Right Next Door

by Leah Montgomery

  That was the day, the hour, the moment that the tide shifted.

  That was the day the hunter became the prey.

  That was the day I became the hunter.

  Chapter Forty

  Marcy hears the squeak of the top step as weight bears down on it. Caroline makes hardly a sound when she descends the stairs. That tells Marcy the person on her way down is Jill.

  Fingers fluttering, she stuffs everything back into the manila envelope. “Put it away, put it away. She’s coming down.”

  John, cool as always, takes his time folding the flap and fastening the metal clip. Without looking up, he says, “Don’t look at me like that. This is our house. This is our business. She has no reason to think we are up to anything. Stay calm.”

  At his words, Marcy’s jumping pulse slows. “You’re right. I just need to act natural.”

  That brings John’s eyes up to hers. They’re twinkling with mischief. “Because that’s your strong suit, after all.”

  She reaches out to slap his arm. “Oh, shut up.” Marcy straightens the back of her blouse and hikes up her pants, resituating as if someone might be able to tell by looking that she’d been hiding something in her waistband. She isn’t aware of it, but John is. He watches her with amusement, but says nothing.

  “Fluff your hair for good measure,” he suggests. He laughs outright when she sends him a withering glance.

  “I’m going out. We’re having wine. Come out when you’re ready.”

  “And not a moment before.” He winks and she turns to head back to the kitchen.

  Marcy is coming around the corner into the living room when Jill hits the landing. Marcy gives her a sympathetic smile. “You look tired.”

  “I am. All the way to my bones, I think.”

  “You’ve been through so much. Here,” she says, gesturing for Jill to come to the sofa. “Have a seat. I’ll get us both a glass of wine. Maybe that will relax you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Marcy busies herself uncorking a bottle of Pinot Noir. She’s pouring three glasses when John emerges from his study. He looks like he does every other day of the week, a knack that Marcy envies. She doesn’t even try to deny the fact that she’s the emotional half of the couple. She has no idea where she’d be without John’s calming influence. He always manages to keep a cool head, despite the circumstances. He’s proven that time and again.

  John takes the proffered glass, silently toasting his wife before following her to the living room. Marcy hands Jill a glass and takes a seat beside her on the couch as John settles into a chair. He props one ankle on his knee, sips his wine, and dives in without preamble. “Sorry to hear about your accident, Jill. Any idea what happened?”

  “The police think it was just a faulty brake line.”

  John’s brows rise as though this is the first he’s hearing about it. “You could’ve been killed.”

  “Yes, we both could have. Cheyenne was with me.”

  Marcy shudders. “I can’t even imagine. Losing a child...”

  “Every mother’s worst nightmare.”

  “Absolutely.”

  On that somber note, they fall silent, each sipping their wine, lost in thought. After a couple of minutes, Marcy notices Jill’s empty glass. “Would you like another glass?”

  Jill smiles, but it’s weak. “No, I don’t think so. I hate to be rude, but I think I’d just like to go to bed if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course. That’s not rude at all. You must be exhausted.”

  “I am.” Jill slips her phone from her pocket, pressing a button on the side to wake the screen. “I’m going to go give Sabrina a call and talk to Cheyenne if she’s still awake, then I’m turning in.”

  Marcy can’t help noting that she doesn’t mention her husband. “Mark hasn’t called yet?”

  “No, and I don’t expect him to. I’m not even sure I want him to, if I’m being honest.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  John’s eyes dart between the women, again as if he has no idea what’s going on. Jill notices and addresses his unspoken question. “It’s a long story, John. Marcy can fill you in.”

  “Okay. Get some rest. Maybe things will look better in the morning.”

  “I sure hope so.”

  “Goodnight. Let me know if you need anything at all.”

  “A warm bed and your hospitality has been more than enough. Thank you again.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Marcy waves her off. Jill nods and rises. She starts toward the kitchen, but Marcy stops her. “Just leave the glass. I’ll take it when I take ours. You go on.”

  Jill sets the glass on the coffee table and disappears into the stairwell.

  Marcy widens her eyes meaningfully at John and starts in on some small talk as Jill moves around upstairs. “So, what did you decide to do about expanding the patio? Are you going to do it yourself, or hire it out?”

  “I’m getting estimates on materials, then I think I’ll get some estimates from a few contractors. See if I can get a good deal on hiring it out. If I can’t, I guess I’ll just do it myself. Have you thought about how far out you’d like to take it?”

  The two chat about their plan to enlarge the patio as though it’s the most pressing matter on their plate. To the untrained eye, John would appear to be his normal, natural self, but Marcy can see the tension in his shoulders as the time draws nearer for him to visit the house next door. She didn’t ask and he didn’t say, but Marcy wonders if he’s worried about the consequences if he were to get caught. Even though the chances are slim since Jill is here and Mark is gone to parts unknown, there is still risk involved. Like Marcy, though, John probably thinks it’s worth it. If Mark has committed some heinous crime, they need to know. So does Jill. Hopefully the law will excuse John’s transgression if he gets caught.

