Sleepwalker (Nightwatcher #2)(24)

“Nothing, Mack. I didn’t say anything was wrong with a bourbon.”

To be fair to her, not only did she not say it, but she really didn’t imply it, either.

“The reason I didn’t have a drink tonight,” he goes on, not in the mood for fair, “is that I have to take the damned medicine that the damned doctor you made me see is making me take even though we all know it’s not going to help. Okay?”

He can feel his wife’s eyes on him, as if she’s gauging the pissy-ness of his mood to determine the wisdom of engaging him in further conversation.

“Okay,” Allison says after a moment. “Why don’t you just go up to bed now and take it?”

“Now? It’s early.”

“It’s past nine.”

“That’s early for me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with going to bed early, Mack. Trust me—people do it all the time.” She smiles gently at him.

He softens. Allison is a good wife. He loves her. He hates himself for acting this way.

He’s just worn out by everything . . . everyone.

People. They’re the problem. He’s been surrounded all day, from the moment he boarded the overcrowded commuter train to the city this morning, to this evening when he walked in the door and was instantly bombarded by his daughters, who were bouncing off the walls.

“They’re on a sugar high,” Allison informed him above the girls’ excited chatter. “I had lunch with Randi today and she sent me home with gigantic cookies for the girls. I didn’t want to take them, but, well you know how big-hearted Randi is . . . and how insistent. ‘No ahguments,’ ” she added in a perfect imitation of Randi’s New York accent—and favorite catchphrase. “Anyway, I didn’t realize they’d eaten almost all of them until it was too late. Sorry. They’re really wired.”

In the old days, Mack might have welcomed the household chaos, but tonight, he was too exhausted—mentally, physically, emotionally—to do much more than paste a smile on his face for his daughters’ sake.

They were so excited about school, and this weekend’s street fair, and Hudson had to sing the song she’d learned in music class, and Maddy, not to be outdone, wanted to read aloud to him . . .

Then the baby bumped his head on a sharp corner and started screaming, and the pasta Allison was cooking boiled over on the stove, and the phone rang a few times, and through it all, Mack’s patience wore increasingly thin.

Dinner was a harried affair, as were bath time, story time, bedtime . . .

Mack usually volunteers to tuck in the kids on weekends, but tonight, he made himself scarce and was grateful when Allison carted them all up the stairs.

Yeah. She’s pretty amazing.

But he’s too exhausted to tell her so, or that he’s sorry for being so grouchy, or that he loves her, or to even muster a smile. All he can do is yawn.

“Mack! Please. Go!”

He goes.





Chapter Four

Stepping out of the shower, humming softly, Cora Nowak reaches for a towel. Her thoughts are on the cold beer that’s waiting for her in the fridge, and today’s episode of her favorite soap, recorded, as always, on the DVR.

She grabs a bath towel and vigorously rubs it over her dyed-black hair before wrapping it around herself sarong style. Opening the bathroom door, she’s hit with a chilly gust.

Wow—time to shut the windows. She opened a couple of them, just a few inches, after Chuck left for work. She’s always liked to let in the fresh breeze at night after breathing stale office air all day at work, but Chuck doesn’t think it’s safe to do that anymore, with the neighborhood going downhill so quickly.

“Anyone could cut the screen and come right in,” he tells Cora. “You have to keep the windows closed and locked when you’re alone at night.”

It’s so cute, the way he worries about her.

The truth is, she’s one tough cookie. She grew up in a neighborhood as rough as this one has become—even rougher—and she knows how to take care of herself. She never goes to bed with the windows open, and anyway, what Chuck doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

Shivering, she pads down the short hall to the bedroom and reaches inside the door to flick on the light—then remembers she left the shade up before she went in for her shower.

If she turns on the light, she’ll be effectively treating anyone who passes by to a peep show. Grinning at the thought of it, she walks through the darkened room to pull down the shade.

What the . . . ?

She stops short.

The shade is down . . . and the window is closed.

But . . . that’s strange. She could have sworn she left—

Hearing a floorboard creak behind her, Cora gasps and whirls around.

In the pool of light spilling in from the hall stands a hulking stranger.

In that first frantic instant, taking in the long hair and the clothes, Cora thinks it’s a woman.

But then the figure steps closer and she realizes with shock that the hair is a wig. It sits slightly askew atop garishly made-up masculine features.

It’s the creepiest spectacle she’s ever seen, yet she forces herself to stand her ground as he advances, her thoughts racing wildly.

She’ll get herself out of this.

She will.