Page 140 of Cruel Lies

I don't know and I'm terrified to find out. But it's becoming more and more clear that whatever's happening at The Akov Firm isthe kind of thing people don't just lose lawsuits over. It's the kind of thing peoplevanishover.

People like me.

Me, a thirty-four-year-old mother of two, sitting in my socks at my kitchen island, in a house with the mirrors broken and the coffee cold, staring at a spreadsheet that just told me the man I fell in love with is not a slightly-worse Todd in a better jacket.

He's something I don't have a word for.

I'm bad in ways you've never even imagined,he told me that first night at the bar.Ways that have nothing to do with lying to a woman or breaking her heart.

He was honest about that much, wasn't he? He warned me, straight up, to my face. And I laughed and called him a piece of shit and walked out into the cold.

If only I'd kept on walking.

Better yet, running.

Forever.

Not in any way you'd understand,he said, that day in his office, when I asked if the Bradshaws were just a revenue stream with two entrances. When he said that, I got scared, truly scared, for the first and only time.

I understand now, though. I understand exactly.

My hands are shaking on the keys. I make myself breathe. In for four, out for four, until my heartbeat calms somewhat. I need a clear head before I can decide what to do next.

The kids are at my mother's. Thank God for that, because I need to think. How can I decide what to do with this? I can't call the police. I don't even know what I'd say, I don't know how deep this goes or who's in it or whether?—

There's a knock at the door.

Every muscle in my body locks up.

I'm not expecting anyone. It's not even nine yet. My mother had plans to take the kids to the zoo this morning. Nobody knocks on my door at this hour. Nobody…

Except the people who've already been inside my house, moving my things around, showing me they can reach anything, anyone, anytime.

Why does that phrase pop into my head now? Oh, that's right. Because I've heard it before.

You can reach anything. Anyone. Anytime you want.That's what Ronan made that man in the opera house say back to him. Mikhail—that was the frightened man's name. I saw Ronan terrorize him without lifting a finger. Saw it with my own eyes, and I still went back into the box and held his hand.

Knock-knock-knock.

I'm in motion, because who knows how much time I actually have? Off the stool, into the kitchen, my hand closing around the handle of the big butcher's knife in the block by the stove. It comes free with a soft, metallic hiss. I hold it up in front of me, both hands, blade out, my heart thudding so hard I can feel it in my teeth.

If someone's coming through that door to make me disappear, I am not going quietly. I have two children who need their mother. I will fight. I will bite and scream and stab and claw.

I. Will. Fucking.Fight.

I creep down the hall toward the front door. The knife trembles in my grip no matter how much I try to hold it steadier. Through the frosted glass panel beside the door, there's a shape. A person. Man-sized. Standing on my stoop.

I get to the door. My hand is on the deadbolt. My other hand has the knife raised over my shoulder at the ready.

I turn the lock. I yank the door open, blade up, a battle cry already tearing out of my throat?—

And then I stop.

Standing on my front steps, hollow-eyed and unshaven, in a wrinkled shirt that looks slept-in, is the last person on earth I expected.

The knife hangs in the air.

"… Todd?"