by Stone, Kyla
Like the world hadn’t turned upside down out there; like their lives hadn’t imploded in here.
Everything was so far from normal that the sheer normalcy of this pretty house with its heat, lights, and running water almost seemed obscene.
Noah came to stand beside the island, awkward and hesitant. A couple of stools between them. And Ghost.
Ghost’s claws clicked over the wood floor as he shifted to his feet and glared at Noah. He didn’t growl, but he made his presence known.
Noah looked reluctant, like he wanted to come closer but was holding himself back. Because of Ghost, but also something else. She recognized the torn look in his eyes.
He twisted his wedding ring on his finger. “Do you really like it?”
She thought of their old house—the cozy living room with the red brick fireplace; the mismatched sofa and love seat, the antique coffee table she’d painted herself; the shabby kitchen they’d been meaning to remodel but never had the money for; the nest of blankets in Milo’s toddler bed that smelled like apple shampoo and baby powder.
He would’ve outgrown that toddler bed years ago, she thought with a pang.
“It doesn’t feel like home,” she said honestly.
Noah glanced at the massive living room, the towering stone fireplace, the heavy dark leather furniture, the hand-scraped wood flooring. Everything pristine and polished, but not theirs. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. It could, though. It will.”
She waited for him to ask what had happened to her. Where she’d been for the last five years. He didn’t. Maybe he was waiting for her to work up the courage to bring it up. Maybe he didn’t want to know.
She traced a swirling pattern in the marble with her fingers. “You didn’t get remarried.”
“No, I didn’t. I couldn’t.”
Her stomach tightened. “No…girlfriend?”
He shook his head. “No one but you, Hannah.” He attempted a wry smile. “I never thought of anyone else like that. Not ever. Even though things weren’t so good between us. I wanted you back, Hannah. I always wanted you back. It was only ever you.”
She stared down at her hands. Her bad hand looked garish next to the perfect, flawless marble. “You aren’t beholden to me. I don’t…I don’t hold you to anything. I want you to know that. I’m broken, Noah. I’m not the girl you knew. The one you married. I’m not her anymore. I’m not sure who I am yet, but what happened to me—”
“I don’t care,” he said in a rush. “We’ll get over it. We’ll get through it. It will be okay.”
“The things that were done to me…I wouldn’t blame you for not being able to get over that. For not being able to unknow it.”
“That won’t be a problem.”
She wanted to share her past with him, the way she’d shared it with Liam. But Liam wasn’t her husband. She understood that this was different. That it was an incredible burden to ask another to bear.
“Do you…is there anything you want to know? About what happened to me?”
He looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly, not meeting her gaze. “You didn’t run away.”
“No. I was—taken.”
He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for a long time. “I’m a cop. I know what happens. You don’t have to go through that pain again, Hannah. It’s okay, now. Everything will be okay.”
She nodded, waiting for him to say more.
“I know we had problems before. I know we weren’t perfect. But we loved Milo. We loved him with all our hearts, and that has to count for something, doesn’t it? We can start again. Start over. I loved you. I love you.”
“And Charlotte?”
He hesitated. She saw it in his face—a flash of doubt.
Her stomach dropped to her toes. She looked away.
“I’ll—I’ll try,” he said, faltering. “I’ll learn to. I will.”
It was too much to ask. She couldn’t demand more of him than he could give. It was unfair. Wasn’t it?
An image flashed through her mind—big, strong Liam cradling tiny Charlotte in his arms, his hand cupped around her soft skull, a light in his eyes. Pride and affection. A fierce devotion.
She shook the memory away. It did no good to think about that now.
“Do you want to hold her?” her voice was raw, a whisper. She didn’t breathe.
He glanced at the baby on the couch. He looked down at his hands, his wedding ring, then back up at Hannah. “She’s sleeping now. Maybe later?”
He must have seen the disappointment in her expression. “It’ll be okay, Hannah. Everything will be okay. We’re together now. You’re back. Like Bishop said, it’s a miracle. This will work. I know it will.”
He didn’t want to see the cracks. He didn’t want to see the ugliness. He didn’t want to acknowledge the difficult terrain that lay before them.
Today was the first step in a tremendous journey. A journey their little family was attempting as the world crumbled around them.
The odds were stacked against them. The odds were stacked against them all.
There would be as much pain and heartache as joy and happiness.
She knew that. She understood it, accepted it.
She wasn’t sure if Noah would. If he could.
She tried not to let the hurt show in her face. Maybe he would be ready later. It was a lot to take in—her miraculous return, a wife long dead suddenly very much alive. Alive, but damaged, and different in almost every way.
She needed to tell him who had done this to her, but it could wait for a bit. A few minutes, at least.
She changed the subject to something happier, some shared common ground. “Milo…he’s so big. Tell me about him. I want to know everything.”
Noah’s expression brightened. His love for their son was obvious. That had never been the problem.
