Her Last Goodbye (Morgan Dane #2)(91)

She laid her hand in Tim’s. His fingers closed, the connection between them familiar and comforting.

William grew louder, and Chelsea automatically started to rise.

Tim squeezed her hand. “It’s OK. Your mom will get him.”

“No. I want to feed him. The doctor said normal activities will help.” She should strive for moments—even seconds—of normal activity. Take each day one minute at a time. All she’d been able to think about when she’d been in the container was getting back to her kids. That, at least, made her feel sane.

“I’ll get him for you then.” Tim released her hand and stood. “Your dad took Bella out for ice cream. She was restless. Will you be all right for a few minutes alone? I have to warm up a bottle.”

She wasn’t really sure, but she nodded. Tim walked out of the room. Chelsea eased to her feet. Her soles were bandaged and sore from running miles in the woods barefoot.

She hobbled to the bathroom. Even though she’d seen her reflection earlier, the sight of her black-and-blue face startled her. She shivered. She still couldn’t get warm. She’d lost eight pounds in nine days but had no appetite. She gently brushed her teeth. Her bruises would fade. The swelling would go down. In a few weeks, she’d look normal.

Except for the brand.

The doctors wanted her to wait until she was fully recovered before undergoing plastic surgery to remove it. But they warned that it was deep. No matter what they did, she would have a scar. A permanent reminder of her captivity.

She could deal with that. She was alive. She’d held her baby and read to Bella. Thankfully, Chelsea’s mom had prepared the little girl by telling her that Mommy had fallen and landed on her face, just like when Bella had fallen off the slide and scraped her knee a few weeks before. So after a long, hard look, Bella had pointed to her knee and decided her mommy would get better soon too.

The sheriff had called to say they’d caught her captor and rescued the blonde woman he’d kidnapped the day before. It was really over.

Everything was going to be all right. Her mom and dad and husband were taking care of her.

So why did her hands continue to shake?

William cried louder. Chelsea was afraid to pick him up. She was still weak. But she couldn’t stand to listen to him cry. She brushed her teeth gingerly, then washed her hands.

Where was Tim?

A loud thud downstairs turned Chelsea’s blood to ice. Her knees shook as she walked toward the hall.





Chapter Forty-Two


Moonlight lit his way. He cruised past the Clarks’ house. No police car. The sheriff’s department thought they had Chelsea’s kidnapper and had pulled their deputy from his babysitting duty. Tim’s Toyota was parked in the driveway, but the Dodge rental car was gone. Chelsea’s parents must have left as well.

This was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

Perfect timing.

He parked at the curb in front of a house catty-corner from the Clark residence. The neighbors had teenagers and cars coming and going at all hours. No one would notice one more vehicle.

Last time he’d come here, the night he’d brought her home with him, he’d ridden his road bike and hidden it behind some bushes. Tonight, she’d be coming with him in his car.

Anger rose in his throat.

She’d left him to return to Tim. This time, he’d make sure Chelsea had no husband to return to. She would never choose another man over him again.

Tim had to go.

The kids too. Chelsea would never let go of her old family and embrace him while they lived. As much as it pained him to hurt two children, he had no choice. He’d be merciful. Their deaths would be quick and painless.

But not Tim’s. He had to pay, and Chelsea had to watch. She had to know that Tim’s suffering was her fault. That everything that was going to happen tonight was her doing.

After tonight she’d never fuck with him again. She’d do what she was told. She’d finally understand that he owned her.

The mark he’d left on her body was a permanent reminder.

He checked his pockets before he got out of the car: knife, duct tape, nylon rope.

He scanned the street in both directions before crossing it and jogging up the driveway. Coming and going would be the riskiest. Once he was in the house, he had confidence he’d be able to overpower Tim quickly. Once Tim was restrained, the rest would be a cakewalk.

Chelsea wasn’t in any condition to fight back. That he knew.

Once he entered the shadows on the side of the house, he breathed easier. There were enough mature trees and shrubs that the neighboring houses couldn’t see him. At the back of the house, he climbed onto the air-conditioning unit to peer through the window into the kitchen.

The house was dark. He could see through into the adjoining family room. No one was there. The TV was off.

They were probably sleeping.

He crept to the sliding glass door. Chelsea and Tim didn’t have an alarm system. He lifted the door at the handle, jiggling it until the latch opened. Most people had no idea that the latch on a standard sliding glass door was useless.

Sliding the door open, he stepped inside and listened for a few seconds. The house was quiet. He’d never been inside, but the house was small and the layout fairly obvious. A night-light in the electrical socket at knee level lit his way. He had a small flashlight in his pocket but preferred not to use it.