6 p.m., if we don’t get rained out. League says we’re going to try to get the game in, so you’ll probably want to dress for wet weather.
Any word on whether or not I have access to my closet?
Sorry. No. I’ll call Morris.
Thanks.
Anything. Anytime.
Ivy stared at those two words, and the heaviness in her chest eased. She would always care about Ab and always want him to be happy. But she’d found the one she’d been looking for.
Her office phone rang and pulled her back to her work and her obligations. For the next few hours, she operated in the headspace she most enjoyed. Total focus. Minimal distraction. Items checked off her to-do list. Successful interactions. It was all-consuming in the best possible way.
At three, she checked her phone and found a message from Tessa.
Tessa apologized for failing to convince Morris to allow Ivy to reenter her home, but the good news was that the crime scene techs had agreed to allow Tessa to enter, under their supervision, and she was prepared to get whatever Ivy needed. Ivy gave her a detailed list, and Tessa promised to make it happen.
An hour later, Tessa arrived at the office, stayed long enough to drop off the bags, told her she’d see her later, and then was gone.
Tessa was friendly. Compassionate. Thoughtful. She wasn’t the type to drop a week’s worth of clothes and toiletries at the office and not even ask if she’d gotten everything.
Alarm bells blared in Ivy’s brain. She picked up her phone and called Gil.
No answer.
No need to panic. He was working. He had an important job. If she was going to be with him, she needed to get used to the idea that he wouldn’t be instantaneously accessible every time she had the impulse to speak with him.
But ... he hadn’t responded to her initial text about Ab showing up. That should have generated an acknowledgment of some type.
She tried to focus on a spreadsheet. A couple of minutes later, she gave up and grabbed her phone.
Hey. Everything good?
That didn’t sound too desperate. Did it?
She tried to refocus on the spreadsheet, but when her phone dinged three minutes later, she reached for it so fast, she bobbled the phone and dropped it on the floor.
Hope you’re having a good day. I’ll pick you up at 5. Is that okay?
Ugh. That was ... annoyingly normal.
Shake it off, Ivy.She’d turned into a paranoid skeptic. She tried to work, but the flow she’d found earlier in the day was gone.
Something was wrong. She didn’t know what was happening, but she couldn’t deny the tension in her shoulders, the queasiness in her stomach, and the heaviness in her arms—all physical manifestations of the anxiety weighing on her mind.
She dropped her head back and looked at the ceiling. “Lord, this is getting old.” She shouldn’t complain. She’d been held and cared for throughout this entire nightmare. She could see God’s hand and love in everything. She should be able to trust him with this. She wanted to. But still . . .
She pulled in a breath. “Lord, help my unbelief. And whatever Gil Dixon is up to right now, protect him. Because I don’t think I can bear to lose him again.”
HE WAS DONE.Nothing he’d tried had worked. This shouldn’t have been difficult. But he had her now. Ivy had a weakness, he knew it, and he was going to exploit it.
He should have done it this way from the beginning. Force her hand, take the money, disappear.
But he’d held out hope. Hope that he could have it all.
And it burned him up that he couldn’t.
The only bright side was there was no way anyone could trace this back to him. He’d spent years covering his tracks, and he’d kept his hands clean over the past few weeks. There was no DNA, no fingerprints, not even a footprint that could be used to place him anywhere near her. Once the money was in the account, he’d move it immediately, and then he’d be gone.
