Killing Ingrid? Not part of the plan. Not Kara’s plan, at least.
Karalay on the floor, crying quietly. The door opened. Gavin’s footsteps crossed the room. She kept her eyes squeezed shut as he walked toward her. She could smell the blood on him. Ingrid’s blood.
Ingrid dead. How many times had she fantasized about that while she slept on her hard, metal bed in the detention center and thought about Eddie, began to admit to herself that he’d done nothing wrong, that Ingrid murdered him in cold blood? But she never dreamed about this, about being there, smelling her friend’s blood, being responsible for the spilling of it. No, in her fantasies, someone simply gave her the news: Ingrid is dead.
Did that make her a coward? Maybe.
Gavin crouched beside her. His hand touched her shoulder and she shrank back, eyes still shut.
“I did it for you, Kerry,” he whispered. “For us. You know that.”
No. She knew exactly why he’d done it and been a fool for not seeing it coming.
She opened her eyes. Blood flecked his face, but his eyes glittered. As they’d glittered the whole time he’d been beating her. Afterwards, he’d kneel beside her and touch her battered face and whisper that he’d hated doing it, remind her that it had been her idea, that she had to be beaten as badly as Ingridso her friend wouldn’t suspect anything when they escaped. But hehadn’tregretted it. She’d seen that in his eyes, and now she realized he hadn’t needed to beat her at all, because he’d never intended for Ingrid to see her again.
“And if I want to go?” Kara whispered, bracing for the answer, but knowing she had to ask, to be sure. “If I want to leave now?”
His lips curved in a smile, almost tender. “You can’t, Kerry. You just helped me murder your best friend. If you leave, I’ll blame you. They’ll put you back in jail—real jail this time—and you’ll never see your daughter again.” He looked her in the eyes. “Can you imagine what her life would be like without her mommy?”
Yes. Yes, she could.
“And if I say you did it?” Kara asked. “That you killed Ingrid?”
He shrugged. “Then that’s the chance I take. But remember who’s the convicted killer, Kerry. You won’t leave and you won’t tell. I saved you, again, and this is the price you pay.”
Kara nodded, her gaze down. Gavin unlocked the cuff on her leg. As he did, she reached into her pocket for something nestled deep in the folds. She pulled it out, hidden in her palm.
“It’s going to be okay,” Gavin said, reaching to hug her.
She accepted his embrace. “Yes, it is,” she said, and stabbed the penknife into his throat.
Karahuddled outside the cabin with a blanket wrapped tight around her. Red and blue lights cut through the night, bouncing off the trees. More lights bobbed across the ground as the crime scene techs made their way into the house. She glanced at theambulance. The lights were off now, bodies being loaded into the back.
“It’s all right,” whispered the older female officer beside her. “You’re safe now.”
Kara managed a twist of a smile. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
She’d taken the cell phone from Gavin’s pocket and called the police. When they arrived, she’d given her story, how Ingrid had been the victim of a stalker. A stalker who’d claimed to be the brother of a boy Ingrid killed six years ago. Except it wasn’t the brother. It was Kara’s own husband. Herabusivehusband—her medical records would back that up. He’d gone crazy when Ingrid re-entered Kara’s life. Accused them of having an affair. This had been his revenge. He’d played the stalker, kidnapped and beaten his wife and her supposed lover, and planned to murder both and blame it on Ingrid’s “stalker.” Kara had stabbed him with his own penknife and escaped, but not before Ingrid paid the ultimate price.
“Kerry?” a voice said.
She looked up to see her neighbor walking toward them, Melody in her arms, the sleepy toddler blinking as she looked about. Kara smiled—a real smile now—and reached out, and the woman settled Melody into her arms. The officer and neighbor walked away to leave mother and daughter together. When they were gone, Kara leaned over Melody’s ear.
“There’s always a price, baby,” she said. “But never pay more than you owe.”
Invitation to the Game
The invitation is waiting when Vivienne gets home from work. It’s on the kitchen table, and she stands over it, clutching a handful of mail fetched from the community box. She looks at the envelopes in her hand and then at the one on the table. It’s even in her spot and she tells herself that Marco must have stopped home for lunch and brought it in from the door, but she doesn’t text to ask him. She knows that’s not the answer. She just wishes it was. The truth brings with it the uncomfortable reminder that their employer has the keys to their company-owned condo. As for how the invitation is at her place setting?—
The front door slaps open, and Vivienne jumps. Marco calls, “Here comes trouble!” and the kids tumble in, ignoring his shout of, “Guys! Shoes off!”
Vivienne slips the envelope into her laptop bag and scoops up one child under each arm. “So, who’s going to tell me what happened at preschool?”
“After they take off their shoes!” Marco shouts to be heard over the dual cries of, “Me, me, me!” Vivienne laughs and carries them into the living room, where she tugs off their tiny sneakers.
It’sjust past eight. Vivienne sits cross-legged on the bed with the unopened envelope in front of her. One white vellum envelope. Her name printed on the front. It looks so simple. So innocuous.
Marco walks in and collapses beside her. “I don’t know how you do that every night. Grace wants one book; Jamie wants another and, apparently, reading a chapter from both just won’t do, and?—”
