Sleepwalker (Nightwatcher #2)(89)

“I haven’t used it in ages,” she tells him.

Greta’s been here for so long, it’s no longer necessary. They trust her.

But do they trust Mack?

Randi feels sick inside. “Do you think, when he comes back, we should set it up?”

“I think . . .” Ben takes a deep breath, lets it out, shakes his head. “I think we need to rethink having him spend another night in this house.”

“Mack is your best friend.”

“And you’re my wife, and two women are dead, and the police think there’s a chance he might have something to do with it. And so do I, maybe, and admit it, Randi, so do you.”

She swallows hard. “I don’t know . . . when I think of Mack, I just can’t imagine how . . .”

“I can’t, either, but we can’t take any chances.”

“So what are we supposed to do? Kick them out?”

“Not them.”

“Just him?” She shakes her head. “Allison is never going to let that happen. She and the kids will go with him if we ask him to leave, and then what? What if—”

No way. This is crazy. She just can’t fathom that Mack could hurt his wife or children . . .

Or, for that matter, anyone else.

She says that to Ben, and is troubled by his reply.

“He’s been sleepwalking, Randi, remember? Maybe he’s not in his right mind when that happens, and . . . I don’t know. Right now, all I can do is protect you and the kids—and, if she’ll let me, Allison and their kids.”

“From Mack,” she says flatly.

“From Mack.” Ben turns away, picks up the shaving cream again, and his razor.

Feeling dazed, Randi shakes her head and leaves the room.

From the hall, she can hear the faint voices of Hudson and Madison, eating cereal down in the kitchen with Greta.

I love those sweet little girls—and J.J., too—like my own. I’d never let anything happen to them, ever. If I really thought . . .

Okay . . . does she really think it?

Ben does. He was with Mack. He knows more than she does, has seen more than she did. And yet . . .

How many times has he said that he loves Mack like a brother? They were best man at each other’s weddings—well, Mack’s second wedding, as he and Carrie had eloped; and they’re godfathers to each other’s sons . . .

Which means . . . what?

That Mack can’t possibly have a dark side neither of us has ever seen?

Yes.

No.

But all those years of friendship sure as hell mean something.

As if to punctuate that thought, the girls’ giggles float down the stairs. They’re up there in the playroom without a care in the world—daddy’s girls, Allison sometimes calls them.

“In their eyes, Mack can do no wrong,” she said not long ago, with a wry laugh.

Oh, Allison . . .

What in the world is going on?

“Mrs. MacKenna?”

Sitting on the edge of her bed, she looks up to see the handsome police officer she first met a few days ago.

“Captain Cleary. You remember—we talked down at the precinct on Wednesday?”

She stands, nods.

“This is Detective Patterson.” He gestures at the stout man who steps into the bedroom on his heels, also showing a badge. With him comes the unmistakable scent of stale cigarette smoke.

Allison shakes both their hands.

“Would you mind having a seat again, please? We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

She sits, sneaking a glance at the clock on the nightstand. Her girls will be awake soon, wondering where she and Mack are, and J.J.—for all she knows, he’s been up all night.

Does he have a rash from sleeping in that wet diaper? Did Randi find the special prescription ointment in the diaper bag?

The female police officer who drove Allison back here and stayed with her until the detectives showed up wouldn’t even let her call to check on the kids. That infuriated her. But she knew better than to defy authority and make a big deal about it then—and now.

These guys don’t care that she’s a worried mother. Things will move along faster if she just tells them whatever they want to know. She hopes Mack does the same thing when his turn comes—unless he’s already had his turn and is on his way back to the Webers’. She hopes so. Randi and Greta can probably use all the help they can get with J.J.

Thinking of all the potential hazards her baby might encounter in that huge house that’s no longer child-proofed, Allison shudders inwardly.

“Are you cold, Mrs. MacKenna?”

“What? Oh—no. I’m just worried about my kids,” she hears herself admitting to Captain Cleary, despite her resolve not to go there.

“I’m sure they’re in good hands.”

How the hell would you know?

She decides she doesn’t like him. It’s not just because he’s be so dismissive of her concern for her children, but . . .

Okay, maybe it is just that.

“Would you like a glass of water before we start?”

“No, thank you. What I would like is to call and check on my children. If I know they’re okay, I’ll be able to focus on this.”

“Go ahead and call,” Captain Cleary tells her with a note of resignation in his voice.