A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(94)

She considered that. “I prefer to have the kids here. But it’s nice to have the weekend off occasionally. Or to wake up in the morning without having to frantically get everyone ready for school. Or to be judge and jury when they’re arguing.”

“Do they argue a lot?”

She shrugged. “Didn’t you fight with your siblings when you were little?”

“Oh yeah. But there were eight of us, so it was more like gang turf wars. Usually all the little ones against the big ones. Battles for the TV remote control could get bloody.” He smiled dreamily, as if recalling a beautiful day. “My little sister was a biter. Now she’s a lawyer.”

“Do you think it’s related?”

“I can’t see any other option. So you’re enjoying the quiet?”

“Sort of. When the kids are gone, I miss them all the time. I want to cuddle with Ben or listen to Samantha playing her violin. Listen to how their day was. Help them with their homework . . . though frankly I don’t do a lot of that anymore.”

“They don’t need your help?”

“Not really. They’re both pretty independent—and really smart.”

“They’d have to be, with their parents,” Carver said.

Abby felt a tingle of delight at those words. She’d heard a slight variation on that sentence multiple times from teachers, or friends. It was usually along the lines of “They’re so smart; they really take after their dad.” Because everyone knew the kids’ dad was a math professor, one of the leading academics in his field. He’d even published books that almost no one could understand. And people sometimes said, “Samantha is so pretty, Abby; she has your looks.”

But no one had ever said the kids were smart because they took after their parents. Plural.

Oh god, she was blushing.

“Did you ever want any kids?” she asked, her voice slightly high pitched. “I mean, with your family, I’d think it was a must.”

“In theory,” Carver answered. “But in practice, I always felt like it was the wrong time. Money was short, so maybe we should wait. I was really busy at work, so maybe we should wait. Our apartment was too small; maybe we should wait. And finally my wife found a guy who didn’t want to wait. So we got divorced.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you were married.”

“Four years.” Carver emptied his beer. “Now Monika’s with this finance lawyer. And they have a cute boy.”

“You stayed in touch?”

“In the modern sense. I stalk her on Facebook. Look through all her perfect life photos and occasionally click the ‘Like’ button without commenting—to let her know that I’m happy for her but don’t really care that much one way or the other.”

Abby laughed. “That’s sorta creepy.”

“Don’t you look at your ex’s photos?”

“Sure, every one of them. But I don’t click ‘Like’ on any of them—to let him know I don’t give a shit.”

“Who knew the Facebook ‘Like’ button could have so many subtle meanings.”

Abby laughed again. “You said you wanted to discuss the case.”

“Right.” Carver’s face became serious. “I talked to McCormick, the journalist who interviewed Eric Layton. Apparently Gabrielle had told him that she called the Tillman farm three years ago. She was searching for her dad.”

Abby blinked. “She said they weren’t in touch.”

“They weren’t. I called her and followed up. She told me a guy she didn’t know answered the phone and went to get Otis as soon as he realized who he was talking to. Otis told her David didn’t want to talk to them. He tried to convince her to come over and talk to her dad in person. But she didn’t. She said she wasn’t even convinced her dad was still there. Otis seemed creepy to her.”

“Good instincts.”

“So that was probably how they found out where Eden and her kids lived.”

“Did she say who she talked to? Before Otis?”

“She didn’t know him. I figured maybe it was Karl.”

“That’s definitely possible. And it’s worse than you think.” She filled him in about the arranged wedding between Karl and Gabrielle. “I bet he got very excited when he found out she was alive—and not that far away.”

“And that’s when he began stalking her Instagram account.”

Abby leaned back in her chair, thinking this through.

Carver got up. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the hall to the left.”

Carver left the kitchen. Abby picked up her takeout box and fished around for any beef pieces she’d missed.

“Shit!” A sudden scream shot through the house.

Abby dropped the box and bolted down the hall. Carver stood in the doorway to Ben’s room, body tense.

“Are you okay?” Abby asked, heart pounding.

“There’s a snake in there! It lunged at me when I opened the door.”

Abby glanced through the doorway. The snake was in its vivarium, staring at both of them, probably trying to decide who was tastier.

“It lunged at you? It’s inside its vivarium,” Abby said, bemused. Carver’s hand was at his side—where his gun would’ve been if he hadn’t taken it off when they sat to eat.