Dead silence from the other end. Come on, Vic. My mask is off. How about you take off yours now? Finally, a long sigh, and then in a low voice, almost a whisper, “This isn’t at all what I was hoping for.”
“Oh come off it,” Nadia snaps.
Wyatt puts his hand on her shoulder with a gaze that says, Easy. “How can we fix all this, Vicki? Let’s just talk it through.” He speaks clearly and calmly, like a hostage negotiator, which the situation almost seems to warrant. Except, of course, he’s one of the hostages.
Another long silence, and then, “Come over here tomorrow. We can talk then.”
Nadia snorts. “You think a third awkward hangout will be the charm? How do I know you aren’t planning some kind of ambush?”
“I swear to you I’m not!” she cries. “I just need a little time to pull myself together, all right? Wouldn’t you say we both need that? So no one else gets hurt?”
Nadia sighs. “Okay, then. Tomorrow evening?”
“Sure. Six o’clock.”
“Six it is.” Nadia hangs up. “There we go, our one chance to handle this extremely fucked-up situation like adults. I’m sure it’ll be great, like a meeting between rival gang members.”
Wyatt shakes his head. “I still think our best option is to bail right now.”
She goes to him and puts her hands on his shoulders. “Either we try to settle this now, or we take a chance that they scorch the earth at our backs so we have no choice but to run for the rest of our lives. I don’t know about you, but I want to be free, or at least if it all goes to hell over there, to be able to say we took a chance.” He begins to speak, but she overrides him. “Listen. You were totally right earlier. The building is on fire and it’s all about to come down. But you’re forgetting that we can be the fire too.”
She’s amused to discover her hands haven’t moved from his shoulders after several seconds, and that, for the moment anyway, she likes them there. The simple act of calming touch, the barest hint of human intimacy, brings her a stillness she hasn’t felt in so long she’d forgotten she ever needed it. Wyatt too, from the way he’s closing his eyes and letting out a soft sigh. His muscles, pleasantly solid but too tight with tension, are smoothing out just a little beneath her hands. I’m doing that, she thinks, warming to the idea that she can both bring him pleasure and take pleasure from it in return. Acknowledging both the existence of an attraction and the barrier she’d built around it, out of respect to Phoebe, to herself.
But is she misreading all of this? It’s possible. They’re exhausted, a pair of flags made threadbare from an endless storm of anxiety. Maybe if she caresses just a little more . . . only to be sure.
As her hands begin to gently knead, he opens his eyes and fixes them on hers. He also doesn’t pull away. A low heat has crept into his dark gaze, quickening her heart to a gallop. After a moment, his hands move to her hips, drawing her in more.
They’re now in the thick of a new physical awareness, which, in this brief moment of calm, before everything goes sailing over the edge of a cliff tomorrow, doesn’t exactly feel wrong. Yet enough of her sanity still remains that she hesitates. “This would be a bad idea,” she says. “For more reasons than I can count.”
He looks down, nodding. “I know.”
His voice is low, rough, yet she heard a silent “but” after those two words, one that says in a slew of bad decisions that have brought them both to this point, there are also worse things they could do. One expressing a yearning for escape, a craving for the luxury of vulnerability, even if it’s just a tiny taste, before they get back to the grim business of survival. He closes his eyes again and seems to pause for a beat, as if to ask himself if he’s really sure, and then he kisses her. She holds back at first, questions flowing through the turnstile in her mind. Do I really want this? Can I trust him? Does this even feel good?
The answers are all yes. For now. Nadia finally allows herself to open, anchoring herself to the present, melding her body against his. In a language neither of them expected to speak to each other, they declare a bond.
CHAPTER 23
HOW DO YOU see this all going down?” he asks her.
He’s lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, covered in a bare minimum of white top sheet and the shadows from the window blinds falling across his chest. Nadia, clad only in the black T-shirt she was wearing before their interlude began last night, is sitting up against the headboard sipping a cup of coffee, legs crossed. They blindly fumbled their way to his room once the kissing began, and they haven’t left it since, except to fill their mugs and grab a bite to eat from the kitchen. They’re low on groceries, but they remembered the leftovers from their roast beef dinner gone awry the evening before, and they ate them cold.
The sex seems to have fulfilled its therapeutic purpose. They’re calmer and more comfortable around each other. Pent-up angst has given way to a smooth pragmatism about what difficult duties lie ahead. There’s no telling how long this will last, though she hasn’t objected to additional “treatments” throughout the night, and would continue to accept them if they live beyond tonight. She senses the feeling is mutual, even if she’s curious to know who Wyatt thinks he slept with: Nadia or Phoebe. And on the heels of that comes another question, this one for herself. Who does she really want to be? Hopefully there will be time to figure that out later. For now, she stows those queries away to focus on his more pertinent one.
“They’re going to ask for money. Either we pay them or we don’t. You know my feeling on it.”
“Now would be the time to let me know whether you plan to tell them to go fuck themselves. I’d like the opportunity to source a bulletproof vest.”
“Caving to extortion will only empower them.”
“We don’t negotiate with terrorists, yeah, yeah, I get it.”
