Page 99 of The Woman with the Handcuffs

I couldn’t imagine a single situation where my father, me, and Gav could walk off into the sunset together. A happy, strange, safe family.

Because who was Ira, really?

Was he working with someone worse than the Costas?

How was my father in trouble with them?

Was there some way to just… make everyone happy?

Could Gavino and his Family help me somehow? Or were we on our own? Were things too new with him to ask for something this big?

The more my thoughts turned to Gav, the harder my sobs started to rack my body, big silent heaves so the neighbors didn’t freak out and call the cops.

Maybe what I needed to do was get up, get myself cleaned up, find a phone, and call my father. Beg him to stop driving, to wait for me. Then catch a train and a car and meet him. Go to the cabin. Hide out until I didn’t feel so raw—physically and emotionally—and could think through this whole thing clearly.

I was about to unfold and try to force my body off the floor when I heard the hiss of the door to the stairwell, then the airy click as it closed again.

Footsteps started toward me.

Then stopped.

It could have been any of the neighbors.

There was no reason to think it was Gav.

But my heart fluttered anyway.

“Caitlin?”

Somehow, the soft way he said that had the dam breaking again, tears flooded down my cheeks as a pathetic whimper escaped me.

“Caitlin, what’s going on?” he asked, coming closer. “Look at me,” he demanded.

I sniffled and glanced upward.

He was wearing a pair of black basketball shorts, a black ribbed tank, and sneakers. That’s where he’d been. In the building’s gym.

I saw the emotions play across his features.

The shock.

The concern.

The anger that manifested in a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“What happened? Who did this to you?”

All I could manage was another cry.

“Okay. It’s okay,” he murmured as he came closer, pausing to unlock and open the door, then leaned down to reach for me. “I’ll take care of it. Whatever it is. I just need to get you inside and look you over. Okay?”

He didn’t wait for an answer as he lifted me into his arms, cradling me tightly to him, then carrying me across the threshold.

He lowered me down into a dining room chair and started to straighten. But froze when he felt something wet on his bare shoulder.

“Cait, where is this coming from?” he asked, tone careful.

“My head,” I told him.