“I am not sitting here while that psychopath is with our girls. I won’t let you face him alone.”
I cupped her face in my hands, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Evy, listen. I’m going in to subdue him while you wait for the police. One person can move quietly. Two is a liability. Please.”
“Logan, the girls—”
“They’re heavy sleepers. I will handle this, I promise. Now, you promise me you’ll stay here until the police arrive.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but she gave a sharp, reluctant nod. “Please be careful.”
“I will. And I’m getting that son of a bitch away from our daughters.”
I kissed her forehead, then her lips—a quick, desperate press—and slipped out of the car. I moved through the shadows of the neighboring yard, circling to the back of our own. We often left the kitchen door unlocked in this quiet neighborhood, a habit that felt like either a stroke of luck or the gravest mistake of our lives tonight.
The door opened silently. Had Peter just walked in and overpowered the sitter? But how did he know we’d be out? The chilling thought that he’d been watching our house for days turned my stomach.
I crept inside, my steps slow and deliberate despite the frantic urge to sprint upstairs. The sound of footsteps from the floor above guided me. I needed a weapon. I slid open a kitchen drawer and pulled out two small, sharp knives, tucking them inside my jacket.
The living room was a war zone. Furniture was overturned, cushions slashed, drawers pulled out and emptied. He’d been searching for something.
As I neared the stairs, I heard a muffled whimper. In the dim light filtering from the street, I saw the nanny on the floor, bound and gagged, her eyes wide with terror.
“Shhh, it’s me,” I whispered, crouching beside her.
I worked quickly, first removing the gag, then untying the ropes around her wrists.
“Mr. Turner,” she sobbed, her voice a ragged whisper. “He has a gun. He rang the bell right after you left… I thought it was you. He tied me up and started tearing the house apart. He said he knows you have money and jewelry.”
“Where is he now?” I asked, finally loosening the last knot.
“Upstairs. I haven’t heard the children, so I think they’re still asleep.”
I glanced up the dark staircase, then back at her. “Can you get your feet free?” She nodded, already working on the ropes. “When you’re loose, get out through the kitchen. Go to the neighbor’s yard. My wife is in a car down the street. Stay with her until the police come.”
“Yes, sir.”
I stood and moved to the fireplace, hefting the heavy iron poker. It was a crude weapon, but better than nothing. Leaving the sitter to her escape, I began my slow ascent, the creak of each step masked by the noise the intruder was still making.
I crept down the hallway. Only two doors were open, two pools of light spilling onto the carpet: our bedroom, and the girls' room directly across from it. The noise was coming fromtheirroom.
I inched forward, my grip tightening on the poker, hoping to catch him off guard.
But I was too late.
He stepped out of their room and froze, startled to see me standing there.
“What the—?” he began, panicked. Then he moved with shocking speed, raising his arm and pointing the revolver back into my daughters’ room. “Don’t move another inch, or I’ll shoot them.”
*****
Chapter Thirty-Nine
LOGAN
I did as he said, my mind a storm of curses directed at him and my own timing. A few seconds earlier, and I could have taken him by surprise.
“Throw that fucking poker on the ground,” he snarled.
I obeyed, letting it clatter to the floor, and raised my hands in surrender.