“Look, you’re the shrink among us. Why don’t you use some of your mind juju to talk them down off of whatever ledge they’re on?”
“You have a lot of confidence in my abilities.”
She casts him a small grin. “I didn’t say that. I’m just saying it’s an option.” After a moment’s contemplation, she asks, “Do you have a gun?”
“Well, that escalated quickly.”
“I hate the things, myself, but even I know we shouldn’t go over there unarmed.” Money, murder, and emotions make for a volatile mix. Add in that demands have already been made, and she would be surprised not to see a Napier pull a weapon over there.
“I have a stun gun at the office. Phoebe bought it for me, thinking I’d need protection from my clients, which I always thought was ridiculous. I never even took it out of the box. Anyway, her perception on these things was skewed. Like most people’s.”
“I’d probably shoot my foot off with a real gun anyway,” she says. “Stun gun should be fine. I still have my knife too.”
“And you do know how to use it.” He glances at her. “Just saying.”
“That was blind luck. I was just trying to get him off of me.” She turns fully to him. “You do believe me about that, right? You never really said one way or the other . . .”
He stares at the sheets for a moment. “I wasn’t sure at first, to be honest. But I believe you now.”
“Because of what that detective said about him?”
“No. I didn’t need his help. After the past few days I’ve just seen enough to think you wouldn’t do something like that without having a damn good reason.”
She sighs. “Thank you. I hope I never have to do anything like that again. Even if I had a reason, the experience was . . . awful.”
He rubs her shoulder. “I know. But I think we can avoid violence if we’re careful. The Napiers aren’t hardened criminals. They’re just terrified, stupid humans trying to survive.”
“That’s a good point. Maybe you can bring that up during tonight’s therapy session, that
we’re all just stupid humans here.” She slips back under the covers again. He’s so close and still mostly naked. It’s tempting to touch him again, but she hesitates, both unsure of what he wants and unwilling to risk rejection. But he scoots closer, opening the door for her, and she rolls over to study him. Their faces are only a couple of inches apart, their bodies nearly overlapping. She likes feeling his warmth down the entire length of her body. His eyes seem to darken as he places his hand on her bare hip, giving it a light squeeze. “We still have some time to pass before this nightmare begins,” he says. They pass it.
* * *
—
JUST BEFORE SIX, Nadia and Wyatt step out their front door, not as husband and wife, or even boyfriend and girlfriend, but as partners of a different breed. The house across the cul-de-sac, with its stone façade surrounded by trim landscaping and lush, mature trees, is well lit and inviting to anyone who doesn’t know any better.
Nadia is wearing a white tank top, skinny jeans, and the black pleather jacket she carried over from her old life, pieces that define her more than Phoebe’s designer duds ever could. If the idea is to approach the Napiers without pretense, to be real, then she has to be Nadia. It didn’t take long for the cheap, rough fabric to rub away at her new softness and find the callused girl still living underneath. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing, either. She feels an evolution taking place within her, one that’s merging parts of herself with her sister. Staying blond, for instance, and enjoying some of the finer things in life, but embracing the Indiana farm girl’s rougher edges rather than covering them up. This is still Phoebe’s story, but Nadia is the storyteller now, and she has to do them both justice.
Wyatt takes her hand. “You’re trembling.”
She looks at him. His eyes are a little bloodshot from the lack of sleep, but he’s cleaned up nicely in a pair of black slacks and a dark gray button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, what he called his “therapist fatigues.” Their styles couldn’t be more different, but somehow it still works together. “I think we’re both a little shaky.”
He takes a deep breath. “I think you’re right.”
“As long as that stun gun of yours is charged, we should be fine.”
“You’re assuming I know how to use it.”
“This probably wasn’t the best time for you to bring that up.”
“At least you still have your knife.”
She grips his hand tight. “Let’s go.”
As they draw closer to the Napier house, a curious change begins to take hold. She stands up taller. Her shaking subsides. For the first time really in weeks, she’s able to breathe fully. It’s the realization she doesn’t have to pretend anymore, not for these people, anyway. What she’s feeling is liberation.
“Okay, act natural,” Wyatt says. He rings the doorbell.
■■■
INTERLUDE
IT’S HAPPENING. The brake lines have been cut, the car has been pushed down the hill, and we’re all careering toward the bottom. Will I walk away from this? Will anyone? That endless scream is still trapped inside my body, and I think soon it’s going to find its way out. But just underneath that scream, I hear something that sounds like a lullaby. It’s faint but growing louder and sweeter by the moment. It’s telling me to stop struggling, to let go and accept whatever happens. Did you hear that lullaby too, at the very end? I think you’re the one singing it.
CHAPTER 24
NADIA IS BEGINNING to believe she’s a magnet for death as she stares down at a third dead body lying in a pool of blood in the space of a month.
The four of them who are still alive have to be ready to explain what happened here, but in the chaos of blood, death, agonized sobs, so many overlapping stories and lies, and the lingering whiff of gunpowder, she can’t get everything to jell, and if she can’t, how will the rest of them be able to? It’s all too much this time.