  Then a thought occurs to Marcy. She stands, motioning for John to follow her. The two go into the kitchen, walking to the far corner. In a low voice, Marcy says, “If you were to get caught, you should just say that you are there getting something for Jill. I think she would cover for you. She knows he’s up to something, and when you find out what it is, she will be on our side.”

  John’s brows snap down and toward one another. “I’m not going to get caught.”

  “I know, but just in case.”

  “There is no ‘just in case’. I won’t get caught.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “No buts. I won’t get caught, so you can stop worrying.”

  “I’m not worrying, I’m—”

  “You’re worrying.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Yes, you are. And it’s okay. I love you, too.”

  Marcy sighs in exasperation. “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Love me when I act like a crazy person.”

  “It’s what I do. Easy as breathing.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “I do. You’re my soul mate.”

  Marcy’s heart melts. “And you’re mine. So don’t get caught.”

  John laughs. “Duly noted. You think she’s been up there long enough?”

  “Not yet. Let’s give her a few more minutes. She’s not a speedster.”

  Marcy turns to start cleaning up the kitchen for the night, rinsing out wine glasses and the few supper dishes John and Caroline had, and putting them into the dishwasher, placing a pod in the little door, pressing the right settings. When she hits the start button and turns to wipe off her hands, John is coming from his office. He’s wearing black jacket zipped all the way to the neck, and a black toboggan is covering his head. “What the hell are you wearing?”

  “Clothing I thought would be appropriate for breaking and entering.”

  “That just makes you look guilty.” She reaches out and snatches the cap off his head. “Your hair is already plenty dark and you can unzip this. It’s still probably eighty degrees outside.” She unzips his coat. “In fact, why don’t you
just take it off?”

  John waffles for just a moment before he sheds the jacket. “Yeah, you’re right. If someone spots me, it’ll look worse if I’m dressed for criminal activity.”

  “Which you are not engaged in. You’re simply helping out a friend, like any good neighbor would do.”

  “Exactly. And investigating her husband. No big deal.”

  Marcy shakes her head, pecking him on the lips before she switches off the kitchen light. “Giving you a little extra darkness,” she explains.

  “Good call,” John praises, peering out the door, looking left and right for any signs of life. When he sees none, he turns back to his wife. “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck. Find something incriminating.”

  “I’ll try. If you see or hear anything suspicious, text me so I can get the hell out of there.”

  “I will, but don’t worry. This is going to work. I can feel it.”

  John nods and then sneaks out the door, disappearing into the darkness that lay between the houses. Marcy sees a brief flash of his silhouette against the white lower panel of the Halpern’s side door before he vanishes through it like a wraith. She’s confident that if anyone in the neighborhood happened to be looking out, toward the Halpern residence at that exact moment, they wouldn’t have caught that slight movement. John was quick and smooth, blending in with the night.

  Marcy takes turns pacing the living room floor, peeking out the living room window toward the street, and swinging by the kitchen door as she counts the minutes until her husband returns. She keeps her eyes peeled and her ears on high alert, but finds no disruptions on any side.

  Until she’s making her fourth glance out the front window and sees a blink of red. She cups her hands around her eyes, blocking out the low light from the soft lamp left burning around the corner in John’s office so she can see better. At first, she thinks it must’ve been her imagination, but then she catches the gleam of the moon on a shiny, black surface. She stares at it until she sees the twinkle of red again. Marcy watches the car drive slowly by, pausing in front of the Halpern house and then accelerating quickly down the street.

  Her suspicious brain starts spinning, trying to find common details between the car she just saw and the ones she’s seen before. Something clicks into place when she remembers the car she saw in the Halpern garage. The one that belongs to the nanny.

  But the nanny is supposed to be with the Cheyenne at Jill’s parents’ house.

  Isn’t she?

  Marcy quickly discounts that theory. Even though she’s had her suspicions about the relationship between Mark and the nanny, it wouldn’t make any sense for her to be watching them from afar. Or if it did, Marcy couldn’t work out how or why. But what she could work out was how whoever was threatening Mark Halpern could very well be watching them, watching their house. It’s not a gated community, and most people keep to themselves. The car is a nice one, probably a luxury brand from what Marcy can tell. It doesn’t stand out, doesn’t arouse suspicion. It looks like it belongs here. Everyone who sees it will just assume the car belongs to a visitor of someone who lives on the street, never bothering to check into it.

  Well, Marcy Stanley isn’t that naive. The next time she sees the car, she will do something—run out after it to get the license plate, follow it to see where it goes, wave it down, try to stop it. She’ll do something. She’ll just have to keep an eye out and try to catch the car before it’s on its way out. It’s hard to catch the eye of a person when they’re already leaving. Marcy will find a way, though. As her mother says, she’s as tenacious as a bulldog. Whoever’s driving that car had better damn well watch out.

  Mind still churning, Marcy checks her watch and makes her way back into the kitchen. She’s just leaning toward the glass when the door swings open and John darts inside. She gasps, clutching her racing heart with her hand.

  “God, you scared me!”

