Page 33 of Lethal Weakness

When I know I’m alone, I enter Edmund’s office and descend the side of the house with ease using window sills and a rose-covered metal lattice.

I should head towards the pastures behind the house, but I can’t get myself to leave without checking on Linden and Avery one more time. If I know they leave without any issues, I can focus more clearly.

Motion lights pepper the outer perimeter, but I’ve memorized their location and can avoid them without a problem. The front of the house is more of an issue because of the valet attendants, security, and all of the guest vehicles.

I get a visual on her and Avery exiting the mansion, and I watch motionless in the shadows as they get to her car. It takes her a minute to get Avery buckled in the back seat, and just before she closes the back door, Turner exits the mansion.

“Get my car,” he demands from one of the valets.

The young valet goes running toward the dark parking area, and unfortunately for him, I follow.

He reaches a black Lincoln, but before he opens the door, I lock him in a chokehold from behind, cutting off his air supply just long enough for him to lose consciousness.

I lower him gently to the ground and am long gone before the other valets bother to come looking for him. Long enough for Turner to lose his chance to harass Linden anymore tonight.

* * *

I jump over my back fence from the pasture that I’ve traversed back and forth many nights now, and wait to pick up on any activity. Linden’s house is still dark though, and silent.

They should have beat me back. They should be home by now.

Turmoil stews so deeply within me I have to rip my mask off my face so I can breathe deeper. Why am I letting anyone have this effect on me?

Why do I care?

I can’t be who I need to be when I care.

When ten agonizing minutes go by, and they still aren’t home, I’m pacing back and forth inside my garage, fighting my instinct that wants to know exactly where they are and what they’re doing.

Linden is usually putting Avery to bed by now. She has a routine that she hardly ever strays from.

Fuck it, I’m not chancing it. I am not going to sit idly by if something is wrong.

I dial a number that I don’t bother looking up.

Linden picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” I can’t keep the frustration from my voice, and I curse silently to myself.

“Who is this?” She asks meekly.

I take a deep breath, trying to unlock my jaw. “Your neighbor.”

“Jack?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, thank God,” she cries softly.

“What’s wrong?” I’m already getting in the truck.

“My car broke– again, we– st–”

“Are you okay? Could you pull off the road?”

“…died– Can’t mo–”

I don’t wait for better reception; I know the exact route she drives to and from the Scott mansion. I’ve had that mapped since nearly the day I found out who she was.