Panic has been a big, bad wolf beating hard at her door for so long, demanding entry. The structure she’s built around her has been stable enough, but it can’t take much more. Once it breaks through and has her in its hungry jaws, this little plan of hers, tenuous from the start but still better than any of the alternatives were, will dissolve into failure, and her life will be over before it ever has a chance to start. She and Phoebe seem to have that in common.
But there’s still a whisper of her pragmatic self left. Forget five minutes from now. Forget even right now. Let’s just walk through it from the beginning. One mess at a time, Nadia. Remember?
She grabs on to that thought like the trusty life preserver it has always been and closes her eyes.
* * *
—
THE NAPIER HOUSE hasn’t changed at all since Nadia was last in it nearly twenty-four hours ago, but somehow it feels emptier as she and Wyatt step over the threshold, like a tumbleweed might blow by any minute. Vicki leads them to a large dining room—not quite as large as the Millers’, though with the potential to be equally impressive if someone actually decorated it. It’s currently an empty box, save for a small, round table and five metal folding chairs. Ron and Jake are already seated.
There is no food or drink, or any other pretense of hospitality. That said, Vicki does seem to be choosing her steps carefully as she goes to her seat. She must have liquored herself up a little beforehand. Both Ron and Jake look a bit glazed over too. Come to think of it, Wyatt also took a few long swallows of whiskey before they left. Is Nadia the only person in this room with a full set of wits?
“Please sit down,” Vicki says.
Nadia can’t resist a little sarcasm. “Another gathering around a table? This is starting to feel like déjà vu.”
Vicki offers a cold smirk. “Gosh, I guess we should have had a pool party instead.”
“Come on, just sit,” Wyatt urges her gently.
Nadia acquiesces, and an agonizing minute proceeds where no one speaks; they simply pass glances as if they’re playing a game of hot potato. Enough already. “Are we just going to sit here and stare at one another all night?”
“Hardly,” Vicki says. “I see you have a purse with you. Empty it on the table.”
“Why are you running this show?” she asks.
She tilts her head. “I have you dead to rights, Nadia. Stop thinking you can wiggle your way out of this, and empty the goddamn purse.”
“Okay, fine. No need to get worked up.” Nadia unzips the bag and upends it on the table in front of her. Out tumble all the things she transferred over from the purse Phoebe had been using, and some additional odds and ends Nadia added on her own, like her favorite lip balm and chewing gum. “No weapons, if that’s what you’re so worried about.” Her trusty knife is in her jacket pocket. Wyatt has the stun gun. No one had quite the forethought to pat them down.
“I’m not worried about that.” Vicki reaches behind her and pulls out something her billowy blouse was concealing before. It’s a shiny, black snub-nose revolver that fits perfectly into her graceful hands. In the stunned silence that follows, Jake’s troubled murmur of “Oh God, Mom” might as well be a shout.
Ron is more direct. “Jesus Christ, Vicki! Where did you get a gun?”
Vicki ignores them both and points the barrel square at Nadia. “You see that brown leather checkbook? I want you to show me those princess kittens inside and write a nice seven-figure number. After that, I’ll give you your phone back, and we can all go about our business. I don’t even care who you really are at this point. I just want my life back the way it was.”
Nadia doesn’t move. “That’s it? That’s what all this has been about this whole time? Why does every murder always have to come down to money? It’s so tacky.”
Her eyes narrow. “That’s rich, considering the pictures of both of you with her body.”
She knew Vicki would be quick to bring that up, but she isn’t going to let
it knock her back. “Why did you have Jake do your dirty work, anyway? Having him send those texts when you could have done it yourself. That’s also pretty tacky.”
Vicki flinches. Nadia logs a point for herself.
“She didn’t make me send them,” Jake says. His face is gaunt, filled with shadows. “I already knew she wanted money. I was just trying to finish it so we wouldn’t all end up here, like this.”
“Yes, like this,” Ron pipes up. “With you two accusing us of murder. Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Oh, forgive me,” Nadia snaps. “You’re only guilty of extortion and trying to profit from a murder, is that it? I guess it’s possible she just accidentally wound up dead in a pool of blood on her kitchen floor, that a knife just magically—”
“Nadia, stop it,” Wyatt cuts in. “None of this is helping.” He looks at Vicki. “We came here to see if we could end this whole ugly affair amicably without anyone else getting hurt. Can we all agree that this is our goal?”
Everyone around the table nods, though Ron adds, “For the record, I think you’re all fucking insane.”
Vicki rolls her eyes. “Duly noted, doctor. Now can the adults please proceed?”
“Excuse me?” Ron says. “After the mess you’ve made of everything, I’d hardly call you the adult in the room.”
“Yes, but I’m holding the gun, so I think I outrank you.”
“All right, that’s enough!” Wyatt looks irritated, but he takes a deep breath and proceeds. “Now, Vicki, could you please stop pointing the gun? If it accidentally goes off, we’ll all be in even more trouble. Hospitals have to report gunshot wounds to the police, and we don’t want that, do we?” He’s speaking gently, like a therapist. And it seems to be working, because Vicki slowly lowers the gun and sets it on the table in front of her. Nadia would prefer it was out of the room entirely, but at least it isn’t pointed at her.
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