I was at my father’s funeral, at his grave after everyone had left. They had all offered condolences and asked if I needed anything. I needed my father back. No one could give that to me. He was lying in the casket, cold. He was gone. I didn’t understand why he had to go, why the other car had to hit at the exact worst angle. There’d been no chance of his survival.
I felt like a bird whose nest had been knocked down. Barely eighteen, I didn’t know where to go or what to do, and I knew no one could help me—there was no one left to help.
Then he was there, some man I didn’t know, maybe a friend of my father’s. I never looked up. He was just there, hugging me. He wasn’t likely one of my father’s coworkers, though. He seemed younger, no middle-age spread, and he wore no tie. Accountants always seemed to wear a tie. Perhaps he was a son of one of his coworkers.
It really didn’t matter. He was hugging me—I needed to be hugged.
His gentle hands lightly rested on my back, and his cheek brushed against my hair.
My body finally began to relax, and I held on to him. My tears fell onto his shirt. They weren’t tears of trying to hold on; they were tears of letting go. I had to let go of my father. I knew I needed to do this, to accept that he was gone and that I needed to keep moving. I felt calmer than I had in days, like I could start to imagine my life after my father.
“I promise to watch over you.” Then the man was walking away.
I wanted to call for him to come back, to ask that he stay with me a little while longer, but there was something about the way he moved, something resolved. He wasn’t going to come back.
My breath pulled in as I bolted upright, like I always did when I dreamed of that day.
I got up, made myself move—as if I could pretend no one walked away if I was in motion myself. It was harder to keep track of who was headed where, of who was coming or going. It was like walking down the street in downtown at lunch. People were everywhere. No one walked away. They just walked.
I brushed my hair longer than necessary. Then I came back into the bedroom and began rifling through the duffle, trying to find something to wear.
Hushed voices, aggravated.
I opened the door and could just see Alec’s face through the railing as he spoke to someone at the base of the stairs. Darkness seemed to overtake his face, like the black of night without the stars to pierce it. His voice was the quiet rumble of distant thunder.
“I have it under control, Vincent. Just do your job.”
The man with the Italian complexion said, “Yes, sir,” then stalked out of the house.
Alec stood motionless with eyes closed. The blackness of his expression didn’t recede.
Then he opened his eyes and glanced in my direction—as if he felt the presence of an eavesdropper. He met my gaze for a second, then turned and walked out.
I closed the door to hide behind it.
Then I plopped down on the chair and stared at the rug. I wasn’t completely sure what color it was. I couldn’t stop from feeling like crap.
Something had to change.
I stood and headed for the shower. While I finished dressing, I figured the last details of my plan. Now to determine the exact timing. Most importantly, Alec had to be away in order for my plan to work. He was the most difficult person to factor in; everyone else seemed pretty easy to figure. Hanna and Ben obviously didn’t know much of what was going on; they were the innocents in this house. And all the others were hired security of some kind. Everyone was predictable, all except Alec.
From the duffle bag, I pulled my jeans, a dark T-shirt, and my black, hooded sweatshirt. I set the sweatshirt in a lump on the dresser, concealing my wallet. Alec still had my phone and keys, not that I would need them, anyway. I wouldn’t be going back to my house, and if Alec thought Councilman Dean could be watching my phone activity, that meant other people could too, including Alec.
My biggest worry was that I had no cash, only a bank card. I would just have to pull a lot of cash at once and then move quickly.
Move quickly…
I was going to have to leave the city, the only home I knew. I would never be able to see my mother’s paintings again, fall asleep in my father’s chair, look through the pictures from when I was little and had a family. I couldn’t visit my parents’ graves. I couldn’t even say goodbye to them.
Then I reminded myself they were already gone. Saying goodbye to a headstone didn’t mean anything.
With my little bundle ready to go, I went downstairs to help Hanna with breakfast again. Alec didn’t show for the meal. I told myself that was a good thing.
