He was on his feet and moving toward her on shaky legs. He pushed her out of the way. She stumbled sideways, grabbing for the arm of the sofa to steady her legs.
One rough hand slammed the window shut. An arthritic finger pointed at her nose. “Leave me alone.” He closed every blind until the familiar gloom settled over the space.
“Fine.” She backed away. Sadness tightened her throat. “You win. I can’t keep doing this.”
Returning to his chair, he lifted a glass from the end table to his lips. “You know where the door is.”
“You have two grandchildren you’ve never met. If you decide you want to live, call me.” Sarah glanced over her shoulder on her way out. “You have my number.”
“It’s a shame,” he said in a slurred voice. “You were the good girl. Did too much time with your sister give you that smart mouth?”
He wasn’t too drunk to try and manipulate her.
Sarah left without responding. There was no point, but guilt plagued her all the way home, where she decided she couldn’t sit and wait. She changed her clothes, grabbed a plastic container from the fridge, and leashed her dog. “Let’s go see Rachel.”
Bandit rode shotgun. Fifteen minutes later, she parked her minivan in front of her sister’s farmhouse and checked her messages. Her phone had beeped several times during the drive. Her phone showed three missed calls and messages, all from Troy. Though she suspected nothing was wrong, she pressed Listen with a nervous hand.
His voicemails accelerated from “You didn’t answer my message” to “Are you fucking that guy?”
Instead of responding, Sarah phoned her attorney and dumped the situation in his lap. He’d mostly behaved while they were separated, but now that the divorce was final, he was ignoring the rules.
She got out of the van and collected her bowl. The dog jumped over the console and out of the car like a mountain goat, and Sarah slammed the door shut. Straining at the end of his leash, Bandit ran to the back door and barked. There was no need to ring the bell when she brought him along. She rubbed her aching arm. Though the sun shone from a clear sky, the March chill lodged in the knitted bone, a permanent reminder of Troy’s temper.
“Hey.” Rachel let them into the mudroom and used a towel to wipe Bandit’s feet. “Where are the girls?”
“With Troy.” Sarah stripped off her coat and carried her container through to the newly renovated kitchen. She set it on the island, and tossed her handbag on a counter stool. The little dog bolted past. His furry paws slid on the hardwood as he rounded a corner and ran out of the room.
“How did it go?” Rachel washed her hands at the white-aproned farmhouse sink.
“Troy picked them up at eight. Alex yelled, and Emma cried. By nine I had a call from my attorney that Troy is accusing me of spousal alienation, or turning his kids against him.”
Rachel snorted. “Like he needs any help with that.”
“It’s been a long day.” Sarah rubbed her forehead. “They’ll be home in two hours. Then I can relax. I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”
“I’m sorry. He’s a bastard. That’s why you divorced him. Want some coffee?”
“Please.” Sarah accepted a full mug and wrapped her cold fingers around it. Bandit trotted back into the kitchen, tail drooping.
“Sorry, buddy, Mike’s not here.” Sarah leaned over and stroked his head “I had to lock him up when Troy picked up the kids. He caught Troy’s scent at the front door and went ballistic.”
“Good dog.” Rachel tossed him a piece of cheese. “He’s a good judge of character.”
“He hasn’t forgotten what it’s like to be on the angry end of Troy’s boot.” Sarah straightened. She hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be on the wrong side of Troy’s temper either. But she couldn’t let her fear stunt the progress she was making. She’d made a lot of mistakes, but she was damned if she’d let them define her. She’d thought moving forward would be easier once the divorce was final and custody settled. But why was Troy so determined to control her? Every time he looked at her, she could feel hate emanating from his body, as toxic as a radiation leak. If she wasn’t careful, it would bloom into something malignant.
Sarah peeled the plastic wrap from the bowl and opened Rachel’s utensil drawer for a couple of spoons. “Taste this.”
Rachel gave it a suspicious sniff. “What is it?”
“It’s a lemon pepper dipping sauce. Just taste it.” Sarah waved the spoon. “I promise. No vegetables.”
Rachel tasted the sauce with the tip of her tongue like a child. “Oh, it’s good.”
“Why are you always so surprised?” Sarah asked.
Rachel licked the spoon clean. “I don’t like fancy food.”
Sarah said, “My three-year-old has a more sophisticated palate.”
“True.”
“What do you think about serving this with the chicken-skewer appetizers?” Sarah rooted through her handbag for the notebook she was using to plan the food for her sister’s wedding reception. “After everything you and Mike have done for me, I want your wedding to be perfect.”
“I wish you wouldn’t worry about it so much.” Rachel crossed the oak floor to the stainless steel fridge and opened it. She pulled a plastic container from a shelf. The fact that her sister had a container of actual food in her kitchen spoke volumes about how much her life had changed since she’d met the local police chief, Mike O’Connell. “We moved the wedding back. So there’s tons of time.” Both the barn reconstruction and kitchen remodel had taken longer than anticipated.
“What is that?” Sarah nodded toward the container her sister was opening.
“Chicken breast.” Rachel removed the plastic lid and made a face. “Mike cooked it last night. No fat, no salt, no taste.”
