“Fine, I’ll give you the money right now. I’ll wire it to you. The whole three million. But then you’ll go. Never talk to Cleo again. Never come near me.”
“You think you’re really in a position to negotiate?”
I wasn’t, of course.
“You want the money?” I asked. “Then you need me.”
Reed walked the perimeter of my office, inspecting my books and our family photographs like he was gathering ammunition, as I stood behind my desk and typed as quickly as I could on my work laptop, not easy with my hands shaking. It was 6:15 p.m. Cleo could be there any minute. Reed could be planning on killing me, after I gave him the money. But I needed to at least try to get him out of there before Cleo arrived.
When my account finally opened on the screen, I could only stare. The balance read $53,297. I clicked back to the home page, hoping that I’d missed something. I considered firing up the desktop to see if it would give me a different result.
“There a problem?” Reed asked.
“There is … Money is missing from my account,” I said. “I don’t know what’s going on. But you can see for yourself.” I gestured to the computer.
He stayed where he was. “Find that fucking money right now. Or this is not going to end well.”
I thought then of the crumpled piece of paper on the floor. Aidan. He went in and took the money, leaving me standing here as usual, holding the bag.
“I can’t find it.” I pointed at the screen again. “It’s gone. My ex-husband must have emptied the account. We’re in the middle of a divorce.”
“Find it,” he repeated, turning the knife in his hand as he stepped closer. There was something like delight in his eyes. Of course,thiswas why he was really here. For revenge, not money. But he wanted an excuse, a struggle. He wanted to hurt me and to be able to tell himself I asked for it.
Run.I have to run.
But he was blocking the path to the door. “I’ll talk to Aidan. I’ll get the money back and give it to you.”
“Sure. Maybe we can talk to Cleo about it when she gets here.” He changed his grip and raised the knife.
Cleo.All I could think about was all the little things I’d done to make her feel safe over the years. How pointless they were now. I thought of her small—two or three—new to a big-girl bed. How I’d snuggle in next to her when I got home from work. If she was still awake, I would read to her—Goodnight Moonalways. If she was asleep, I’d sing quietly, “Momma’s gonna buy you a mockingbird,” hoping she could hear me in her sleep. And always when I was done, she would reach over and squeeze my hand and say, “Stay, Mommy. Stay until it’s light.”
In one quick motion, I slammed my laptop shut, flipped it on its side, and cracked it down against his elbow.
“Fuck!” he shouted, bending over in pain.
I sprinted past him and for the door. Ran as fast I could down the hall, blood pumping in my ears.Don’t look back. Almost there. Run out and scream “Fire!”Before Reed’s pounding feet could catch up to me.
But at the kitchen island, I was jerked back. An arm around my neck. Windmilled my arms through space. Trying to stop myself. But there was nothing.
Only air.
Through my fingers. Emptiness in my closed fists. The soundof shattering glass. Then my head. Cracking down hard. The soft part of my temple, against stone. My brain vibrating. A giant bell inside my skull. There was something warm and wet on my face, burning in my eyes. But no pain.
I’m okay. I’m going to be—
Cleo
SEVENTY-ONE HOURS GONE
The book is shaking in my hands as I stare down at the inscription—the looping handwriting, the slant of the words.God gives the gift to few.It’s like an echo from very far away. A ghost. And then I remember: the inscribed copy ofLeaves of Grassthat was given to my mom all those years ago. I look up from the book, down the hallway. The hall bathroom door is ajar, but the light is off. I can hear water running, though, from farther away—the little bathroom … way back in my mom’s office. A bathroom you’d never—
I jump when my phone rings … Vivienne.
“Hello.” My voice sounds like it’s underwater.
“I haven’t had any luck with the blackmail yet. That number you gave me is a burner and to trace those you need a contact in law enforcement willing to cross some shady lines.” She’s talking fast. “But I did end up closing the loop on that Reed Harding guy. I know you said it wasn’t relevant anymore, but it was bothering me. People don’t usually up and vanish. Guess where he ended up?”
“Dead.” I’m still staring down toward my mom’s office and the little bathroom:God gives the gift to few …
