Wherever She Goes(66)

He hesitates. Then he nods. “All right. I do kind of wish you’d kept the gun, though. I’m not a fan of firearms, but this is one time when I can see the appeal.”

“I do actually have one, in a storage locker in the city. It’s even registered. But I don’t have a concealed carry permit.”

“Right now, I don’t care. If you’re already heading to Chicago, I’d like you to swing by and grab it.” He pauses. “I’ll drive into the city with you. I forgot a few files at the office.”





Chapter Thirty-Two





Paul and I drive to Chicago in our own cars. I told Paul that he could follow me to the locker, if he wanted, and he does. There’s no reason for him to come along. No practical reason, that is. The invitation is symbolic—this locker is what remains of my old life, the repository of my secrets. If he’d like to see that, he’s welcome to. I’m not hiding anything. Not anymore.

When I open my locker, I see him looking about.

“Yes, it’s kinda sleazy,” I say. “This is what you get when you pay cash.”

“Actually, I was thinking it’s very small. This is everything you have?”

I nod and turn on the light. He walks to a rickety dresser.

“This is . . . a family piece, I’m guessing?”

I smile. “No. It’s just junk. I bought the furniture to hide what’s inside it, in case of a break-in.”

I take out the gun and place it on the dresser. He leans in to examine the firearm without touching it, and I struggle not to laugh at that.

“You can poke around if you like,” I say. “There’s money. That’s my inheritance, not my ill-gotten gains.” I pause. “Though, considering I was living off the stolen money while saving this, I’m splitting hairs.”

“It’s not actual stolen cash, which is the main thing.” He takes out a bundle. “If it’s an inheritance, then you’ve already paid taxes on it. There’s no reason to hide it.”

“I was saving it for a condo. Then we got married, and I couldn’t bring it out without raising questions, so . . .”

“So you’ve been living in a crappy apartment rather than use this?”

“I didn’t want—” I clear my throat. “I was concerned about the custody implications.”

He seems confused for a moment. Then he says, “You thought if you suddenly had money, I could unearth your past and use that to get full custody of Charlie.”

I nod.

He sets the money down. “No matter how angry I got, I never considered stealing her from you, Aubrey. You are free to bring out this money and put a down payment on a house or a condo or whatever you want. If you need help making the mortgage payments, I’ll pitch in. I’ve said before that you gave up your earning potential to care for our child. You are owed money for that.”

“I don’t want—”

“Yes, I know. You feel guilty, and you want to be fair. This is fair.”

“I have enough for a good down payment, and once I get a new job, I’ll be able to cover the mortgage.”

“New job?” He pauses. “Ah, one that uses your tech skills. Good. I was going to suggest that.” He catches my expression and says, “Which isn’t what you meant at all, is it?”

“I’ll be fine. Now, I’ve got my gun so—”

“What’s happened with your job?” He pauses. “This better not have anything to do with you rushing off after Charlie on Monday.”

I don’t need to answer. Again, he sees it in my face.

“They can’t terminate you for that,” he says. “Legally—”

“I don’t want to work someplace that doesn’t want me. Legal termination or not. If they fire me, I’ll wave around the threat of a lawsuit, but only to negotiate a decent reference. I appreciate the outrage, but I’ve got this. Now, if you’re ready to go . . .”

He looks around. “Money and a gun. Is that everything you have here?”

I shrug. “There are a few mementos.”

“May I see them? If you have time?”

“I do.”



I’ve spoken to Ellie by phone, and I’ve seen her on Facebook, so it’s hard to remember that we haven’t actually met. She is what I saw online—an older, more full-figured version of her sister. I meet her in her hotel lobby, and we head out.

Chicago is the third-largest city in the U.S., and I’d be lying if I said I got to know it well in my few years there, before I moved to Oxford with Paul. I got to know my apartment neighborhood and my work neighborhood. That’s normal for me, after a life spent moving around army bases. I focus on my narrow sphere. It’s only in Oxford that I feel I “know” the city.

So I set my GPS for Beth Kenner’s address, without knowing where it’ll lead. As it turns out, it takes me to a neighborhood that was probably a former suburb. Winding streets. Massive trees. Post–World War II houses that look mass-produced from two basic molds.

We park around the corner from Beth’s place. I know there’s no danger here, but I’m being careful. I can’t help it. The address leads us to a cute bungalow with a steep roof and massive front picture window. There’s a car in the drive, which I hope means she’s home.