My Darling Husband(66)
And taking down Cam’s family is a nice bonus.
Jade reads my silence as an affirmative. “If you tell me what Cam did, I can help put things right. Cam’s not a bad guy. He listens to me.”
Her words are like kerosene on the fire roaring in my belly.
First, that her husband is not a bad guy, which means she’s either ignorant or willfully blind. Cam is selfish and greedy and will mow down anybody in his way. He is a bad guy. He’s a guy who looks out only for himself.
And second, that she still hasn’t figured out who I am. The same person she shook hands with all those years ago. The same one who only a few months ago, stood here in this very same room and told her my whole, sad story. My money worries, my pain, the constant nightmares a parent gets at watching their child slip away. Jade plopped into one of these leather recliners, wrapped a hand around one of mine, and squeezed out some crocodile tears and a false promise. She’s no better than Cam.
So yeah. Too little, far too late for these kinds of platitudes. Like she could turn this train around. Like fixing things could ever be as easy as calling Cam.
“The only way you can help is by making sure that money gets here on time—and he doesn’t have much left. What do you think’s taking him so long?”
“Traffic. Distance between the safes. Banking rules. A million things.”
“Or maybe he’s having trouble scrounging up the cash.”
“Cam owns five successful restaurants. He runs tens of thousands of dollars over his bank accounts every night, and that’s on top of the pile that’s already sitting there, money he uses to keep those places running. He decides where every cent of that money goes. If he wanted to get his hands on that cash, he could. There’s more than enough. The only problem is going to be time.”
Interesting. I stare at Jade for a couple of beats, waiting for her to break character, but her conviction doesn’t fade. Maybe she really doesn’t know.
I toss her a roll of duct tape I dig from my backpack on a far chair. “Enough stalling. Tie her up, and make sure you do a good job. I’ll be checking your work.”
She catches the tape, then stands frozen. “What makes you think Cam would have trouble gathering the money? Why would you think that?”
I slide my cell from my pocket and scroll through the texts. Still no word.
“If you know something,” Jade says, “you should tell me. I promise you, I can help. I want to help.”
I roll my eyes. “Do you now?”
I drop the cell back into my pocket and sink onto the last chair, the one with the ruined leather armrests. Jade’s voice, her expression—they’re a swirling mess of doubt and desperation. My questions have gotten to her, planted a seed of suspicion that if she’d been paying any sort of attention, would have come up ages ago. Clearly this is a woman who only sees what she wants to see.
And now I’ve given her just enough to get the wheels turning. She might have believed Cam was telling her everything about his business before this day started, but she doesn’t anymore. If nothing else, I’ve accomplished that much, nicked a chink in her belief in her husband.
She stands there, holding the roll of tape like a forgotten cup of coffee, and watches me, frowning. I wait for her to mention the marks in the leather under my fingers, how the tape peeled the top layer of the recliner away like a cheese grater. But then again, furniture is the least of her worries.
“Maybe we should get Cam on the phone again,” she says instead. “If you call him on my cell, I guarantee you he’ll answer. We could ask him how much longer before he gets here.”
“Good idea, but attach the girl to the chair first.”
I urge her into motion with the Beretta and, reluctantly, she tugs Beatrix down the line of recliners. She guides her into one at the far end, kneeling on the carpet by her feet.
“You’ve been such a brave girl,” she murmurs, snagging her fingers in her hair. “But let’s just do as he says this time, okay? Your father will be home soon, and then this will all be over.”
The kid leans forward and whispers something into Jade’s ear. Jade frowns, then whispers something back. I watch the side of her mouth, the way her lips carve out one lone word.
Who. Or maybe hoot. Or it could also be shoot. Shoot a gun?
“Hey.” Both heads whip in my direction, both expressions guilty as hell. I flit the Beretta between them. “What are y’all whispering about?”
“Beatrix says she’s hungry. It’s past her dinnertime.”
“And what did you say?”
“I told her to wait.”
Wait. It’s possible that’s what she said. From the side, who would look like wait. Especially with that swollen cheek.
I lean back on the buttery leather, gesturing to the roll in her hand. “Less talking. More taping. And hurry. It’s almost go time.”
J A D E
6:25 p.m.
“Sit down.”
I collapse onto the coffee table across from Beatrix, an emotional tug-of-war in my chest, vacillating between gratitude and confusion. I wasn’t expecting to stay here in the media room. I figured he’d march me across the hall and reattach me to the blue chair, but he didn’t. He’s letting me stick close to my daughter, at least for now, and I’m not about to argue.