Woman on the Edge(45)

Nicole gripped the edge of the table to hide her shaking hands.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “On August seventh, I’ll be back.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE MORGAN




Quinn is in trouble.

I stuff the adoption application back into the manila envelope, grab my bag and phone, and run out the door, promising myself I’ll call Jessica as soon as I can, as soon as I see Quinn.

I race down West Evergreen Avenue, empty except for the cars parked on the side of the road. I’m such a wreck of nerves I’m afraid I’ll hit something.

I throw the car into park and tear up the driveway and Ben’s front steps with my phone in my hand, ignoring the pain in my foot and shin. He must have heard me coming, because a light goes on outside and he whips open the door.

Ben is in a gray T-shirt and plaid pajama pants, and his eyes are wide with alarm.

“Is Quinn okay?” I ask in a frantic, high-pitched voice.

“Physically she’s fine, but I need to show you something.”

I’m shaking so much I have to lean against the brick wall next to his front door to balance myself.

He darts his eyes behind me. “Did anyone follow you here?”

“I don’t think so.”

He nods and leads me inside the house, locking and bolting the door behind me. “Quinn’s asleep upstairs in my room. Let’s sit on the sofa, so I can explain what’s happened. I’m a mess right now.”

As we enter the living room, I immediately notice how bland everything is. The paint, the hardwood floors, even the coffee table and TV console are all in shades of brown-beige. It’s very neat and tidy, but also impersonal and drab. Lifeless, even. The only spot of color in the room is a pink bassinet under the large bay window.

I sit down, and so does he. Then he grabs his phone from the coffee table and holds it out to me. “Someone sent this to me tonight through Guerrilla Mail.” With a jerking hand, he pushes his hair off his forehead. “It’s some kind of untraceable email service.”

It’s a photo, taken in Ben’s living room, of a baby facedown in the bassinet under the window. I gasp and jump up, crossing the room in a few strides. Inside the bassinet is a doll.

I turn to him. “Holy shit. This is horrifying. What … ? I don’t understand.”

He looks toward the kitchen then back at me. The fright in his eyes looks real. “I think someone broke into my house while Quinn and I were asleep upstairs. I heard my phone ding, and there was that creepy photo. I came downstairs, saw the doll, and called you right away. Then before you got here, I saw that the back door in the kitchen was open. Jesus.”

“Get Quinn. Please. I need to see her.”

He runs up the stairs. I take the doll and drop it with a thunk on the coffee table. Then I sit, cold with fear, on the sofa.

Ben returns with a sleeping Quinn in his arms and sits back down. I can’t help myself. I reach out and stroke her impossibly soft hair. A jittery sound comes out of me.

“Could I have a glass of water? It’s been a really overwhelming night.”

He sighs, gets up with Quinn, and walks through the black French doors that separate the living room and attached dining room to the back of the house, where I assume the kitchen is.

I take the opportunity to pull the manila envelope out of my purse. I remove the adoption application and look again at the threat scrawled on it.

Stay away from Quinn. You can’t keep her safe.



I have to show it to Ben, so he understands someone is toying with both of us.

He comes back with a tall glass of water. He’s even put two ice cubes in it for me. Then he takes a seat beside me, crosses a leg over his knee, and cradles a sleeping Quinn in his big arms.

I hand him the papers. “This was slid under my door tonight, right before you called me.”

He takes it and tilts his head, his hair falling into his eyes. I can’t see his expression.

I don’t wait for him to stop reading. “I want to find out exactly who came to my place and knows where I live. Because I think someone is setting us up.” I can see his chest rise and fall under his T-shirt. For a second, I want to put my hand to his heart and tell him I’m a good person. I’m genuine. “Ben, my apartment was broken into, and that adoption application was the only thing taken.”

Ben looks down at the paper, not understanding.

“After Ryan died, I thought I might want to adopt a child on my own. But then my dad died, and he was the only person who could really vouch for me. And I didn’t think I was worthy of a child anymore, so I never actually applied.”

Saying that out loud, to someone else, should make me feel pathetic. But it’s as though a burden I didn’t know I was carrying has been taken from my shoulders. “Look at the last page.”

He does, then trains those very blue eyes on me. His face pales. “You can’t keep her safe. That’s very similar to the threats Donna used to write in those letters she sent Nicole for years. ‘You were supposed to keep her safe.’ ” He drops the application on the couch, lays Quinn across his lap, and puts his head in his hands. “This is insane.”

He rubs his forehead hard. “I just don’t understand how you’re involved in any of this, Morgan.”