“He’s so smart. And brave. That kid is fearless. When he was four, he tried to jump off the diving board at the YMCA pool. No arm floaties or anything. I’d already jumped in before he hit the water. But man, I had to watch him like a hawk. He’s a little quiet, a little more serious.” He flashed her a grin. “He takes after you that way. He loves reading and Legos. The Avengers. The usual kid stuff.”
“Does he still love peanut butter?”
“Oh man. He’d eat Jif at every meal if I let him.”
She smiled. “Pancakes slathered in creamy peanut butter topped with whipped cream?”
“His absolute favorite.”
Hannah’s heart squeezed. He was still her son. Still her Milo.
They would find their way back to each other. She had absolute faith in that.
“There’s something else you need to know,” Noah said quietly. He stared down at his hands. “Milo has a serious illness.”
Dread filled her. “What? What is it?”
“Two years after you disappeared, he started to get sick. Real sick. The doctors diagnosed him with Addison’s disease. He’s fine. He’s healthy and happy. He just has to have his medication.”
Hannah imagined Milo sick and scared in a hospital room. And she hadn’t been there. His mother hadn’t been there.
Remorse struck her. How much she would give, how many mountains she would move to erase the last five years, to go back and change everything. Her heart ached with love and sorrow.
“What happens if he doesn’t have it?”
Noah didn’t answer. His silence was answer enough.
Her chest was too tight. It was hard to breathe. “Without it, he’ll die.”
Slowly, Noah nodded.
The hammer fell, slow and terrible. Medication meant pharmaceutical companies, production, distribution warehouses, open pharmacies, and a functioning supply chain. Because of the EMP, that was all gone now. For years, at least. “Where is he going to get it?”
“We have plenty, don’t worry. The militia, they’ve been going out and getting food and supplies for the community. They’ve brought back at least five years’ worth of
medication. Five years, Hannah! By then, the country will be back up and running. The supply chain reinstated.” He smiled at her. “He’s fine, Hannah. We’re fine.”
It was difficult imagine how Milo would be fine in a world without hospitals, ambulances, and top-notch medical care.
The giant hand squeezing her heart did not let go.
32
Hannah
Day Twenty-Seven
“I’ll make some hot chocolate,” Noah said, though she hadn’t asked for it. With a wary glance at Ghost, he circled the island to reach the counter and banged around in the cabinets.
She understood that he was seeking a distraction. Noah had never been great with uncomfortable emotions. He would rather smooth things over and pretend everything was okay, even if it wasn’t.
Even amid catastrophic change, some things remained the same.
Ghost nosed her thigh. She reached down and absently scratched his ears.
“It was so good to see Bishop,” she said, once again attempting to change the subject to more neutral territory. “We should have him and Daphne over. I can’t wait to see Juniper and Zoe.”
Noah went very still. He paused, his back to her. His hand hovered over the hot chocolate canister.
A chill raced up her spine. “What?”
He turned to face her, his expression somber. “Daphne. The girls. They’re…they’re dead.”
She stared at him, stricken. “What happened?”
Noah told her about Ray Shultz and his gang of thugs. The massacre at Crossway church. How many had died. Milo and Quinn’s ordeal. How Bishop had been forced to watch his wife and daughters die in front of him.
By the end, she was shaking. Tears stung the backs of her eyelids. Her heart ached with sorrow and compassion and burned with anger. The senseless cruelty and death. The horror Bishop had endured. The loss of his beautiful family.
A month into the collapse, and everything was coming undone. Everyone in this town had already lost so much. So much pain, grief, and hardship.
She shook her head. “What Bishop went through…I had no idea.”
“The militia took care of it. They caught the monsters and brought justice to Fall Creek. That will never happen again. Never. We’ve…sacrificed. We’ve made sure of it.”
“The militia?”
“We invited them to Fall Creek. They get homes in Winter Haven in exchange for protection. Gangs and organized criminals are attacking nearby towns. With the supply chain down, people are already desperate and starving. The governor has made it clear that he doesn’t care what happens to his citizens. Not in the rural communities, anyway. FEMA and the National Guard are busy elsewhere. We’ve been abandoned. For the foreseeable future, we’re on our own.”
She’d seen the soldiers in camouflage uniforms toting semi-automatic rifles at the checkpoint into Fall Creek. More patrolling Main Street and Winter Haven.
She’d been so focused on getting home to Milo and Noah, her mind had barely registered them. Until now.
“They’re keeping us safe.” Noah put his elbows on the island and leaned toward her, his eyes bright, his expression earnest. “This place is safe, Hannah. We can start over. We can build a life here.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so. We have a house with electricity and heat. We have food, supplies, Milo’s medication. Rosamond made sure of it. She took care of us.”
Her heart constricted at the mention of Rosamond Sinclair. Gavin Pike’s mother. Her mouth went dry and thick, like it was stuffed with paper towels.
It was time to tell him. Even if he wasn’t ready for the details, he needed to know this.
Noah narrowed his eyes. “What? What is it?”
“Did—did Bishop tell you about the body in the basement? Did he tell you who it was?”
“No, he didn’t. I doubt I would’ve heard it even if he did. I couldn’t focus on a thing after he told me about you.”
