No One But You (Silver Springs #2)(109)

There was a long pause before Petra said, “This is sounding pretty ominous, Sadie.”

“It’s a worst-case scenario, that’s all,” she said, trying to play it off. “Since most of our things are gone—” also thanks to Sly, she was fairly certain “—I’d like Jayden to at least have my words, my love. That’s all I’ve got to give him.”

“If you’re writing a letter like that, I think it’s time to call the police. I mean...someone else on the force, besides Sly.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that,” she said, even though she’d already tried—to no avail. “It’ll all work out. Just wanted you to know about the letter.” She didn’t tell Petra about the second letter. She figured Petra would find it when she collected the one for Jayden—and then Chief Thomas would understand how badly he’d misjudged both Sly and Dawson.

“I’ll keep it in mind. I hope it never comes down to that, though.”

“So do I.” She heard Dawson come in.

“Sadie?” he called.

“I’ve got to go,” she told Petra.

Her former neighbor seemed reluctant to end the conversation. “My parents have a guesthouse. Maybe you should come stay here in Ojai with them for a month or two. Sly wouldn’t know where to find you and...and maybe some time will be all that’s necessary to get things to settle down.”

“That’s a nice offer, but I’m the one who got Dawson into this. I can’t abandon him with the problem.”

“What about Jayden? Your leaving town would be better for him, don’t you agree?”

She shoved a hand through her hair. “I do. Definitely. But...maybe I’m just tired and blowing this out of proportion. I hope that’s the case.”

“Either way, I guess we can talk about it tomorrow,” Petra said.

“Right. Thanks.” Sadie hung up as Dawson came into the kitchen.

“It’s done,” he said, looking exhausted. “We have a nice trap.”

“Will Sly be able to see the pit?”

“Not unless he suspects it’s there, not unless he’s specifically looking for it. And on a darker night he wouldn’t be able to see it at all, so if he comes tomorrow or—”

“He’ll come tonight,” she said.

He studied her, obviously surprised by the confidence in her voice. “How do you know?”

“He won’t be able to stop himself.” She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his chest. “He’s too angry. And he’s never been capable of delaying gratification—not when it comes to satisfying his anger.”

“I’ll stay up,” Dawson said. “You try to get some sleep.”

Sadie refused to go to bed without him. He was just as tired. Besides, she didn’t want to be caught at a disadvantage if Sly did show up.

“Let’s watch some TV,” she suggested. She put the letters out, but after two or three hours spent lying on the couch with Dawson, during which nothing happened, his breathing steadied out and her own eyelids grew too heavy to lift.

*

Getting the hatchet had taken much longer than Sly had anticipated. It wasn’t as if he could go out and buy one. He’d had to steal Pete’s from Pete’s garage, which meant he’d also have to return it before morning. He knew how the coming investigation would go, had to be prepared for it. That was why he’d gone to his mother’s house almost as soon as he left the station. He’d told her he was in trouble, had broken down in tears saying he needed help with his drinking or he was going to lose his job—and she’d been so concerned she’d bought every word and blamed Sadie just as he had.

“That girl isn’t who we thought she was,” she’d said, her lips pursed in disapproval. “She’s not worth it, Sly. You need to let her go.”

“But she’s not safe,” he’d replied, playing the good guy. His mother wanted to see him as the knight in shining armor he portrayed, so it wasn’t a hard sell. “She’s living with a murderer.”

His mother had wrung her hands at that. “We’ve got to get Jayden away from her somehow. He’s not safe out there.”

He’d agreed that he had to sue for custody of his son, even though he knew he’d never have to pay his attorney another dime. Then he’d “reluctantly” acquiesced when she’d insisted he stay the night rather than go home and “face that empty house.”

“That’s probably for the best,” he’d told her. “I’ll only try to drown my sorrows if I have the chance, and I can’t turn to the bottle anymore.”

After she went to bed, he’d gone into his room and stuffed the pillows under the blankets so it’d look as though he was sleeping if she came to check on him.

Once he was satisfied that she was down for the night, and all the neighbors would be, too, he’d dressed in the jeans and black hoodie he’d worn when he started the fire, taken his late father’s 8mm pistol from the closet and pushed her car out of the garage so he wouldn’t have to start the engine. It was important that his cruiser remain conspicuously parked in front of her house, so the neighbors could report that it had never moved and, with the garage door down, no one would know he’d simply used her vehicle.