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“Now.” He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t lose his temper. He calmly pulls out a gleaming handgun and rests it on his upper thigh.
For three long seconds, I run the pros and cons of trying to run through my head, each thought fragmented and discarded as the next one replaces it.
If I run and he tries to shoot me, he could miss, and I could make it to the main thoroughfare or the front door of the Dressmaker.
If I try to run, he could shoot me and kill me—but at least I’d die quickly.
If I run, there’s no guarantee I’d be alive one minute from now. If I die now, Aiden will never know that I love him.
If I go with him, and if I don’t show up at four, Aiden will eventually try to find me. The moment the thoughtflits through my mind, my entire system instantly calms. My hands relax on the wheel. My breathing regains its regular rhythm.
Lowering my gaze, I place my hand on the gear stick and shift to reverse.
Deep acceptance washes through me. There is no doubt in my mind that I’d rather live a few days more and maybe, just maybe see Aiden one last time, than risk running and dying here now. And it’s that thought that has me carefully shifting theJeepinto reverse and slowly backing out of the parking lot.
Aiden will find me.
He has to.
So, I drive.
And I do not look back at the man filling my rearview mirror.
Chapter 30
Antoinette
July 8, 2008
When the doorbell ringsbefore nine o’clock in the morning, I angle my head to frown at the door. The question:Who could that be?resounds in my head.If it was Catherine, coming to pick up some things, she would have just walked in. Juliette and Lyla are in their rooms, and they would have told me if they were expecting somebody this early.
When it rings again, I cast one last glance at my rumpled pajamas and push to my feet with a resigned sigh. The thought,It’s probably the Mormons again,flits through my mind. Only God know why they’re always so goddamn happy to be visiting strangers at all times of the day.
Bracing for my standard polite refusal to learn about Jesus Christ, Lord and Savior, I open the door.
But it's not the Mormons.
“Lieutenant Flint.” I greet the detective with an easy smile, but I can’t quite hide my disappointment. I was hoping that Catherine would come herself. The many different ways that I could have handled her situation with Aiden have been running rampart in my head for the better part of two days, stealing my sleep and my peace of mind.
He yanks one hand out from his pocket and ruffles his hair. “I’m sorry for stopping by so early,” he says, his eyes deliberately avoiding my tiny pajamas.
He doesn’t look great. His clothes are more rumpled than usual. His shaggy hair is a mess. His eyes are dark and full of fatigue.
“It’s not a problem.” Moving back, I make space for him to step into the house.
“I don’t want to impose.” He steps inside and walks past me. “I…I just want to speak to her for a minute.”
Everything slows. His words echo in my head. Turning, I face him as he stands on the threshold. “Speak to who?” The words leave my mouth as a whisper because I’m afraid that I already know.
“Cat.” He frowns. His eyes gravitate towards the stairs as if he is trying to sense her. “She’s not here?”
My pulse gives an anxious kick. “Aiden, I thought she was with you.”
His gaze snaps to me. “What?”
“Suzanne told me that she left for your place yesterday afternoon,” I say, my words rushing into one another now.
He pales. “She didn’t arrive. I…I thought she got cold feet.” There’s a brief pause. But Aiden is the first to react. “Fuck.” He starts for the door.
