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Her flat white sandals were beside the bed. Maggie slipped her feet into them and angled her foot so that she could see them better. They weren’t fancy. They were old, well made, and comfortable. She shrugged and grabbed her purse from off the dresser.
Maggie glanced into her son’s bedroom on her way down the hall, but it was empty. His pajamas were strewn across the floor, and several books lay scattered about as well, which was odd. Michael was a neat freak, just like his mother, but she supposed the excitement was too much.
She smiled. She’d tidy it up later.
“Michael, make sure the back door is locked, all right sweetie?” Her son was near the kitchen, his back to her, his body decked out in sports attire—purple, green, and white. “Hurry up, babe. We don’t want to be late.”
He made a weird sound and turned, his face so pale that his freckles stood out like cinnamon dust. His eyes were huge saucers, and his fists were clenched to his sides, where they trembled uncontrollably. Instantly her internal antenna erupted into a scream, one so loud that she winced, though her gaze never left her son.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
A telltale stain darkened the front of his shorts, and her eyes dropped to the small puddle on the floor. The scent of urine hung in the air. He’d wet himself.
Her son was terrified.
Her fingers loosened and her purse slipped from them.
“Michael…” she whispered. “No.”
But she knew. Hadn’t she been expecting this? Wasn’t playing with fire dangerous?
A shadow moved behind him.
Her voice trailed into silence, and for a moment she thought that maybe her heart stopped beating. She felt like she’d been punched with Thor’s hammer, and it took everything inside Maggie to keep it together and not lose it in front of her son.
“What are you doing out here, Maggie? In this small town of nothing. Raising this boy without my influence and doing a piss-poor job, if you don’t mind my saying.”
A tall form slid into view. Dante looked at his son in distaste. “Shouldn’t the little bastard be toilet trained by now?”
The man’s chiseled features were model perfect. Straight nose, high cheekbones, and classic jaw. The dark eyes and skin, mingled with midnight black hair, added an edge that he liked to exploit.
It was July Fourth, hot as hell, and he was dressed in black slacks and a long-sleeved V-neck shirt. The cut was tailored, expensive, and emphasized his lean but powerful build. One he worked hard to maintain.
He smiled then, and the handsome face disappeared. It morphed into the monster she remembered, and Maggie hated the fact that the fear inside exploded into something paralyzing.
In less than a minute, he’d managed to transport her back in time. Back to that dark, desperate place she’d been running from for the last year.
And she feared that this time there’d be no escape.
Chapter 34
The clock ticked in slow, methodical time. Tick…tock…tick…tock…
It echoed from the kitchen, and for a moment, it’s all Maggie heard. There wasn’t room for anything else inside her head—her thoughts disappeared, all emotion stopped.
She had no clue how long she stood there like a zombie, but eventually the clock faded and she became aware of many things.
The labored sound of her lungs as she inhaled quick, shallow breaths.
Michael grinding his teeth—a nervous gesture he hadn’t done in over a year.
The contents of her purse scattered all over the floor.
The heavy smell of Dante’s cologne. The smell of fear.
And the absolute silence from outside, which was the most terrifying sound of all.
She was alone. There was no one else. All her neighbors had gone to the Independence Day parade downtown. Not even Luke’s dog, Shelby, could be heard, and usually a strange vehicle was more than enough to set the dog barking madly.
