Sleepwalker (Nightwatcher #2)(34)
It was all for nothing, though. Since that day, Jamie has occasionally caught Rocky coming home alone in the wee hours to sleep until dawn, shower, and leave again. But for the most part, the house has remained empty and still.
Things have been much more interesting at the large suburban house where Allison lives with her husband and their three little children—happily ever after, Jamie realized in disgust, watching her push her daughters on their fancy wooden swing set one breezy afternoon about a week ago.
The house was unlocked, of course, and why wouldn’t it be? The area couldn’t be safer, a far cry from Jamie’s neighborhood back in Albany, and Rocky’s in the Bronx. Allison would have no reason to imagine that anyone would ever want to sneak into her house while she was right there in her own backyard.
Once inside, Jamie was tempted to linger, but didn’t dare. Not any longer than it took to set up the tiny cameras and voice recorders, keeping an eye on the family out the window the whole time.
Allison had a baby balanced on her hip and took turns pushing the swings, first one and then the other, with the hand that wasn’t clasping the baby. The little girls were giggling, kicking their legs as they arced through the air. It was obvious, watching them, that they hadn’t a care in the world.
But just you wait, Jamie thought, giving them one last glance from the second story window of the master bathroom.
On the way back through the bedroom, there was just one last little detail to tend to. For old times’ sake, because Jamie couldn’t resist.
Before even opening a drawer, it was easy to tell at a glance which of the two bureaus belonged to Allison. One held on its polished top some loose change, a pocket knife, and an electronics charging station. The other, a carved jewelry box, framed family photos, and some kind of three-dimensional contraption consisting of Popsicle sticks bound together with too much colored yarn and tape.
A child’s clumsy artwork, Jamie guessed. Exactly the kind of thing a mother would proudly display. Not a father.
At least, not the kind of father Jamie has known . . .
And been.
It doesn’t mean Allison’s husband isn’t the most doting daddy—and husband—in the world, though. In fact, Jamie fervently hopes that’s exactly the case.
It would mean that, unlike Jerry, Allison has everything to live for—and everything to lose.
It’s only been a few days, but already, that’s proven to be true.
Even better, watching and listening to the MacKenna family quickly yielded a couple of very interesting—and useful—facts. A new phase of the plan took shape almost immediately.
Now it’s just a matter of waiting for the right opportunity to present itself.
“Mack! Wow, look at you!”
He turns to see a female stranger who’s come up beside him at the edge of the makeshift dance floor. She’s standing a little too close—but then, who isn’t?
Undeterred by the cold, rainy weather, the Webers had gone ahead with their outdoor party plan, instructing the catering team to cover the huge brick patio where the party is traditionally held. Lit by hundreds of votives and filled with tables, chairs, a band, and people, the heated tent—while almost circus-huge—has had Mack feeling claustrophobic all evening.
Now, he attempts to take a small step away from the woman beside him, but his back is already up against a tent pole.
Carefully balancing the nearly full martini glass in her hand, she tiptoes up to kiss him on the cheek with lips so red he’s sure there will be a mark.
Instinctively, his eyes search for Allison. Not that she’s the jealous type at all. Nothing like Carrie. Nothing like most women, really. He’s a lucky guy.
He finds her, in a group with a couple of her friends who are doing all the talking, probably filling her head with information about building a home greenhouse to grow her own organic produce from seed or getting on waiting lists now for college admissions coaches who will help Hudson get into Harvard a decade from now, or some such nonsense.
He wishes Allison wouldn’t buy into it, but she’s trying so hard to do everything right with their children, and who can blame her?
Gone are the days when kids walk or ride their bikes off to school and come home to eat store-bought, preservative-laced cookies and play freeze tag with neighborhood kids till dark. That’s how Mack grew up.
His mother was health conscious, yes—and look where that got her. But she didn’t obsess about the ingredients of every morsel he and Lynn put into their own mouths, or whether they’d get into an Ivy League school—Mack didn’t; didn’t attempt to, didn’t want to. He worked his way through a state college, had a blast, and turned out just fine.
Relatively speaking.
“I’d know you anywhere,” the woman at his side informs him, and he turns back to her.
His first instinct is to politely say the same thing, but he actually has no clue who this person might be. She’s a beautiful brunette, svelte in her little black dress and heels, reeks of class—but in these circles, who doesn’t fit that bill?
Maybe she’s one of Ben or Randi’s many cousins, he decides, or a neighbor he met at a party in years past.
She grins. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”
“Of course I . . . don’t.” Compelled, as always, to admit the truth, he’s rewarded by a throaty laugh.