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Or did they have no intention of returning her? Would they just stop bringing her food, cut off her water supply, leave her to die a slow and painful death?
She pushed the thought out of her mind. She couldn’t afford to be defeatist. Juska might be evil, but he wasn’t stupid. According to Erno Kovaks, Juska had gone deep underground after his time in Bosnia. He’d also staged an assault on a hotel in downtown Boston, had almost killed Nick, had managed to evade the police in the months since.
He had to know that every second she was alive she was a danger to them. It didn’t matter that they had her locked up. As long as she was breathing, anything could happen.
But he’d kept her alive anyway, which meant he probably didn’t plan to kill her, at least not rightaway. And that meant someone would be back eventually.
She rolled down the top on the rest of the food in the bag, drank from the faucet, and wiped her mouth.
Then she looked around the room, her mind turning over the puzzle of her escape.
18
Nick parked and looked at the house across the street. He’d been tempted to drive by in the past, wanting to make sure Alexa arrived safely for her Sunday brunches with her parents, but he’d never wanted to disrespect her wishes.
She’d been alone for a long time, was an independent woman. Of all the things Leland Walker had taken from her, losing her independence had been the most painful. She’d tried to be gracious about Nick’s insistence that she not be alone after the siege on the hotel, and especially after Leland’s victims started turning up dead, but he could tell it grated on her.
Sunday was the one day a week Nick had had toconcede, so he’d forced himself to give her space even when it meant spending the afternoon sick with worry until she walked safely through the door.
The house was modest and neatly maintained, with cheery yellow siding, a red door, and window boxes along the porch that probably held colorful flowers in the summer. One car sat in the driveway, soft light glowing from the front two windows.
He took a deep breath and stepped out of the car. He hadn’t expected to be nervous, and he crossed the street, trying to gather his thoughts as he made his way up the walkway to the front porch.
He rang the doorbell before he could change his mind, his eyes dropping to the mat near his feet, WELCOME splayed across it in a rainbow of color.
Yeah, probably not,he thought.
It was okay. This was something he had to do, welcome or not.
He caught movement in the panes of frosted glass on either side of the door. After that, nothing happened for a long time. He was beginning to wonder if he was being turned away when the locks on the door disengaged.
The eyes staring back at him were so much like Alexa’s it almost brought him to his knees. He forcedhimself to look at the woman on the other side of the threshold, to remember that she wasn’t her daughter. This woman was older, her shoulder-length hair threaded with gray, pulled back with a scarf from a forehead just beginning to show lines.
“Have you heard anything?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Anything new?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, no.”
He’d tried to get Russell Nash to return home to his wife, but the other man had insisted he and Alexa’s mother had agreed to split up — Jean at home unless someone made contact there, Russell at the Murphy house to stay apprised of their movements.
Nick had left Russell at the house with Ronan and the rest of the family when he’d gone to Kyle’s. Russell would be in good hands with Julia and Elise, who would make sure Russell rested when he finally crashed, make sure there was coffee and good food when he needed it.
Jean studied him for a long moment before stepping back to open the door wider. “You should probably come in.”
He stepped inside and was immediately enveloped in warmth. He scanned a stylish andcomfortable living room with an overstuffed sofa and loveseat, lamps illuminating the gray day from end tables. A fire crackled in the hearth, and his heart stuttered as he scanned the pictures of Alexa and her parents that lined the mantel.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asked.
He didn’t want to be rude, but he already felt like he was going to jump out of his skin. “Thank you, but that’s probably not a good idea.”
Her nod was knowing. “Tea then.”
He followed her through the open-concept living room, past a modern wood dining table, and into a well-appointed kitchen with pale wood cabinets and black granite countertops.
She gestured to the stools at the island in the middle of the room. “Have a seat.”
He balanced on the edge of one of the stools, feeling big and clumsy, half-expecting the bentwood stool to crack under his weight. After a few seconds he relaxed a little, the stool seeming to hold his weight.
He watched Jean fill the kettle, set it on the stove, and move around the kitchen. There was something familiar in her movements, something graceful and efficient that made him think of Alexa, who alwaysseemed so sure of herself, who always seemed to know where she was going and what she was doing.
