The Atonement (The Arrangement, #3)(13)

She’d left quite a mess, and I’d been the dutiful husband, cleaning it up without complaint. But now…now she thought she had the right to call me out of the blue and expect an answer?

Maybe that’s what made me the angriest…

The audacity of it all. I’d driven around all this time searching for her, and now that I’d finally tracked them down, now she wanted to call me? I didn’t think so.

I tossed my suitcase on the floor and began stuffing it with clothing just as my phone buzzed again. This time, when I pulled it from my pocket and checked the screen, it was the office number that was displayed.

Fuck.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mr. Greenburg, it’s Melodie.” My assistant’s voice was birdlike and too high pitched, even more so over the phone, but she was incredibly unattractive—with features that didn’t fit her face and a boyish haircut that meant I could do my job around her without ever getting distracted.

“Hi, Melodie. Everything okay?”

“Well, um, Miss Miller wanted me to call and see if you’d had a chance to check your email since yesterday. They’re waiting on your approval before they can move forward on the Haverman project. I told her you were off this week, but—”

“No, it’s fine. I haven’t had a chance to look yet, but I’ll do that right now, okay? Tell Gina—er, tell Miss Miller—that I’ll have it signed off by the end of the day.”

“Okay, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Thanks, Melodie.”

I ended the call and pulled up the email on my phone, trying to read the blueprint on the too-small screen. I pinched and zoomed, moving it around to double-check the measurements. It wasn’t the kind of care I promised to all our clients, but I was sort of in the middle of something and I trusted Gina and Beckman. It was more of a formality than anything to get my approval.

I responded to the email quickly.

Looks great. If you need anything else, call me. I’m not checking emails this week. Thanks.

With that, I pressed send and returned to packing.

Leave it to work to get in the way of a crisis. The world doesn’t ever stop needing things from you, does it?

For now, at least, it would have to wait. I was going back to my mother-in-law’s. I’d wait all night or longer if that’s what it took. I would catch Ainsley—I’d be the one to do it, on my terms, not hers—and I’d bring her home. If it was the last thing I did.





CHAPTER ELEVEN





AINSLEY





I pulled into the driveway and brought the car to a stop with a racing heart and sweaty palms. There was a truck I didn’t recognize parked in front of the house, though it didn’t belong to us. Who else could be there, though? A lump formed in my throat as I stepped out of the car and moved up the walk, already preparing myself for the worst.

Bloody images filled my mind, tormenting me. Had he hurt them? What would I find walking into that house? I squared my jaw.

He wouldn’t hurt them.

My husband was a lot of things, but I didn’t believe he was the type of monster who’d hurt our children. He loved them. No matter how unhinged he was, no matter how much he wanted to hurt me, I couldn’t believe he would take it out on them.

So, if anything, I hoped he’d just take them.

It would be the one thing in the world he could do to hurt me beyond repair.

Take away my children, Peter, hurt me that way, but please don’t hurt them.

I forced the thought away as I twisted the handle and stepped inside. I checked behind the door, then around the room before shutting it firmly and moving forward.

I inhaled deeply, trying to detect a hint of blood or his cologne, but there was nothing. No signs he’d been there at all.

Maybe the car belonged to a neighbor.

Maybe one of my mother’s friends, though I couldn’t imagine her having friends of any kind. Halfway through the living room, I heard a sound that sent a bolt of lightning through my veins.

Maisy’s laughter.

Whom was she laughing at? I knew one person who could make her laugh above all else. I darted toward the sound, rounding the corner into the living room, and froze.

Mom’s smile disappeared when she saw me. “Oh, hello, honey. Have you met Matt?”

Matt, apparently, was the man standing in the middle of my mother’s kitchen talking to my daughter across the counter. He appeared to be several years younger than me—early twenties, I’d guess—with thick brown, wavy hair, kind eyes, and a barely there five o’clock shadow. He smiled at me, his eyes lingering on mine for longer than necessary, and an embarrassing warmth spread through my stomach. Then he looked back at Maisy, who was practically giddy, watching him the way I’d seen her watch the boys in her favorite bands.

“Um, no…” I moved forward, touching my daughter’s arm. What in the child bride is this? “What’s going on?” Where was Peter?

“Sorry.” Matt held out his hand, making too-intense eye contact with me again. Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I’m your new neighbor. I just moved in across the street and came by to introduce myself.”

I extended my hand stiffly. Our skin had barely touched when the flutters spread through my extremities. What the hell was happening to me? I pulled my arm back abruptly, with too much force, and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear to mask the movement. “Not my neighbor. I don’t live here. We don’t live here.” I gestured toward Maisy.