“Mike eats to fuel his body.” Sarah laughed. Her sister’s fiancé was a former athlete.
“He sure as hell doesn’t eat for enjoyment.” Rachel took two plates out of a drawer in the island. She forked some sliced chicken onto a plate and topped it with a spoonful of sauce. She ate a bite and offered one to Sarah. “The sauce helps. I bet it would be great with potato chips or hot wings.”
“Good. I’ll add it to the menu.” Laughing, Sarah flipped through the notebook. Rachel retrieved a box of Pop-Tarts from the back of a cupboard and held it out.
“God, no.” Sarah waved away the box.
“To each his own.” Rachel opened a foil pouch and sniffed the pastry as if it were the cork of an aged bottle of merlot. “Now tell me what’s up with Troy.”
“He’s been difficult lately.”
“Why? Custody is settled. You didn’t press for alimony or take anything except personal stuff from the house.”
Troy had taken out a second mortgage to keep the sporting goods store out of bankruptcy. There hadn’t been any marital assets to fight over.
“I don’t know.” Sarah took a long sip of steaming coffee. Troy was going to a lot of effort to harass her.
“I still can’t believe any judge gave him unsupervised visitation.” Rachel washed her pastry down with a glass of milk. “Troy shouldn’t be allowed to raise livestock, let alone children.”
“Troy can be charming when he wants to be.” In high school, he’d been good-looking and athletic. He’d partied hard with the baseball team, but she’d thought he’d grow up eventually. Instead, he’d just grown bitter. “On the bright side, he’s been clean and sober at every meeting, and he’s required to attend AA and the anger management support group regularly. Maybe getting arrested really did change him. I’m hoping he really wants to connect with his children.”
Rachel’s expression disagreed.
“Please, Rachel.” Sarah looked to the window. Flurries drifted across the glass. “I don’t have any choice, so I might as well be optimistic. It would be best for the girl
s to have a relationship with their mother and father.”
“You’re right, but he hurt you. I can’t forgive him for that,” Rachel said.
And on the subject of family drama . . .
“I stopped to see Dad today.” Sarah didn’t meet Rachel’s eyes. Her sister wanted nothing to do with their father. Sarah couldn’t blame her.
But Rachel never judged her. She gave Sarah’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “You’re a much nicer person than I am.”
Their own parents had been too consumed by their dysfunctional marriage and their mother’s mental illness to tend to either of their children. And that was the real reason Sarah had married Troy: to escape. At the time, any attention, even the controlling kind, had felt like love. Her mother had just died, and her father had sunk deeper into depression. Troy’s proposal had seemed like a lifeline. Their marriage had been all right at first. Sarah had been thrilled to start a family, though Troy’s disappointment in having two girls had stung. Sarah thought he’d grow to love their children as much as she did.
He traveled during the baseball season, seemingly happy playing for a minor league baseball team, waiting for his big break. But no scout ever drafted him for the major leagues. Instead, he was cut from the team. With two babies to support, he’d gone to work in his father’s store, something he’d sworn never to do. Bitterness drove him to drink, and drinking made him mean. When he’d pressured her to try for a boy, she’d refused. Another baby would only stress their troubled marriage further. And her defiance had proved to be Troy’s tipping point.
“I only stopped by to make sure he was alive and take him some food,” Sarah said. “But I told him this was my last visit. I can’t do it anymore.”
“You’ve done more than anyone else.” Rachel wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“He’s getting worse. He’s going to die alone in that house.”
“That’s his choice,” Rachel said. “But it’s time you moved forward. You should start your own catering business.”
“I couldn’t do that,” Sarah protested.
“Why not? You’re a fabulous cook. You’re organized and motivated.”
“There are lots of reasons.” Sarah didn’t know where to start. “I don’t have the space or the money or the clients.”
Rachel waved away Sarah’s argument, but that was Rachel. Full steam ahead. “So start small. I’m not suggesting you take on formal dinners for five hundred, but you’re handling a buffet for fifty.”
“I don’t know.” But what was she waiting for? She needed more income than her job at the Main Street Inn provided. She wasn’t optimistic about getting money from Troy. “Do you really think I could do it?”
“Why not?” Rachel gestured at her new appliances and acres of counter space. “You can use our kitchen. Mike’s at work all day, and I’m outside. The place is empty.”
Sarah pressed a knuckle to her lips. The idea of starting her own business was equally scary and exciting. “I’ll think about it, but if I’m going to do it, I’ll use the kitchen I have.”
“Maybe we can upgrade it,” Rachel said.
“No!” Sarah said firmly. “You and Mike already let us live there for free. I won’t have you spending more money on me.”
“We don’t mind.”
“But I do.” Sarah softened her voice. “I appreciate everything you have done for me and the girls, but I have to be independent. It’s important to me.”
Rachel nodded. “Believe me. I understand that. But we’re here if you get in a jam.”
“Thank you. Knowing that helps me sleep at night.” Her new job and independence were great, but knowing your kids had people they could depend on in an emergency was priceless.
The sound of car tires grating on gravel caught their attention. Rachel went to the window over the sink.
“It’s Cristan and Lucia.” Rachel headed for the mudroom. “I have to go out and check on Lady.”
