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“Good to hear,” Remi said. “We’re on our way to Calais.”
“You have a lead on the Ghost?”
“We hope so. We’ll find out soon.”
Sam leaned toward her, whispering, “The investigator?”
“Sam wants to know if you’ve heard from Bill Snyder on Albert’s case.”
“I called him to pass on our new phone numbers,” Selma said. “He thinks this hacking business bolsters the case that Albert was set up.”
“That’s good news, at least. What about Oliver’s sister? Anything on her?” Remi heard what sounded like a sigh of frustration from the other end. “She is okay, isn’t she?”
“He saw her at the door, so he’s sure she’s fine. But there’s not a lot of movement in the house, other than her ex, and another man who’s visited a few times. He fits the description of the man Sam shot when you were using the Faux Ghost to rescue Chad’s mother.”
“Frank.”
“Possibly. His worry, right now, is triggering a hostage situation if he attempts to make contact. He’s fairly certain both men are armed.”
Remi repeated the information to Sam.
“There’s not a lot we can do about it,” Sam said. “We’re going to have to trust that Snyder can handle things.”
68
Allegra turned on the water, filling up the sink, while Trevor cleared the dinner dishes from the table. He set them on the counter beside her, his fingers lingering near the black-handled butcher knife on the cutting board.
“No,” she whispered, pushing his hand away.
“Why not? I sleep three feet from him.”
She wasn’t about to let Trevor take this half-baked plan to kill his father, then live with the guilt of that for the rest of his life. “Because I said so.”
“We have to do something.”
“We will.”
He turned away, but not before she saw that stubborn tilt to his chin.
“You have to trust me, Trev.”
He refused to look at her as he walked out.
“Trev?” Allegra turned off the water and started to follow him, until she saw Dex watching her. Not wanting to alert him that they’d been talking about anything other than dirty dishes, she picked up his empty bottles from the table, taking them into the kitchen, as though that had been her intent.
Long ago, when Dex first raised a hand to her, she was certain she could change him. It never occurred to her that the person she needed to change was herself.
Looking back, she knew the only reason she’d found the strength to leave Dex at all was her fear that he’d turn his violence toward her son instead of her. And ever since, she’d harbored a sense of guilt for not providing the perfect life for Trevor—that, somehow, refusing to let him see his father was depriving him of some necessity. That guilt was at the foremost of her mind when Dex showed up at her door after all that time. She’d thought that if she let Trevor see him, just for a short while, it would be enough. Dex would leave, and they could get on with their lives.
That Dex would’ve involved them in something so horrible never occurred to her. How could she have been such a fool?
She dropped the bottles in the trash, started the water again, eyeing the knife, the dried bits of onion stuck to the blade. It didn’t matter what happened to her. She was going to make sure that her son walked out that door uninjured.
Somehow, she had to convince him that she was on his side or he’d never let down his guard.
With sudden insight, she knew how to do it, and by the time she finished the dishes, her plan was fully formed. She grabbed the dish towel, drying her hands on its once-cheery blue and white checks that now looked stained and dingy from too much use. “We need laundry detergent,” she said, walking into the front room, where Dex sat, watching TV.
“It can wait,” he said, not looking at her.