  “Sorry.” Glancing around, John raises his brows in question.

  “Not a peep. I assume she’s asleep.”

  Without a word, he takes Marcy’s hand and leads her to his office. Adrenaline-soaked blood pulses through her veins as she waits for John to close the door and tell her what he found. When they are alone, in private, with distance between them and Jill, he turns to her. But doesn’t speak.

  “Well?”

  John shakes his head. “Nothing. I couldn’t find a thing. I checked everywhere I could think of.”

  “Well, shit.” Marcy starts to deflate until John reminds her of their previous find.

  “But we have the envelope. Letters, hair, a phone. That’s probably more than enough to figure out what’s going on with him. Especially if we charge the phone.”

  “You decided to charge it?”

  “Might as well. We’ve come this far.”

  Marcy claps her hands in glee. “Oh my God, we make such a great team!”

  “We do, don’t we?” John smiles down in her face as he winds his arms around her waist.

  “Hell yeah. And it’s all so exciting. So…exhilarating.” She runs her hands up his chest and loops them around his neck.

  John bends his head toward hers, brushing his lips over her mouth. “Just how exciting, exactly?”

  Marcy feels the sexual attraction leap between them like an arc of electricity. “Extremely exciting.”

  “Is it poor form to have sex with my wife when we have a guest in the house?”

  “I take it you find this exciting, too.” Her laugh turns into a gasp when John takes her hand and leads it down his abdomen, stopping on the hard ridge just below his navel.

  “Does that answer your question?”

  Marcy leans her head back as her husband licks a trail from her clavicle up to her ear. “Let’s worry about propriety tomorrow. How does that sound?”

  “Tomorrow,” he repeats, reaching for the top button on her blouse.

  Chapter Forty-One

  I found it.

  Or at least I was pretty sure I had.

  Tallman Laboratories and Pharmaceuticals. The address for headquarters was local. That was too close to be a coincidence.

  It said on their website that they not only manufacture and distribute several of their drugs from that location, but that they also perform clinical trials for some of their new products. That could explain how he obtained the drugs he used to keep me sedated during my captivity. That could explain the unknown chemical found on the shop towel. It made sense that the man who took me and took Dalton would have legitimate access to that kind of stuff. That meant it was much less of risk to him to get it and use it.

  But that also meant I could find him.

  I sat in Gabe’s chair and stared at his computer. My mind ran a mile a minute. Plotted how I could get Garrett to use his position at the police department to request a list of employees at the laboratory. Planned how I would then narrow it down to a shorter list based on the first name and gender—males with a name starting in M. They would be my focus. If I could get a list like that, I could find him. I would track every name down until I found the one man who was keeping my son.

  I told myself I would recognize something. Despite the dark and the modulated voice and the drugs, I would be able to recognize something. He couldn’t have thought of everything. There was no such thing as the perfect crime. He had to have slipped up somewhere, and I would find it. I would find that thread and I would pull it until his whole operation came undone. I just had to find the one thing, the one thing that he didn’t account for.

  Even if that one thing really was me.

  I didn’t move a muscle. Just stared at the company’s home page. But inside…inside, I was on fire. I’d fought to survive for my son, but that was nothing compared to the dogged determination I felt in that moment.

  I would find the man.

  I would find my son.

  I would bring him home.

  And then I would make the one who took him rue the day he ever laid eyes on me
. It was bad enough that he tortured me. It was bad enough that he forced me to kill my best friend. But he took my child. Intended never to return him. That was too much. He crossed the line. I would find him and make him pay. With his life, with everything he loved. I would rain hell down on him if it was the last thing I did.

  I didn’t fear death. I was at peace with it. I would gladly trade my life to see my son freed and vindicated. If I survived, so much the better. But if not, it would still be worth it. I would get my child back. Back in his room, back in his home, back with his family. Whatever else happened, I would find a way to live with the consequences.

  Or die with them.

  “Shannon?” Gabe’s voice jarred me from my thoughts. I spun in the chair to face the door. “What are you doing?”

  I nodded toward the computer screen. “I found something.”

  I saw his bright eyes turn dark. The pupils swelled. Overwhelmed the irises.

  I didn’t have to wonder if he would be on board. I’d watched this tragedy take its toll on him. The days and hours and minutes had whittled him down, just not like they had me. For me, those millions of moments had shaved away everything except my purpose. They’d honed me into a machine. An animal. An assassin with a singular focus. They’d cut away every other reason, all other thought. There was only one thing that mattered—taking back our son.

  And after that, retribution.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Marcy is just pouring batter onto a hot griddle when Jill comes downstairs.

  “Good morning,” she says, her voice groggy and slightly hoarse. Marcy suspects she cried a lot the night before. When she and John finally went to bed, Marcy heard sniffling from the guest room.

  “Good morning. Did you get any sleep?” She glances back over her shoulder to Jill just as she’s taking a seat at the island.

  “Meh,” she says, seesawing her hand. “It wasn’t the bed, though. That’s a great mattress! Do you mind me asking where you got it?”