Scared To Death (Live to Tell #2)(85)

Wait—he’s not even here. They’re on their way to the Riviera.

Marin clutches her aching ribs, feeling as though she’s going to pass out.

Then I have to call 911.

But if she does that, she’ll have to tell them that she took medicine that wasn’t prescribed for her. The press might get hold of it, blow it up into some nightmare scandal.

Even through the haze of pain and panic, she can see the headlines—Quinn’s Wife Admits Drug Habit, or even Quinn’s Wife Attempts Suicide.

No—she’d never kill herself. Never leave her girls alone. But…

Does she have a drug habit?

Of course not. She’s only taking prescription medications to help her sleep, and to ease the pain of her headaches, and to calm her nerves.

But the pills weren’t prescribed to her. It’s illegal to take them. And dangerous.

This is crazy. You’ve been acting crazy. Maybe you are crazy.

But she can’t let this go on, can’t continue to drown herself in grief over her lost husband and son. They aren’t coming back.

But she has two daughters who need her.

Two daughters.

Caroline is impossible. But she’s my child and I love her.

Lauren was right.

I need help.

We all do.

Marin has to pull herself together.

Yes. She’ll talk to Lauren and get the name of a good family therapist.

And after she does that, she’ll go straight into Caroline’s room, call a truce, and tell her they’re going to make a fresh start—beginning today.



Pouring a bowl of organic cereal for Renny, Elsa asks, as she does every morning, “Do you want milk in it, or just on the side?”

“Just on the side today.”

Comforted by the sense of ordinariness that’s settled over the house now that Renny is up, Elsa pours milk into a plastic cup, then sets it and the dry cereal on the table. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, Mommy.”

Elsa leans over to kiss her daughter’s head, loving Renny so much her heart actually hurts.

All I want is to be her mother. Why does it have to be so complicated?

Though Elsa and Brett know who’s behind the threats now, one thing hasn’t changed: they still can’t risk losing custody of Renny—particularly with a new social worker on their case, one who doesn’t know them at all and might be tempted to go by the book. Undoubtedly, “the book” won’t allow any leeway to foster parents being stalked by a lunatic who wants to harm the child.

It isn’t fair that their future as a family is hanging in the balance; that the slightest misstep now could destroy any chances of adoption.

Elsa pats Renny on the head and leaves the room, surreptitiously wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

She finds Brett in the master bathroom, lathering shaving cream onto his jaw. She slips in and closes the door behind her.

“What?” Brett turns to look at her. “Is everything okay?”

“She’s eating her breakfast. She hasn’t even mentioned what happened yesterday or last night. Maybe she thinks it was all just a bad dream.”

“I wish it was.”

“Too bad we can’t get her out of here for a little while, Brett—send her someplace safe while we figure out what to do about this.”

“We tried that. You went to New York. Look what happened. She was there. Marin Quinn.” The name sounds strange on Brett’s tongue, and Elsa wonders whether he’s ever even said it aloud before.

For that matter, has she? She’s thought it countless times, and read it in the news over and over again…but has she ever had reason to say it?

I wish I didn’t now.

Brett turns on the water and picks up his razor. “How could she have known where you and Renny were, though?”

“I told you—this house is bugged.”

“I know you did.”

Elsa frowns. The last two words make all the difference.

He’s not saying, I know the house is bugged.

No, he’s saying, I know what you told me.

Even now, she realizes, he’s thinking she might be off her rocker—like Marin Quinn.

Maybe he’s right. Just a little while ago, she was thinking the same thing.

“Or maybe she really did follow you,” Brett says, carefully running the razor along his cheek, leaving a trail like a toboggan track on a snowy slope.

“But I kept looking.”

“Do you think it’s possible that you missed her?”

Considering that, she shrugs. “I mean…maybe. I wasn’t looking for a woman. I know that’s crazy, but I just assumed we were dealing with a man. I guess she could have been right there on the train, or on the street, and I didn’t even notice her. But I was so sure…” She trails off, shaking her head.

“What?”

“Marin Quinn…wouldn’t I have recognized her if she were following me?”

“When you saw that picture in the paper you said yourself that she doesn’t look the same.”

“No…but…I mean, it’s not like she had plastic surgery and has a whole new face. You can tell it’s her. She just looks older, and tired. Not like a different person. I think I would have noticed her.”