Sleepwalker (Nightwatcher #2)(97)

The invisible wall seems to crumble, and Randi reaches across the table to clasp a warm hand over Allison’s cold, trembling one. “It’s going to be okay.”

“What if I’m wrong? What if . . .”

Don’t say it, she warns herself, but her defenses are down, and the words spill out before she can stop them.

“What if Mack did it in his sleep? He’s done other things . . .”

“What?”

Suddenly, Randi has gone absolutely still, staring at her, almost as if . . .

“It was just . . . talking to himself, and eating,” Allison says quickly, her thoughts racing as she tries to remember whether she ever mentioned any of it to Randi. “It doesn’t mean—”

“No,” Randi says quickly, “it doesn’t mean anything. I’m just so worried about you, Allie. And the kids, too.”

Her grasp is so welcome—so reassuring—that it takes a moment for the words to register with Allison.

“But not Mack?”

“I don’t know what to think about Mack.” Randi shakes her head. “You just said—”

“Forget it. Forget what I said.”

“My cousin Mindy—”

“Please don’t bring that up right now!” Allison wrenches her hand from Randi’s grasp. “Please, just . . . don’t.”

She doesn’t want to hear again about Mindy’s encounter, years ago, with Ted Bundy.

She doesn’t want to be reminded that one of the most ruthless serial killers in history was able to present himself as a charming, intelligent guy.

She pushes her chair back. “I need to . . . I’m sorry, can you . . . can I . . . can I leave the kids here just a little while longer?”

She’d just sworn not to leave J.J. again, but he’s asleep, and . . .

I have to go. I have to get to Mack.

“Of course you can leave the kids here, but where are you going?”

“I just . . .” She takes a deep breath. “Mack needs me.”

“Allie—”

“Don’t, Randi. Please. He’s my husband. He’s in trouble and I’ve got to go help him.”

“Just wait until Ben comes down. He said he knows a good defense attorney who—”

“Ben said Mack needs a lawyer?”

“Not exactly that, he just thought—”

“He doesn’t,” Allison tells her.

Not yet, anyway.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, please just watch the kids for me.” Allison tells her, already heading for the front hall where she left her handbag—with her car keys in it—when she got back here from the wake . . .

Was it only last night?

Unbelievable, how things can change so quickly. One minute, you have everything you ever wanted, and the next . . .

No.

I still have everything I ever wanted. I still have my husband and three beautiful children, and nothing—nothing—is going to change that.





Chapter Fifteen

“Fancy-schmancy, huh, Rock?” Murph comments, pulling the car to a stop at the foot of the long, winding driveway leading to the Webers’ three-story brick mansion.

“What did you expect?”

“Nothing less. You think these people feel safe back in there?”

Rocky regards the looming closed iron gates. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether the danger is out here, or right under their own roof.”

“So you think they’re harboring a murderer.”

“I don’t know what to think, but I want to talk to MacKenna’s wife.”

Murph shrugs. “I still think we should talk to the guy himself.”

“We will, but right now, I want to get to her, so . . .” He gestures at the keypad and intercom affixed to the stone pillar on the driver’s side of the car.

Murph rolls down his window, asking Rocky, “You don’t happen to know the access code?”

“Nope.” But he’s betting that both MacKennas do, given the fact that they’ve been staying here. He figures the Webers might regret being so hospitable right about now.

Murph presses the call button on the intercom.

After a few seconds, a tentative-sounding female voice asks, “Yes?”

“Detectives Rocco Manzillo and T.J. Murphy. We’re with the NYPD.”

There’s a pause. “Do you have badges?”

In silence, both Rocky and Murph flip open their badges and hold them up to the surveillance camera mounted above the intercom.

“Open sesame,” Murph mutters under his breath, as the gates immediately begin to swing open.

They drive through, the tires crunching on the gravel lane.

“Think they ran out of money by the time they were ready to pave the driveway?” Murph quips as a pebble flies up and hits the windshield.

“Nah, asphalt’s not classy enough. Dirt roads are where it’s at with this crowd, Murph. Guess you didn’t pay enough attention in finishing school.”

“Guess I was too busy learning how to curtsy.”

Rocky grins at the mental image, relishing the casual, familiar banter with his longtime partner.