Sleepwalker (Nightwatcher #2)(103)

Silence on the other end of the line.

“Randi, listen to me, please. We’ll be out of there first thing tomorrow, all of us. I promise.”

“Where are you going?”

She hesitates. “I can’t tell you.” Mack was explicit about the need to keep their destination a secret from everyone, including the girls.

“Is it Nebraska?”

“Nebraska?” she echoes, incredulous. “Why would we go there?”

“Last night, you said you wanted to move back.”

“What? I never said that.”

“When we were talking, before bed. You don’t remember?”

“Not really.” She’s as uneasy with the idea of having a conversation she was too drunk to recall as she is with the notion that somewhere deep down inside, she might actually have entertained the idea of returning to the Midwest.

You hated it there. All those years in a small town . . .

And yet, the thought of living a simple life—no rush hour or commuter trains to separate her and the kids from Mack five days a week; no pressure to be beautiful and brilliant and wealthy; no sky-high taxes and cost of living . . .

“Allison,” Randi is saying, “wherever you’re going, I don’t think you and the kids should be—”

“It’s not me and the kids. It’s the five of us. Mack is innocent. If he weren’t, the cops wouldn’t have let him go.” The floodgate in her throat gives way at last, and a sob escapes her.

“Oh, Allie . . .”

“Randi, I’m begging you as a friend, you and Ben, to be there for us. Mack would be devastated if he thought you didn’t . . . I can’t tell him . . . We need you.”

For a few moments, she can’t hear a thing but her own sobs; it’s all she can do to see the road, her eyes awash in bitter, helpless tears.

Stop it! Just stop!

Getting a grip on her emotions at last, she wipes her eyes on her sleeves, glad Mack is following her and not the other way around. She wouldn’t want him glancing into the rearview mirror to glimpse her falling apart.

She has to stay strong, for his sake, for the kids—and for her own. She’s been through worse than this in her life—not much worse, but still . . .

I can handle it. I can handle anything. I’ve never allowed myself to shrivel in the face of trouble, and now isn’t the time to start.

Banishing the quaver from her voice, she says, “Randi?”

“Just let me talk to Ben for a second. He’s right here. Hang on, okay?”

“Okay, but . . . we’re only a few minutes away.”

There’s a clatter: Randi setting down the phone. She strains to hear the voices in the background, but they’re muffled.

Please . . .

Please . . .

Allison prays as she drives on, keeping an eye on Mack in the rearview mirror.

She can see only his silhouette behind the wheel, not his expression, but even if she could see his face . . .

Chances are, it would be a mask of composure.

Back at the police station and again at home, she’d caught fleeting evidence here and there of what he might be feeling: apprehension, worry, frustration . . .

But for the most part, he was stoic, as always.

That’s Mack. That’s my husband, the man I vowed to love and honor, for better for worse, in good times and in bad . . .

She didn’t take those promises lightly then, and she won’t now.

She slows to stop for a light, one that has always seemed notoriously slow to turn. Today, however, it seems to go green almost immediately, and she drives on reluctantly, a good ten miles an hour below the speed limit.

Does Mack realize she’s trying to stall?

Come on, Randi . . . get back on the line . . .

Come on . . .

At last, she hears her friend’s voice.

“Allison?”

“Yes?” She holds her breath.

“Ben and I aren’t comfortable having Mack here with . . . not with our kids in the house.”

Her heart sinks and she swallows back a wail of protest.

She can’t blame them. Really, she can’t. If the tables were turned . . .

I’d do the same thing. I’d never take a chance with my children’s lives, not for a friend, not for anything.

“We’re going to send Lexi and Josh to a hotel overnight with Greta. Just for this one night. Ben and I will stay for . . . for you, and the kids, if you need us.”

Weak with relief and gratitude, Allison says hoarsely, “Thank you, Randi. Thank you so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I promise it’s going to be okay, and I promise we’ll be gone in the morning . . .”

She hears the rumble of Ben’s voice in the background.

“You don’t have to do that, Allison. That’s not what we want. We’re . . . worried. About you and the kids.”

And there it is. Nothing Allison says—nothing Mack does—will convince Randi and Ben of his innocence.

“Don’t be,” she says in a clipped tone. “The kids and I are going to be just fine. Mack is going to keep us safe.”

She tells Randi that they’ll be arriving momentarily and hangs up.

Again, she glances into the rearview mirror.

Again, she wishes she could catch a reassuring glance of her husband’s face.