My Darling Husband(63)

I flinch hard enough to fall off my chair. The movement and the terror are messing with my equilibrium, and the world turns upside down. I open my eyes, just a slit, enough to catch my balance. The gun is still there, pressed against my forehead, but the man has his head turned, screaming over his shoulder into the living room and beyond.

“You get your sneaky little butt out here right now, missy, otherwise I’m putting a bullet in your mother’s skull. You have ten seconds to decide, not a second more, so you better get here fast.”

He pauses to listen, but there’s nothing but dead air and the sound of light panting—mine.

“Ten...nine...eight.”

I think of Baxter across the street, how I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. I think of Beatrix having to live with the knowledge she got her mother killed. I think of Cam, and the older version of him I’ll never get to see.

Please, God, please let Beatrix be miles and miles away by now.

The pressure on my forehead releases, leaving behind a dull, empty throbbing. I open my eyes and he’s walking away, that angry gash already drying up on his back. He stops at the doorway to the living room and shouts into the house.

“Seven...six...five... Four more and then Mommy’s dead.”

Deep breaths. In. Out. Deep breaths.

“Four...three...”

Tears tap my lap, evaporating into the dry-fit fabric on my leggings. I stare at the man’s back, a tall shadow in the doorway to the living room, and sweat drips down my spine. I consider calling out to Beatrix—Don’t take the bait. Stay hidden. I love you—but the words jam in my throat. I swallow a lump, thick and soggy like a wet towel.

“Two...say goodbye to your mom forever...”

I squeeze my eyes, and my thoughts wander, disconnected and drifting along all the unfinished items on my to-do list. The kids’ school projects, in a box downstairs. Thousands of their pictures, forever lost on my phone. The career I’ll never get to pick back up, all the design jobs I’ll never get to do. That stupid argument with my sister, the dumb decorations gathering dust downstairs. I remember our last screaming match, unchangeable history, every ugly word.

“Last chance, kiddo.”

Oh God, Cam. I’m sorry.

I couldn’t save them.

The man hauls a breath for the final count, then—

“WAIT.”

It comes from somewhere deep in the house, a high and panicked shout muffled by wood and stone and drywall. A floorboard creaks above my head.

“Wait. Don’t shoot. I’m coming.”

I want to scream and wail and weep—with relief, with dread. Beatrix didn’t crawl out an upstairs window. She didn’t run to a neighbor’s house. There’s no sniper outside the windows. Nobody’s coming to save us but Cam.

The man glances over his shoulder at me, his teeth flashing. “Lucky you. Looks like you get to live a little while longer.”

Forty minutes, according to the microwave clock. Forty minutes for Cam to get here with the money.

And then what? What happens then?

The stairs creak with a body’s weight, Beatrix emerging from wherever she’s been, giving herself up to save me. The weight of her sacrifice steals my breath, and I make a silent vow that it won’t be in vain. My daughter will live to see tomorrow even if I don’t.

All I need to do is keep her alive for another forty minutes.



S E B A S T I A N


6:20 p.m.


I see that ridiculous hair first, tight ringlets peeking out from the wall by the stairs, and the gun goes hot in my hand. My finger snakes around the trigger, and I’m squeezing down before I can stop myself. The hammer cocks back, a heartbeat away from firing.

“Get your butt down here.” My words are a snarl through clenched teeth, and hell yeah, it’s meant to scare the bejesus out of her. If this girl screwed everything up, I swear I’m going to strangle her.

“Leave her alone,” Jade says from her spot at the bar. Her ass is still parked on the stool, but the rest of her looks ready to spring. Both hands are planted on the marble, and she leans into it hard, like she’s about to pole-vault over it. Like she wants to jump into the line of fire.

I aim the Beretta at her head. “Don’t move. The second your feet touch the floor, I won’t think twice. I will take you down, and I’m a good shot so don’t even try.”

Her cheek is a mess, swollen and stained purple. Fractured, I’m guessing, and a twinge of regret hits me between the ribs before the pain in my back wipes it clean. I’ve never hit a woman before, and swear to God, I didn’t want to hit Jade. I definitely didn’t mean to hit her that hard, but you try facing a screwdriver coming for your jugular and see how you respond. I did what I had to do.

And what I have to do now is deal with Beatrix.

She slinks across the living room floor in her bare feet—and the kid was smart to lose her sneakers. Easier to control how your feet land when you’re not wearing any, and even smarter to have made sure they were hidden so as not to drop us any clues. Maybe that’s the problem here, that this kid is too damn smart.

“Want to tell me how you got out of the duct tape?”

Beatrix shakes her head, and the movement squeezes off a tear—and judging by her red eyes and wet cheeks it’s not the first. “Not really.”