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Chapter Eight
Erin rings the bellof the Wilson house and stands outside, waiting for someone to answer it. From inside, she thinks she hears voices raised in anger, but the voices fall silent as footsteps approach.Probably the TV,Erin thinks as the door opens.
“Erin,” a smiling and relaxed-looking Nick Wilson says in greeting. “Thanks so much for doing this. Come on in. My wife’s just finishing getting ready. How’s everything going?”
She steps inside. “Good.”
“Enjoying school?”
“It’s okay.”
“Well, just a few more weeks till summer break.”
Erin nods, glancing toward the interior of the house, surprised by how different it feels from her own, despite having virtually the same layout.Amazing what a little thought and expensive furniture can do,she thinks, comparing the Wilson’s obvious dedication to detail to her mother’s rather slapdash approach to, well, almost everything.
Maybe if her mother had taken greater care to truly make their house a home, her father would still be living there.
“Where are the boys?”
“Ben’s in his room, playing video games. Tyler’s busy with his pet fish. They shouldn’t give you any problems. And we won’t be late. It’s golf and an early dinner. My guess is we’ll be back before nine.”
“No rush.”
“Assuming we ever get out of here.” Dr. Wilson looks toward the stairs. “Dani, sweetheart,” he calls. “What’s the holdup?”
“Hold your horses. I’m comin’.”
“So’s Christmas.” He shrugs. The shrug says,What can you do?
“Be down in two shakes of a stick.”
“More like twenty shakes,” Nick says. “We might as well go into the den and sit down.” He motions toward the back of the house. “You’ve met Tyler before, haven’t you?” he says when they reach the kitchen.
“A while back,” Erin says. “Hi, Tyler. Those are beautiful fish you’ve got there. Do they have names?”
The inquiry is met with a proud smile that stretches from the boy’s full lips to his deep blue eyes. “Mine does. Neptune. He’s the red one. Want to see him jump through his hoop?”
“Not now, Goldilocks,” his father says, ruffling his son’s dark blond hair. “You can show her after we leave. He thinks everyone is as captivated by his fish as he is,” Nick whispers as he leads her into the den. He motions toward the green leather sofa that sits at right angles to a large oak desk, directly across from a big-screen TV and the cabinet full of guns.
Erin sits down, feeling the leather of the sofa glom onto the backs of her bare thighs. She makes a mental note to wear long pants the next time she babysits instead of the shorts she’s wearing. “That’s some collection you have,” she says.
“Like guns, do you?”
“Not really. They kind of scare me.”
“Nothing to be afraid of.” Nick retrieves the key from the top desk drawer and unlocks the cabinet. He beckons Erin forward, quickly removing one of the smaller weapons on display. “Come here.”
Erin pushes off the seat she’s just occupied, hearing thewhooshof the leather as it reluctantly releases its grip on her flesh.
“This here’s a Springfield Armory nine-millimeter XD,” he tells her. “It’d be perfect for you. It’s not only a terrific first gun to own, but great fun to shoot with. Here. Hold it.”
“Oh, Dr. Wilson, I don’t think…”
“Take it.” He drops the gun into her open palm. “Feels surprisingly comfortable, doesn’t it? And please, let’s skip the formalities, okay? Call me Nick. How do you like it?”
For a second, Erin isn’t sure if he’s referring to the gun or his request to call him by his given name. “Feels kind of weird,” she says, which is true in both cases. “It’s heavier than I thought it would be.”
“Well, it’s not a toy.”