She swallowed. “It was the man who took me. Who stole me from my life. The man who held me captive and tortured me for five years.”
Noah went still. “Who?”
“Rosamond Sinclair’s son. Gavin Pike.”
Noah stood quickly. He leapt back from the island like she’d burned him. The stool clattered to the floor. He took three swift steps backward, until his back pressed against the wall of cabinets.
His face went slack. He shook his head incredulously. “No. No, no, no…”
She said nothing.
He pressed both hands to his chest and stared at her in shock. Horror, confusion, and disbelief warring in his eyes. “How…”
“He kept me in his hunting cabin up north. In the Manistee National Forest.”
Noah flinched. He staggered to the sink on the opposite side of the island. He barely made it. He bent over the sink, gagged, and vomited into the basin.
He remained there, a hand gripping either side of the porcelain, breathing hard, his face sweating and pale. “Every time he went up there…every weekend…all this time, he was…what he was doing to you…”
Noah turned on the faucet. He cupped a handful of water—fresh, clean, running water—and splashed it over his face. He grabbed a washcloth and wiped his mouth.
He closed his eyes. “The baby. She belongs to…She’s …”
He couldn’t bring himself to say the words aloud. So Hannah did. “Charlotte does not belong to Pike. She is not his. Her conception does not matter. She is innocent.”
Noah opened his eyes, blinked, and nodded his head. He looked like he was on the verge of despair. “Okay,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. “Okay, okay.”
He straightened, still shaking. “I never liked him. Never. There was always something… off about him. Like he despised you even as he smiled at you. But I never thought…we never suspected him. No one did. He was here, this whole time. I spoke to him. I had meals with him at Rosamond’s house…”
He grimaced, aghast. “Oh, hell. He would talk to Milo. He would watch him. I never liked it. I never…”
He shoved himself away from the sink. He paced in a tight circle in the expansive kitchen, his hands balled into fists and pressed against his temples. He looked like he was in shock.
The hackles on Ghost’s back rose. He growled softly. Maybe he didn’t like Noah’s erratic movements. Maybe he sensed who it was they were talking about.
Hannah buried her hand in his fur and stroked the top of his head. It steadied them both.
Noah met her gaze with a stricken expression. “How could I have not known? All this time. He was right here, underneath my nose. I should have suspected!”
Empathy welled within her. Her husband had suffered. She could see it etched in every pore and line of his face. “You didn’t know. You aren’t responsible for what you didn’t know.”
“I should have done something!” Noah cried, anguished.
“He was good at what he did,” Hannah said softly. “I trusted him when he pulled over that night and promised to help me. I got right in his truck. He was a chameleon. A shapeshifter.”
“He’s a psychopath,” Noah spat.
“He was a psychopath. He’s dead now.”
That brought Noah up short. “How?”
“I killed him. Me and Ghost together.” She hesitated. “Liam told Reynoso that he did it.”
Noah had gone still. The blood drained from his face. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. She could see the cogs turning in his mind, the pieces falling into place. One by one.
“Rosamond,” he said. “Julian.”
“What about them?”
“She’ll never believe it. Not of her precious son.”
Hannah stiffened. “I don’t care what she believes.”
He shook his head. “Your soldier friend was smart. I don’t want her blaming you for this. Julian has a hot temper. You remember how he is. Rosamond…she’s not going to take this news well. It will be better if it wasn’t you.”
&n
bsp; “But it was.”
“I know that. You know that. That’s all that matters. Just…trust me, okay?”
She stared at him. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Noah came around the island toward her.
Against her side, Ghost bristled. He padded between her and Noah.
Noah stopped two feet away. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe, Hannah. I’ll protect you.”
Hannah didn’t ask why she would need protection from the Sinclairs. A cold chill trickled down the back of her neck. Something—some deep primordial instinct—was warning her.
Killing Gavin Pike might have ended one nightmare—only to begin the genesis of another.
33
Julian
Day Twenty-Eight
Julian was sure he hadn’t heard correctly. Noah’s living room was suddenly stifling. A low buzzing filled his ears. “What did you just say?”
Noah’s long-lost wife sat in a soft white leather armchair in Noah’s living room in Winter Haven. Noah stood on one side of her, anxious and hovering. On the other side stood a tall, wary stranger who’d introduced himself as Liam Coleman and a giant white dog. Noah’s wife held an infant in her arms.
Julian stood facing them, Perez and Reynoso flanking him, old-fashioned notebooks and pencils in their hands. Milo had been sent to his room when they’d arrived. They were debriefing Hannah Sheridan and the man she’d brought back to Fall Creek with her yesterday.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be here,” Noah had said when he’d first arrived with Reynoso and Perez. “It’s a conflict of interest.”
“Like hell,” Julian had shot back. “I’ve got just as much a right to be here as you do! Should I bring the superintendent instead?”
Noah hadn’t argued after that.
Hannah’s mere presence was shocking. Every word she spoke shocked him even more. How she’d been kidnapped on the side of the road and locked in a basement up north for five years. What she’d endured. How she’d escaped.