“No sign she’s ready to foal?” Sarah asked. Her sister’s favorite horse was two weeks overdue with her first foal.
“No.” Rachel stepped into her boots. “What’s up with you and Cristan?”
“Nothing’s up. We’re friendly. Lucia babysits my girls.”
“Are you sure? The way he looks at you is more than friendly.” Rachel’s voice lowered.
Sarah’s face heated. She played it cool, but when Cristan turned those dark eyes on her, the only word that came to mind was smoldering, and after the embrace they’d shared Tuesday night, she’d felt a shift in their relationship.
Through the glass, she watched him get out of his car. He was wearing a short, black wool coat and jeans. A shadow of dark stubble increased his mysterious aura. He wasn’t exactly handsome. Except for when he looked at his daughter, his features were too hard, and his eyes held the shadows of a man who’d seen terrible things. After Troy, she didn’t expect to be attracted to a man, at least not this soon. But there was something compelling about Cristan.
He went into the barn, and Sarah picked up her purse.
“You’re looking at him like he’s an ice cream cone and you want to—”
“Rachel!”
“What?” Her sister grinned. “The man is hot. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m hardly in a position to take an interest in any man.” Sarah followed her sister out into the cold and stopped in the barn to give Lady’s nose a pat. “I have a new job and two kids, and thanks to you, I’m considering starting my own business. I have enough to juggle.”
“If you say so.” Rachel’s grin faded to worry as she went into the stall and swept a hand over Lady’s enormous belly.
“She’ll be OK,” Sarah said. “I was two weeks late with Alex. Babies come when they’re ready, not a minute sooner.”
“I know. The vet says there’s nothing to worry about.”
But Sarah knew her sister would worry until a healthy foal arrived—and probably for a long time after. Love created vulnerability.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She read the display. A message from Troy: CALL ME. NOW. Resigned, she dialed.
“I’m bringing them home in thirty minutes.” Troy’s voice sounded strained, not exactly angry. Frustrated? Whatever emotion he was projecting, the tension she felt over the connection lifted the hairs on the back of her neck.
“I’ll be there,” Sarah said. He was bringing the girls home more than an hour early, but she didn’t protest. He couldn’t bring her girls home fast enough.
“You’d better be,” he said. “And you’d better start answering my fucking calls and messages, Sarah. You can’t ignore me.”
Not when he had the kids, she couldn’t. But Sarah refused to be baited. “I have to get in the car now, so I’ll be home in time. Good-bye.”
“You—”
She ended the call. Shoving the phone in her pocket, she glanced back at the man on the horse. Cristan carried himself with the kind of quiet confidence that didn’t need to be bolstered by hurting others. She turned away from Cristan. She’d see him later. Lucia was babysitting tonight so Sarah could attend her last self-defense class. But there was no point wanting things she couldn’t have. Troy wasn’t going to let her move on.
As long as he had her little girls, she was powerless.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“This is risky,” her lieutenant said from the driver’s seat of the minivan.
“It’s a calculated risk.” She watched the dot on the GPS settle on a patch of green in the middle of nowhere. The address listed was the stable where Christopher boarded two horses. She consulted the spreadsheet of his activities over the past few weeks. “They went riding. He shouldn’t be back for at least an hour, and it isn’t as if we don’t know where he is at all times.” She gestured with the GPS.
“Keep watch
on that screen.” He drove toward Christopher’s house.
There was no point following Christopher. The stable sat on a flat, open expanse of ground that provided no cover for a clandestine observer. Plus, a member of local law enforcement appeared to live on the farm. Both times she’d driven past, an official vehicle was parked in front of the house. She did not wish to attract attention, and this afternoon created the perfect opportunity to survey Christopher’s property in the daylight. Knowing he was occupied, they could get a closer inspection than they had on their previous drive-bys.
He slowed the car as they approached the house. “I don’t see anywhere to conceal the van.”
She pointed to the driveway. “I’m feeling bold.”
“Foolish would be a better description.” But he did as she requested, his reluctance evident in the stiff set of his shoulders and the thin line of his mouth.
She lifted a palm. “There’s nowhere to park out of sight. We might as well keep the car close.” There were times when one had to weigh the probabilities and make a decision. “You’ve been reluctant in every phase of this operation. Is there some reason you don’t want Christopher to pay for his crime?”
“Of course not.” He slowed at the driveway but didn’t turn. “We’ll park on the road and circle around through the woods. I’d rather cross some open ground on foot than be trapped. I do not wish to pay for revenge with my life.” He stopped on the shoulder of the road a quarter mile past the house. “Or yours.”
She caught the hesitation in his voice, as if the inclusion of her life in his statement was an afterthought. Neither did she appreciate his lack of obedience. She couldn’t forget that he was the hired help, and that, for her, this vendetta was very personal.
“Everyone dies,” she said simply. Her life had been filled with enough pain that death did not frighten her. “I’m tired of waiting. I want this finished.”
“Then what?” he asked.
She didn’t answer because she didn’t know. She’d been consumed by hatred for so long, she couldn’t imagine its absence in her life.
She Can Kill Page 9
