Behind Every Lie(48)

“Hey, Kat! Get in, I’ll give you a ride home.”

I hesitated, but I was more practical than paranoid. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. I was just on my way home from work. Glad I saw you.”

I carefully set the bags of groceries in the backseat, then got in front and maneuvered Eva awkwardly onto my lap and pulled the seat belt over us. She slumped against my shoulder, her eyelids drooping.

Mike glanced at her as he pulled into traffic. “Looks like she’s all tuckered out.”

“Yes. Finally.” I forced a polite laugh, wiping my glasses on the inside of my sleeve. “Are you just now returning home from work?”

“Yep.”

“That’s a terribly long day, isn’t it?”

He shrugged and chuckled. “I’m a car parts salesman after a promotion. I work all the hours they want me to.”

Mike nosed the car into a parking space in front of the apartment complex. I lifted Eva onto my shoulder, and Mike opened the front door, following behind as we climbed the stairs.

“Thank you for the lift,” I said.

“Anytime. Bye.”

He waved and headed into his apartment, then paused.

“I’m single,” he said, turning to me. He ran a hand over thinning brown hair, his skin reddening under my gaze. “In case you were wondering. I mean … what I mean is … I’d love to take you to dinner. Sometime.”

“I have Eva,” I said stupidly.

“Okay. Well.” He raised a hand. “Night.”

I jostled Eva on my hip, flustered, trying to get my keys out of my pocket.

“Evening, Kat! Need any help?” Nancy Mitchell, our next-door neighbor, called. She was peering out her front door, her cotton-ball hair a poof around her face.

“No, thank you, Mrs. Mitchell.” I turned the key, hustling inside before she could say anything else. I deposited Eva in the darkened bedroom we shared and flexed my bloodless fingers. A muscle twinged in my lower back.

I turned the heater up, relieved when I heard the telltale clunk. The apartment was dingy and old, the carpet stained, the curtains the dull yellow of old pee. But it was the best I could afford on our limited funds. I had withdrawn some money from the account Rose set up before we left London, but it didn’t feel right spending money Rose had given her life for. I endeavored to keep it for Eva for university when she was older.

In the kitchen I got a glass of water from the tap and drank it thirstily.

That’s when I saw it. My passport was on the kitchen counter. Open.

Ice trickled down my spine.

I had not left it there.

I looked around. The curtain in front of the balcony swayed, a cold draft swirling around my ankles. The door was open just a fraction. I slid a knife from the block next to the refrigerator and held it behind me, moving slowly toward the balcony.

I felt it then, like an electrical charge in the air. Someone was behind me.

I turned as a shadow fell into my peripheral vision. But I wasn’t quick enough. Something hit me from behind, the force throwing me to my knees. The knife clattered to the floor, skittering across the carpet and disappearing under the couch.

I lashed out with my leg as I scrambled away on all fours, catching the man in the shin.

“Oomph …” He made a muffled sound but kept coming.

He grabbed my hair. I felt the roots rip from my skull, pain radi ating throughout my entire head. My eyes filled instantly with tears. I twisted away and scrambled to my feet, trying to run, to move, to just not die, but he was on me again.

I opened my mouth to scream. Too late. The weight of his body drove me backward so my head cracked into the wall. Stunned, I went limp in his arms, every wisp of breath gone from my body. He cradled my face in his massive palm almost tenderly, and smashed my head against the wall.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Stars exploded in front of my eyes. I gagged and slid to the floor next to the couch, boneless, landing on my back, arms splayed. He straddled me, his thick fingers wrapped around my throat. I was floating, I was flying, I was—

“Mummy?”

It was Eva’s voice.

The man’s grip loosened, his eyes widening in surprise. He clearly hadn’t known a child was here. In my peripheral vision, the knife glinted under the couch. As he hesitated, I reached for it, felt the smooth, cold weight of it in my hand, and pressed just the tip of it against his belly.

“I have money,” I gasped. “I can pay you to leave us alone. Or I can stab you right now.”

The man froze. His gaze darted between me and the blade, then over his shoulder at Eva, then back to me again.

Slowly he got off me and we both stood. Eva ran to me, throwing her small body against my legs. I almost fell then, the crushing pain in my head simultaneously overwhelming and unbalancing. I worried, momentarily, that I might actually be sick.

I dropped my hand onto the back of her neck to ground me, to hold me up, and looked at the man. He was very young, early twenties at a guess, with longish, oily dark hair and broad shoulders, a strawberry-shaped birthmark on his left temple.

I forced a smile onto my numb lips.

“Eva. Darling. We were just … looking for this cooking knife.” I held up the knife in my hand, knowing it was a stupid excuse, the flimsiest lie possible. “This is …” I turned to the man, making sure the knife was within striking distance at all times. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”