Page 10 of The Devil’s Lair

Almost there. I’m almost there. Another hour, and I should be on my way home to Isla.

Voices rise outside. A few seconds later, the rear doors open, and I, along with three other detainees, file out. We’re led into the courthouse and down into the holding cells.

“How long will it be before my hearing?” I ask the female officer accompanying us.

“Shouldn’t be long.” She smiles kindly, and I take that crumb of compassion and hold onto it. “The magistrate is running late today or it’d be over already.”

At one-thirty in the afternoon, twelve hours after the police put me in that grim cell, they come for me. It’s hours now that Felicity has been alone with Isla, and I’m freaking out. The magistrate is a dour-looking guy with short salt-and-pepper hair, half-moon glasses perched on the edge of his nose, and bushy eyebrows. He peers down his impossibly straight nose at me as though I’m the worst person in the world.

I fiddle with the hem on my dress—the same dress I wore to the club last night—aware that it is completely inappropriate for this kind of environment. There wasn’t anyone to call to bring me new clothes. Felicity would never help me out like that, which is one of many, many reasons I didn’t call her.

The procedure passes in a blur. Charges are read out, I enter my plea when prompted, and within fifteen minutes, I’m bailed pending my sentencing hearing in six weeks. I virtually sprint from the courthouse.

I’m free.

I open my purse. Marcus didn’t allow me to have credit cards. No, he preferred to dole out cash each week, never giving me quite enough to pay for what Isla and I needed. But, fortunately, I have enough for a cab home, and that’s all I care about. I’ll worry about money another day. I just want to hold my daughter and maybe have a cry once I’m somewhere private.

The thirty-minute taxi ride takes forever. When we finally turn into my road, I see them immediately, a small army of journalists loitering at the bottom of my driveway. My stomach sinks. If Isla wasn’t within touching distance, I’d ask the driver to keep on going.

Braving it, I open the door, put my head down, and barrel past them before they realize it’s me. Cameras whir and questions come at me from all sides. I ignore every one of them. Felicity opens the door as I approach, her mouth twisted in disapproval.

“They released you, then.”

“Yes.” I push past her and beeline for the living room.

Isla is sitting on Preston’s lap. The second she sees me, she leaps down and flings herself at me, her little arms clinging to my legs. I drop to her level and hold her tightly.

“Pumpkin, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up this morning.” I peel away from her to cup her little face in my hands. She’s been crying, her cheeks tearstained. I reach into my handbag and pull out a packet of wet wipes. Once a mother, always a mother.

“Here, pumpkin. Let me clean you up.”

Felicity looms behind me, her presence menacing. She breathes noisily, but I ignore her. Isla is my priority. I take her hand and lead her into the kitchen. Scooping her up, I plop her onto the kitchen table.

“Have you had breakfast?”

She shakes her head.

“Let Mama get that for you.”

I pour her favorite chocolate cereal into a bowl, add milk, then make sure she’s comfortably seated at the table. I pop on her headphones and set up her tablet to play her favorite cartoons. When I look up, Felicity’s still there, her arms crossed over her chest, lips thin.

“I’m sorry about Marcus.”

“Are you?”

I flinch. I’ve known this woman for five years, and she’s never treated me with kindness, only contempt. The girl who came from nothing, born to an alcoholic mother, an absent father, and a jailbird brother wasn’t good enough for her precious Marcus. It’s interesting that however much she professed to love him, there’s no sign she’s shed even a single tear.

“For you, yes. He was your son. I can’t imagine how painful it is to lose a child. I hope I never find out.” My heart squeezes, and I glance at Isla.

“See to Isla and then we’ll talk.” She whips around and disappears into the living room.

I break out in a cold sweat, my stomach in painful knots. Felicity is difficult for me to deal with at the best of times. A so-called Felicity-in-mourning… that’s a beast I’m not equipped to handle. I’ve spent five years making myself small, keeping the peace, being the invisible one in this family. I don’t have the skills or the courage to stand up to her. Even with Marcus gone, I know I’m not brave enough. He got his evil from somewhere.

I make a coffee and a piece of toast while Isla finishes her cereal. She jumps down from the chair, puts her bowl in the sink, just like I taught her, then reaches up to me for another hug. I pull her onto my lap and rock her. She stuffs her thumb in her mouth and rests her head on my shoulder. My heart doubles in size. Isla is worth every moment of suffering Marcus put me through. Without him, I wouldn’t have my daughter, and because of that, I’ll never regret meeting him. Nor will I shed a single tear now he’s gone. His death is the key to my freedom, and I intend to take it.

I finish my coffee, but I can’t face the food. My stomach keeps turning over and over, my nerves shot. At least once I’ve let Felicity say her piece, she’ll leave, and Isla and I can begin to rebuild our lives.

With Marcus gone, maybe my baby girl will speak again. I live for that day. I have to believe he hasn’t broken her beyond repair. As for me… that’s a different story. Never again will I allow a man to come anywhere near me or have that kind of power over me.