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He stays in front of me, but I’m sick with worry. For me, for him.
We have to run, right? Up is our only option. I glance over my shoulder as subtly as I can.
The gun goes off.
Knox and I both flinch, nearly falling backward, and Henry lunges forward. He shoves Knox against the wall with one hand and tangles his other fist in my hair, dragging me against him. The pain makes me go with him, even as bile rises up my throat.
How fast the tide turns.
“Take out your phone,” Henry orders Knox.
The more he talks, the more I disassociate it with the cousin who helped me and connect it to the rough voice on the phone. The voice memos. Why is my memory of him warped?
Why didn’t I realize it washim? I talked to him on the phone as Henry, and didn’t put it together that he was Thomas.
Knox complies with Henry’s demand slowly, lifting his cell out of his back pocket.
Fear flashes across his face for once, and my expression must mirror his.
Henry tightens his grip on my hair. I cry out at the burn in my scalp.
“Drop and stomp,” Henry orders.
Knox does it.
“Good.” He drags me backward, leaving a gap for Knox to go downstairs. “Now, move.”
He goes, and I’m pushed ahead of my ex-husband.
What did I see in him?
“Natalie,” I remind him. “What about Natalie?”
He seems to consider that. “You disappeared on me. You took out a restraining order on me. I couldn’t just let you go. We’re soulmates.”
“We’re not,” I whisper.
“I created Thomas. Stole the last name Cameron from some random dead schmuck, which made me feel a bit closer to you. I wanted to share your last name, since you refused to take mine. Funny how that works.” He chuckles as we go down another flight. We’re in the parking garage levels under the arena. “It’s never the man who has to change his last name. But I liked it. Quite a bit.”
He’s revolting.
“You’re supposed to be in California—”
“Henry Armstrongisin California.” He chuckles. “I sold that identity eight months ago. Told him it came with a little restraining order against a stranger, but he was fine with that. Up until then, I lived the double life. Henry in California, with you. Thomas the doctor in Denver.”
I shudder.
“This level,” Henry barks.
Knox goes through the door. We head for the back corner of the parking garage, to a dark SUV. The windows are tinted almost completely black. At a beep, the trunk door lifts. He shoves me toward Knox.
“Tape his wrists.”
I spot the roll of duct tape sitting in the back of the SUV, then glance up at Knox.
“You need to run,” I whisper to him. “I’ll block his shot—”
“No.”
