny.”

“I know that.” She toys with a dry pink petal that dropped from the vase of rhododendron blooms in the center of the table.

“Don’t make yourself nuts with this.” Brett reaches out and pats her thin shoulder. “Everything is fine. Renny is fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“There’s always something to worry about when you have a child.”

“Yes, but not…not like that. Not what you’re thinking.”

Elsa just looks at him. She can be so damned stubborn…

So can I.

“Look, there’s no reason to call the police just because a window was open.”

“How did it get open?”

“Maybe Renny sleepwalked and did it herself.”

Elsa tilts her head. Clearly, she hadn’t thought of that.

Brett hadn’t, either, until it popped out, but who knows? Maybe it’s true. And if it’s not, there are countless other explanations for the open window. Explanations that don’t involve a monster creeping around their little girl’s bedroom—or his wife going crazy. The simplest answer is usually the right one.

Brett presses on. “Think about it. The adoption isn’t even finalized. You don’t want to risk it, do you? How do you think Roxanne is going to react?”

Something else she hadn’t thought of, obviously. Sharp-eyed Roxanne Shields, Renny’s latest social worker, makes Elsa nervous.

“She’s just not what I expected,” Elsa said the first time they met the young woman, with her multiple piercings—including her nose and tongue—and black-everything, from her clothes and dyed hair to her eyeliner and the ankh tattoo on her forearm.

Brett was also taken aback by her appearance, though he didn’t admit it to his wife.

As always, Elsa has enough to worry about.

For that matter, so does he. They’ve been laying off employees at work again, and rumor has it another round is coming. If he loses his job, his family loses their sole source of income, aside from the fostering stipend—which would certainly make the agency think twice about allowing the adoption to go through.

Yeah. So would a police report.

“Look, if we bring the cops in, it’s going to go on the records,” he reminds Elsa. “Roxanne will have to become involved.”

“I know.”

Brett glimpses a spark of uncertainty in Elsa’s beautiful dark eyes. They’ve both heard the horror stories about would-be adoptees being removed from their prospective parents over the slightest incident.

Just last month, Todd and Zoe Walden, a couple who had gone through the training program with the Cavalons, lost their foster daughter after their biological son was suspended from school for fighting. Never mind that he was defending himself from a bully. Apparently it doesn’t take much to trigger the beleaguered foster agency staff to decide that it’s not in the child’s best interest to remain in the home.

“I’m scared, Brett. I just don’t know whether I’m more scared of the agency taking Renny away, or of something happening to her like it did to Jeremy.”

“Lightning doesn’t strike the same spot twice.”

“Is that a scientific fact, or just a meaningless old saying?”

He shrugs. “Elsa, we can’t take a chance and call the police about this. Absolutely not. That would pretty much guarantee that we’d lose her.”

“But if we explain—”

“They’re still going to err on the side of caution, and you know it.”

“You’re right. We can’t call.”

He nods, relieved.

And yet, what if…?

No, he tells himself firmly. Just like you told Elsa—and Renny, too—there’s nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.



Ah, there’s the rental car: conveniently parked on a quiet waterside street several blocks from the Cavalon home—a perfect spot, near the marina. Fishermen, rising in the early hours to pursue the day’s catch, often leave their vehicles here.