Page 67 of The Woman I’ve Become

Where the hell is she?

I see my car fob on the table near the side door. It would seem Acacia hasn’t left. I stuff my feet into the still-wet sneakers I left there after the ill-fated tea on the beach and stare out the window to check the driveway. Thankfully the clouds have cleared and a full moon prevents the darkness from being impenetrable. There is no unexpected vehicle in the circle parking area by the front entrance. Nothing near the side entrance either. That should mean no one is here except the two of us—unless they parked well away from the house.

I reach to disarm the security system, but it has already been disarmed. Acacia must be outside. My heart bumps an extra beat. Or maybe she has left. They may have planned a rendezvous.

Fury rolls through me, and I instantly feel a hit of adrenaline. I am so done with this. They are not winning this battle. I am going to end this once and for all, by God.

Again I check the weapon at the small of my back, then ease the door open and move silently onto the veranda. I could go back for my fob. When we returned from town the last time, we parked near the garage but not inside. All I would have to do is slip around the corner of the house, get in the car, and just drive away.

But what would that accomplish? I would be no better off than I am now. This has to end.

A flash of light in the distance draws me toward the opposite side of the veranda. My shoe catches on a loose paver in the cobblestone, and I almost pitch forward. Righting myself, I consider that whatever has Acacia out of the house cannot be a good thing.

Eleanor’s death and Acacia’s sudden appearance set off alarm bells for me. Distant at first. But once I was well enough, late last month, I hired Archer, my PI, again. I hadn’t used him in a long while, but between my gut instinct, Acacia’s little missteps when chatting about things she had no way of knowing, and the bits and pieces Archer found, I understood I had to make a move of my own. I started with the leaked info to the Times. My revelations in the podcast—which I credit to Phillip—and the man I hired to pretend he was watching us back in the city and to deliver that message to Helen were the big push. Coming here was the line in the sand. Then all I had to do was wait for that line to be crossed.

Now it’s happening. Finally. I can feel the crackle in the air.

I hug myself as I move toward the far end of the massive L shape the house makes so that I can see the barn and the woods on that side. I’m certain the light came from that direction.

I stop at the corner and flatten against the brick. Brake lights flare inside the barn doors then go dark. Someone drove a car into the barn? What the hell?

Perhaps the person or persons behind Acacia’s invasion into my life are finally here.

I watch the big double doors shut one by one. I’m too far away to make out the figure moving about. I need to be closer. I follow the path to avoid any trip hazards. The silence and the moon are my only companions.

Once I reach the barn, I go around to the side where the smaller Dutch-style door is located. Again, I listen for the slightest sound.

Where the hell is Acacia? Was she driving the car that is now inside the barn?

The idea makes no sense. Where would she get a car unless someone arrived in that car? Mine is next to the garage. But I have lived through enough twisted situations to know that there are times when nothing makes sense. I shake off the thought as I reach for the handle of the door.

Unless I unlock the mechanism that holds the two parts of the door together, it will open as one solid door. As much as I would rather just have a quick peep through the upper half, I decide not to attempt releasing that mechanism for fear it will make a noticeable click. I have no idea how long it has been since the two parts were separated. Even the slightest noise could give away my presence.

I hold my breath as I open the door and hope there will be no creak or groan that will alert whoever is in there.

When the door is open far enough for me to slip inside, I dare to draw a breath. I pull the door closed behind me, and for a long while I stand utterly still and allow my eyes to adjust to the total darkness. I listen for even the tiniest sound but hear nothing beyond my own breathing.

Convinced I am alone, I move away from the door. I can make out the outline of the vehicle that now sits in the main aisle that cuts through the stables. More high profile than a car. An SUV. I ease closer and closer, listening intently, but the thudding in my chest makes hearing anything else near impossible.

I stand next to the vehicle, and though I see very little, I am reasonably sure now that this is Helen’s SUV.

Why would she park in my barn?

There is no way Helen is working with Acacia or anyone else. No way.

And yet she has not returned my calls, and here is her SUV.

I need to see. That’s the reality of my situation. I need to see for sure that this is Helen’s vehicle. I can’t just go around jumping to conclusions. I need evidence, and if this is Helen’s vehicle hidden in my garage, then that is damned well evidence of her involvement.

No amount of drugs would make me that oblivious.

Was it Helen who shut the barn doors? I close my eyes and think of how the brake lights of the car signaled its stop and then the doors closed. Was there enough time between the braking and the movement of the doors for the driver to have hopped out and reached the doors?

I open my eyes and survey the darkness around me.

No way. There were two people involved. One driving. One quickly closing the doors.

Acacia and Helen.