After breakfast, I helped Hanna clean up, and paid attention to where the men went. Ben walked out the front door, and the others talked about meeting someplace, though they didn’t say why. Zoe and the men around the grounds were obviously here to secure the estate, but though I figured the men who had their meals here had somewhat similar responsibilities, I couldn’t figure what exactly they did. Maybe they were security for Alec’s other businesses? But why did they have their meals in his home? Wouldn’t the staff who worked here at the house have a better chance of receiving that benefit?
Well, whatever. They were leaving, and that was all that mattered.
While I did the dishes, I watched Ben tend to the gardens out front. I needed to figure a way to get past him.
“You look tired, dear,” Hanna said. “You were up late.”
I rinsed a plate under the faucet. “No, I’m fine.”
She took a container out of a cabinet. “You know you don’t need to help. No one expects it.”
“I know.” I turned to look at her. “You just don’t trust anyone else in your kitchen.”
She smiled and continued moving muffins from the basket to a sealable container.
I was definitely right, but I kept cleaning anyway, whether she trusted me or not. I needed to be busy, or at least appear that way.
Ben stayed in the garden the whole time we worked in the kitchen.
Hanna started folding some clean laundry in the great room, looked like mostly towels and some of Ben’s clothes, and I went upstairs to grab one of the books from the desk in my room. I pretended to read for a while in one of the armchairs in the great room.
About an hour later, I got up to get a glass of water—and to look out the kitchen window to the front lawn.
Ben was nowhere in sight.
“I’m going to find a spot to read outside,” I told Hanna from the entryway.
“There’re a few benches in the garden.”
I smiled and walked out the front door, and then glanced around again to make sure no one was around. I headed down the front walk at a casual pace, still with Pride and Prejudice in my hand.
All four of the garage doors were closed—but then I noticed a small extension to the side of the garage, partially hidden by overhanging branches. I peeked inside. Ben’s tool shed. I looked around again, and then slipped inside, hoping I could find what I needed without getting caught.
Luckily, the shelves were neatly arranged. A few hammers, an assortment of screwdrivers and wrenches. Tons of nails and screws, and a bunch of stuff whose purpose I didn’t know. In a bin near the floor was where I found them: wire cutters. I picked a medium-sized pair. The little ones wouldn’t be strong enough, and I would never be able to hide the big ones. I slid them under my shirt and tucked them in the waistband of my jeans.
Now to get past Hanna.
I walked in the house. She was in the kitchen, talking on the phone. “Yes, dear, everything’s fine,” she said into the receiver.
I slipped by and up the stairs. With the wire cutters hidden behind the dresser, I went back downstairs. Hanna would be starting on lunch soon.
“I’ll get it all done.” Hanna was still on the phone, a pen and pad of paper in her hand.
In the same armchair, I sat to continue to pretend to read. I figured I would have to wait until after lunch before I did anything else.
The scent of clam chowder filled the house. I set my book down on the coffee table and went to the kitchen to help. We set soup and sandwiches out on the kitchen table just as Ben came in. He scrubbed his hands in the sink.
Hanna glanced over, likely to make sure no dirt got on her counters. Then she started ladling the soup into bowls.
The front door opened, and Anthony, the driver from the first day, came in. “Do you mind if I crash lunch?”
Hanna smiled and set a bowl of soup in front of the last available chair.
Crap.
I sat and ate with the others, while hoping Anthony would leave again after lunch. He wouldn’t be as easy to get past.
He didn’t leave. He helped clear the table, and then hung around while Hanna and I put the kitchen back into order. And then another man came in, the bulky one from breakfast.
“You know where you want to go?” the bulky one asked Hanna.
She draped the dish towel over the oven handle. “I think so.”
“The car’s outside whenever you’re ready.”
She nodded, then turned to me. “If you get hungry, there’re leftovers in the fridge. Help yourself.” Apparently, she’d noticed I hadn’t eaten much.
“Thanks,” I said.
She walked out with the other man, and I was alone with Anthony.
“I’m going up to my room to read,” I said to my babysitter.
He smiled a little. “All right.”
I escaped upstairs to try to figure what to do next.