The Wife Who Knew Too Much(88)

I couldn’t let that happen.

Kovacs and Juliet walked behind us as we crossed the second-floor gallery and descended the staircase, Connor limping painfully and holding the banister for support. When he slowed down, one or the other of them would nudge him forward with the barrel of a gun. Kovacs warned us in a low, gravelly voice that if we made noise, he’d shoot here and now.

Kovacs had planned ahead. Outside, the Suburban sat in the porte cochere with the engine idling, spewing exhaust into the damp air. It was a cold night, and I shivered without my coat. Connor was barefoot, in shirtsleeves, his breath coming out in clouds, his face pale but determined in the moonlight. Given the way things had played out, I knew for certain now that Connor wasn’t in on this with them. It came as an enormous relief. Not just because there would be two of us against two of them if a moment came where we could plausibly escape, but because the man I loved had not been lying to me. As we approached the car, Connor caught my eye. We looked at each other, and for a split second, everything hung in the air between us—the love, the pain, the past, the future. He was gearing up to try to get us out of this. I could feel it. Kovacs and Juliet were right behind us, both holding loaded guns, but Connor was going to try something. Something reckless, to save us, and the baby. It made me love him desperately. Not just love him. Fear for him. I tried to warn him off with a subtle shake of my head, but he nodded back confidently, like a wordless pep talk. He was telling me to get ready.

“Where are we going?” Connor said.

Kovacs shoved Connor toward the car. “Shut up and get in.”

Connor planted his feet and swung around, butting Kovacs in the chest with his head, knocking the gun from his hand.

“Tabby. Run!”

Juliet aimed at me just as Connor stepped between us. The gun blasted. I took off, screaming at the top of my lungs, but I wasn’t fast enough. Someone was on my heels, their shoes pounding and crunching against the drive. They rammed me from behind and I went sprawling. My hands tied behind me, I had no way to break the fall. I closed my eyes as the ground came rushing up. Gravel seared and scratched at me. All the breath left my body. I gasped for air, tasting blood and dirt, grunting with pain. Kovacs was on top of me. I twisted, struggling under his weight, turning my head frantically to see what had happened to my husband.

“Connor! Connor!”

“Shut up.”

Kovacs tried to put his hand over my mouth. I bit down hard, and he yelped.

“Get, off me, I’m pregnant, you asshole—”

His fist came sailing toward my face.



* * *



I woke up with a headache so intense that I couldn’t see straight. My mouth and cheeks burned where they’d been scraped up by gravel. I was in the backseat of the Suburban, feeling cold and shaky. The car was moving at highway speed, and there was a smell. Metallic, meaty. Blood.

I turned my head fast, and the motion made me nauseous. I had to close my eyes.

I opened them and stifled a scream.

Connor was beside me, belted into the seat, crumpled forward, lifeless. It was dark outside, but in the light from passing cars, I could see that his skin was deathly white, and his shirt dark with blood. Blood coated the backseat. I nudged him with my foot. He didn’t stir. I watched his chest. Did I see it rise and fall? Please, God, let him be alive. Was he breathing, or was that the motion of the car? Even if he was breathing, with blood loss like this, how long until he wasn’t?

“Connor?” I whispered. “Connor, talk to me.”

His eyelids flickered. He’d heard me. He was alive.

“Baby, please. We’re gonna make it, but you have to hold on. I love you so much. I’m so sorry I doubted you. Can you forgive me? Please forgive me.”

Kovacs was driving. Juliet sat beside him in the passenger seat. At least now I knew who the enemy was. The two of them had framed me for Nina’s murder. Kovacs knew that I was the same woman he’d seen at Windswept that night. The reason he hadn’t given me up was that he’d had another use in mind for me.

If I wanted to keep my husband alive, I’d have to convince him to find a doctor.

I cleared my throat.

“Steve? Connor’s lost a lot of blood,” I said.

Neither of them turned around.

“He needs medical attention.”

Nothing.

“Do something. If you don’t help him, he’ll die.”

Kovacs turned.

“Be quiet,” he said. “We understand the situation, and we’ll deal with it when we can.”

“Deal with it now. Please, I’m begging you. He doesn’t have much time.”

“What are you, a doctor now? Shut up, or else I’ll dump him on the side of the road.”

After that, I was afraid to talk for fear of antagonizing him. I stared out the window, tears rolling silently down my cheeks. We were passing Springfield, heading north on 91. I’d keep my eyes open, take any chance to escape and get help.

But there was no chance. Time passed. We didn’t stop. When we passed a sign for a hospital, I could no longer remain silent.

“Hey, there’s a sign for a hospital. You have to stop, or he’ll die. Juliet, I know you care! You wanted to kill me, not him. Look at him. He’s bleeding out.”

Juliet turned around, looked at Connor, and blanched.