Unmissing(63)

Nothing else matters.

No one else matters.

I’m half-asleep when an upstairs door thumps shut. I’m certain I’m dreaming at first, that I must have jolted myself awake, until my husband’s muffled voice fills the quiet air. He’s been known to sleepwalk, and he’s had more conversations in his sleep over the years than I can count. There’s no way he’d make this much noise in the middle of the night on purpose. The man’s an idiot, but he’s not that stupid.

Settling back into the recliner, I stroke Everett’s tender, newborn head and get comfortable again.

Until I hear a second voice.

A female voice.





CHAPTER FORTY


LYDIA

“What the—” The whites of Luca’s eyes illuminate the dark.

I switch on the lamp beside Luca’s bed the second I’m done securing him to the metal headboard. A pile of extra zip ties sits on the nightstand, along with a roll of duct tape and a butcher knife I took from Delphine’s kitchen on my way out. I was expecting Merritt to be in here with him, but when I got inside she was in a spare bedroom upstairs, feeding the baby. I managed to sneak by unseen, and then I crept into their room . . . waited . . . swallowing quiet breaths and taking slow, quiet steps so I wouldn’t wake the bastard.

He was always a heavy sleeper—but on the off chance he woke up in the middle of this, I’d have been screwed. Two against one is never ideal, especially when one of the two has been brainwashed into rooting for the wrong team.

Luca yanks on the ties, the ones I’ve tightened so close to his flesh he’ll probably have marks for days. I hop off the bed and move for the door, twisting the old-fashioned lock. Who knows if it’ll hold by the time Merritt figures out something’s going on up here, but it’ll at least buy time.

I don’t want to hurt that poor woman, and I certainly don’t want to traumatize her, but she needs to hear me out. She needs to know who her husband is, what he’s capable of, and what he’s going to do to her and her children. If restraint is the only way to get her to listen, so be it.

“Lydia.” He yell-whispers my name, spittle flying from his mouth. “The hell are you thinking?”

He doesn’t plead for me to cut him loose. He doesn’t try to reason with me with some psychobabble bullshit.

“What am I thinking?” I grab the knife, climb on their bed, and straddle him at the hips. “I’m thinking I’m the one who should do the talking here . . .”

I didn’t secure his ankles—he was starting to stir, and his wrists were the priority.

He bucks beneath me, his legs kicking, trapped under a mountain of blankets and a heavy quilt.

If only there were time to appreciate the poetic justice of this moment—restraining the very hands that once restrained me.

“Don’t.” I press the tip of the knife against his neck, pointing it into the pulsating spot several inches below his jaw.

“Lydia, listen to me.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but his eyes hold no fear. Not sure what I expected, though. I’ve known from the start that this man’s incapable of feeling or showing genuine emotion. He may not be pissing his pants, but he knows he’s at my mercy, and that’s satisfying just the same. “If you kill me, that means no more cash. And that identity you wanted, I have it. The papers are in my suitcase. If you—”

“I don’t want someone else’s identity. I want mine.” I press the blade flush against his hot skin. A superhuman rush of adrenaline floods my veins. I’ve never felt so powerful, so in control. This must have been what he felt all those times . . .

“Then why’d you come out here?” His dark brows gather below his worry-lined forehead. “Why didn’t you just go to the police?”

Ha. If he only knew . . .

I don’t answer him because a little wondering won’t kill him—though I wish it could.

“I know all about your life insurance scheme.” I nod toward the dresser, where I’ve placed the envelope containing the declaration pages. My original plan was to secure both Colettos with the ties, silence them with duct tape so I’d have their ears, and once I had Merritt calmed down, I was going to present my proof. Even if she didn’t want to hear it, she wouldn’t be able to argue with hard evidence. “You left in a hurry the other day, forgot to lock your office. It’s amazing what a person can find if they look hard enough.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I ignore his feeble attempt at gaslighting. It doesn’t work on me anymore. Not only is he an inhuman monster, he’s a liar and a con. Nothing that leaves his mouth is to be trusted.

“You shouldn’t have done this.” He emphasizes every syllable, his eyes widening in a silent urge to read between the lines. Another pathetic attempt to manipulate me. “I know you think you’re doing the right thing here, but trust me—you don’t know the half of what you think you know.”

I fight an incredulous chuckle. “Oh, yeah? Is that so? Please. Enlighten me.”

Hours ago, I was sitting on the edge of my bed in Delphine’s spare room, going through my plans for the evening for the millionth time. After she went to bed, I waited until I heard her faint snores, and then I sneaked out to the kitchen, plucked her phone off the charger, and ordered a ride to the farmhouse for $112—which I’ll pay back with interest. For an extra twenty bucks, I got the driver to stop at a local twenty-four-hour Wal-Mart so I could grab a few things. And two hours later, we were pulling into the long gravel drive leading up to the chocolate-box farmhouse that matched the real estate listing photos.