Page 94 of The Woman with the Handcuffs

“I’ll pay you back, kiddo. I promise. Feels wrong to be taking money from my own kid.”

“I know you will,” I said, thinking of the stacks of cash.

I reached in my purse to grab a receipt and pen to write with.

“What are you writing?”

“A list of things you’re going to need.”

“I know how to take care of myself.”

“Except you’re used to washing your clothes at a laundromat, where you have things like detergent right there to buy. And when’s the last time you thought about washing a dish? And the soap you need for that? About not having a store nearby to grab bandages or aspirin?”

He refrained from insisting that he now had a house of his own. Which saved me from pointing out that his girlfriend was clearly who’d stocked the place.

“That should cover it,” I said, passing the receipt to him. “Just let me get changed before we go.”

“What’s wrong with what you have on?”

I couldn’t exactly tell my father that it was an outfit from several days ago. That I hadn’t had a chance to change out of. Because I’d been having sex with the man who wanted to kill him.

“I’m not comfortable,” I said.

Which was certainly true enough.

There was nothing comfortable about this whole situation.

So I dipped into my bedroom, changing into a pair of jeans and a cropped sweatshirt featuring a Thanksgiving dinner spread and declaring, “I’m a sides chick.” I slipped on a pair of flats then grabbed an extra pillow and blanket from my closet, shoving them into a bag, and bringing it out with me.

“You ready?” I asked.

My dad took a deep breath and rose.

Then we went to the bank, grabbed him a burner phone, and, finally, made it to the garage.

“I really hope we can work all this out,” he said, standing awkwardly in the open door of my car with regret plain on his face.

“Me too,” I agreed, taking a step back so he could climb in and pull out.

I watched him back out of the spot then drive off.

I never saw it coming.

The blow landed hard to the back of my head.

My vision went blurry as I fell to the ground, pain ratcheting up my knees and my busted wrist as I braced my fall.

But then the blackness consumed me.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Caitlin

Consciousness came back in groggy snippets. The pain in my head. My screaming wrist. The cold, hard cement beneath my cheek.

I just lay there, heart a sluggish thud, body nothing but sparks of pain, for a long second.

Then it came rushing back.