Sleepwalker (Nightwatcher #2)(105)

How can we go back now?

Even if they find the real killer and Mack’s name is cleared. . .

She just can’t imagine being able to pick up where they left off.

“We will,” Mack promised in a low voice as they drove south along the shore, tracing the route they’d taken so often in happier times. “You’ll see. Everything will go back to the way it was.”

Is she even sure that’s what she wants? For everything to be the same?

Are you happy, Mack? she’d asked him that night—Halloween night—almost exactly a week ago.

Now she can’t remember what had prompted her to ask, or what he’d said in return.

As the movement of the car lulled the kids to sleep in the backseat, Mack sat beside her in the front, recounting how he made his way across town to Broadway and boarded the subway, taking a southbound Number One train down to Penn Station.

Rush hour was in full swing and the area was wall-to-wall people, of course. Even if anyone had been dogging Mack—and he told Allison he was positive he’d shaken the tail—it would have been nearly impossible for anyone to stick with him at that point.

He walked to the PATH station, teeming with Jersey commuters, and hopped the first available westbound train. He didn’t care where it was going, as long as it carried him out of the city.

It was then that he called to tell Allison where to pick him up. She, of course, was on the road already in the SUV, with the kids drowsy in the backseat.

She’d left the house shortly after Mack, and predictably, no one had followed her. Obviously, the police were only interested in keeping Mack under surveillance, no one else.

She hadn’t planned to say good-bye to Ben and Randi before she left. In fact, she’d barely seen them since she and Mack returned to the house on Sunday afternoon. The kids were in the room when they crossed paths with Ben and Randi, and of course, for their sake, no one brought up the situation at hand.

After some strained small talk, Mack and Allison settled into the guest quarters to watch a Disney movie with the girls. From an upstairs window, she glimpsed Ben and Randi leaving the house with Greta, Lexi, and Josh, who were all carrying overnight bags.

She thought she saw Mack glance out as well, but if he spotted them, he didn’t ask where they were going, and Allison didn’t volunteer the information.

Ben and Randi returned early in the evening with a couple of pizzas for their houseguests, but went straight up to bed themselves, claiming to have already eaten. Again, the presence of the girls was the buffer that kept anyone from bringing up what was really going on.

Allison was in the hall when the Webers retreated into the master bedroom suite, and she distinctly heard the lock turn on their bedroom door.

She fought back a twinge of resentment.

They don’t know Mack as well as I do. They’re afraid. How can I blame them for fear?

But I’m not afraid of Mack . . . I’m afraid for him . . .

That was the last thing she said to Randi yesterday morning before she left for Salt Breeze Pointe.

With J.J. balanced on her hip, Allison was more or less tiptoeing down the stairs with one last bag before waking the girls, when she heard footsteps in the hall below. There was Randi, wearing a robe and also carrying a bag.

“I packed up some things I thought you could use,” she said, “wherever you’re going. Some cereal for the kids—Cap’n Crunch”—she flashed a brief smile—“and . . . there’s something for you, too.”

Allison thanked her with a lump in her throat, and they talked for a few hurried minutes before one last embrace.

“Remember what I said, Allison. Promise me . . .”

Promise me . . .

How well Randi knows she’d never break a promise.

How well she knows Allison would never take a chance with her children’s lives.

She meant well, Allison knew, but she just didn’t understand.

I’m not afraid of Mack.

And yet . . .

Watching a lone seagull arcing against the gunmetal sky, Allison hugs herself against the cold and wonders what’s going to happen now. They can’t stay at the beach house indefinitely. Not like this.

It’s dim and depressing inside, with plywood covering all the windows, and they didn’t dare take it off for fear that someone would notice. The rooms bear the faint odor of mildew and insecticide, and the kitchen, despite the box of baking soda sitting on a shelf in the unplugged and empty refrigerator, smells faintly of soured dairy and old citrus fruit.

The girls had been so excited yesterday when she told them where they were headed—which she didn’t do until they were well on their way. She wanted it to seem like a fun adventure, and her daughters were wholeheartedly on board . . . until they stepped over the threshold.

Hudson sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose. “It’s yucky in here. Where’s Aunt Lynn?”

“She couldn’t come this time.” Mack didn’t miss a beat. “That means you get to choose any bed you want.”

“I don’t want any. When can we ride the rides and get cotton candy?”

Allison and Mack looked at each other, and he broke the news. “The boardwalk is closed at this time of year.”

“What?” the girls exclaimed in unison.

That did it.

Folding her arms, Hudson announced, “I want to go back to Aunt Randi’s.”