Every Last Secret(56)

He sagged a little in place. “You’re so wonderful. And you’re right. I’m working too much. It’s just, with this big house, we’re a little stressed over the costs. Atherton is expensive.” His face tightened. “Though, don’t tell Neena I said that. She wouldn’t—”

“No worries. Stays between us.” I gave his good forearm an affectionate pat. “Now, go get that cast off. I’m sure your arm is dying for a good scratch.”

“Thanks.” He lifted the cast in parting.

“And be careful,” I added, almost as an afterthought. “No more falls off high buildings.”

“No problem,” he said. “I’m drinking my coffee inside now.”

I waved and watched as he made his way to the sign-in desk. He was a good liar, but I knew the truth.

Neena had never told him about the missing screws. She couldn’t have.





CHAPTER 37

NEENA

When I got home from work, my husband was standing on the balcony, his cast arm pale and scrawny. He was staring down at the rudimentary balcony rail that William had constructed for us. The new ironwork would take months to arrive, but I had to say that I liked the temporary solution. I had really enjoyed the view of him putting it together, his shirt slightly sticking to his build as he had lifted boards and hammered things into place.

I opened the french door and joined him on the balcony. “What are you doing?”

Matt didn’t turn, his attention still on the railing post. “Why didn’t you tell me that the railing was missing screws?”

“What?”

“When I fell, someone had removed almost all the screws from this post. It’s why the railing gave way so easily.”

“Someone removed all the screws? What are you talking about? That railing has always been a little wobbly.”

“Yeah, a little.” He turned to me, and I flinched at the suspicious look on his face. “But the day I fell, it gave way almost immediately.”

“So it loosened up. Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Cat told you that screws were missing from the post. Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“She didn’t tell me that,” I said, straightening up with indignation.

“So, you didn’t tell her to throw away the broken railings?”

I hesitated. “I don’t remember what I told her, but I know she didn’t mention missing screws—are you listening to yourself? Missing screws, someone poisoning Cat?” I gave a hard laugh. “You’re paranoid.”

“I’m not sure I am.” He moved past me and into the house, his shoulder knocking against me in the process.

A stab of fear hit me, one I hadn’t felt in years. “Matt.” I hurried after him. “Matt. Where are you going?”

“To the office. I need to check on some things.” He jogged down the winding staircase, his boots loud on the stairs.

“Wait.” I caught him just before the back door and wrapped my arms around him. “Matt.” I pulled him around to face me and pressed my body against his, my hands stealing around his neck, my mouth sweet and eager on his lips. He was slow to respond, but he softened, his hands finding my waist, his mouth responding to my kiss. I considered initiating sex but discarded the idea, my energy not up for the laborious task. Instead, I curled into his chest. “I love you,” I whispered.

He returned the sentiment gruffly, his hand sweeping over the back of my head, and I felt, in the sigh of his embrace, the buying of a little more time. But how much? I squeezed him tightly and recalculated things in my mind.





CHAPTER 38

HIM

It was amazing how useless security guard gates were if you were on foot, dressed in black, at night. All it had taken was one distraction, a car pulling up to the pair of officers, and he had scaled the low part of the wall undetected, shielded by a large willow tree. A half mile later, past ridiculous homes and million-dollar landscaping packages, he was moving down the driveway and settling into a dark corner of the yard.

There, he waited. Hours passed. The chorus of crickets and frogs came. Lights in the house extinguished, room by room. Once everything was dark, he waited another hour and a half, then stood, pulling on gloves.

He unlocked the back door and moved in quietly, blue surgical booties already pulled over his shoes, his steps silent on the wood floors. He headed for the staircase and kept to the far side, avoiding weak spots that might make noise. Above him, like the lull of a pied piper, a man snored.

His instructions had been clear, and he followed them to the letter. The master bedroom was at the end of the hall, the door ajar. The pale light of a television flickered through the crack. His heartbeat increased, and he removed the small handgun from the clip on his belt and held the weapon in front of him like a sword. Pushing gently on the door, he eased it open and paused, taking in the scene.

There were two humps in the bed, one large and snoring, one silent and small. On the television, an infomercial about a treadmill played. He stepped sideways, moving around the giant king bed until the man’s face came into view. Chubby. Mouth open. Eyes closed. Features slack. He looked as if he were already dead, the illusion marred by the guttural wheezes that eased out of him. Moving closer, he carefully worked the barrel of the pistol into the man’s mouth.