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The frown smooths out. It’s probably Delores returning one of Bailey’s toys that was forgotten at her house.
I go to the front door, flip on the porch light, and peer through the peephole. Chief Wilson is standing on the front stoop, wearing jeans and a navy T-shirt. He just looks like a regular man and not the chief of police, but that doesn’t stop my heart rate from going into overdrive, pounding loud enough for everyone in the house to hear. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. What does he want?
I can’t even pretend I’m not home. He knows I am because I just turned on the light above his head. Fuckers. What the hell was I thinking? Angelique would never have made such a stupid mistake.
I deactivate the alarm, unlock the door, and open it only a couple of inches. “Hi? Can I help you?” The question comes out as a choked squeak, the guilt and fear in the words ringing endlessly in my ears.
“Where is she?” The thunder-loud demand in his voice startles me and shakes the house to its foundation. Or maybe it’s me who’s shaking.
“Where is who?”
“My daughter, dammit. And my wife. You know where they are.” His expression is weary. His disheveled dark-blond hair looks as if he has repeatedly shoved his fingers through it.
“Wh-why would you think I know where they are?” I ask, my pulse stammering in my ears.
“Because I have good friends who work at the grocery store. What does a single woman need toddler diapers for?”
Shit. “They were for a friend.”
“I saw the empty box in your recycle bin.” His quiet voice simmers with danger and is more terrifying than his previous tone.
Fuckers. I hadn’t expected him to snoop through my trash.
“Now don’t make me repeat myself, Savannah. Where is my daughter and my wife?” One moment he’s standing on my stoop, glaring at me. The next he’s pushed his way into my house, his gun leveled at my chest.
I stand frozen, afraid to move even a fraction of an inch—because of the gun and because he knows. He knows who I am.
How? How? How? I’ve been so careful. I’ve done everything I can not to draw any unwanted attention or to give away my true identity.
Bailey barks.
“Lock the dog away or else I’ll shoot it.” The sharp-staccato of his words sends adrenaline surging through me. But it’s not enough to set off my fight instinct. Even my flight instinct appears to be broken. I stand completely paralyzed, unable to will my body to move.
What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?
Chief Wilson lowers his gun to point at Bailey, and I have no doubt he’ll kill my dog if I give him a reason to.
“Bailey, laundry room.” My legs shaking something fierce, I stumble-walk her to the laundry room where her crate is.
“Put her in the crate.” Chief Wilson’s tone hasn’t softened. If anything, it’s sharper, louder, and I startle at the force of it.
I open the crate door, praying to everything holy Violet heard her husband, and she and Sophie are now hiding in the secret room. “Crate, Bailey.”
Bailey gives me a pitiful look that says she’d rather stay by my side. Realizing that’s not going to happen, she gives an unhappy whimper and enters the crate.
Chief Wilson slams the door shut with his foot. “Lock it!”
Bailey releases another whimper, which reaches in and squeezes my heart. I fumble with the lock and snap it shut.
Chief Wilson walks over to the washing machine, bends, and snatches from the floor a small stuffed purple octopus I hadn’t noticed had been forgotten there. Sophie’s octopus. Oh, shit.
“Where’s my daughter and Violet?” His tone is tightly coiled and lethal, and I swallow. Hard.
“I-I don’t know.”
He holsters the gun and grabs my arm, his fingers digging painfully into my flesh. He shakes me. My head whacks the drywall, and for a second, I see spinning stars.
“Where is she?” This time he’s louder and spittle hits my cheek, but I don’t so much as flinch. And now…and now it’s not Chief Wilson who’s in front of me. It’s my husband. Big and brooding and brutish.
